…Within Tent

campsite-jwf

PHOTO PROMPT © Jan Wayne Fields

The air was blue as he erected the tent.  She poured him a drink and took the kids to the playground.

The pinched expressions on the boys’ faces evaporated as they enjoyed the freedom to be children.

“Time to go back,” she said eventually.  Their faces clouded instantly.

“Dad’s having a snooze,” said the eldest, a note of relief in his voice, as he saw his father’s legs sticking out of the tent doorway.

She stretched her arms out wide, smiling as the tension left.

“I think Dad could be asleep for a while, let’s go and explore the beach.”

Word Count: 100

Written for Friday Fictioneers – a 100 words story based on a photo prompt. Hosted by Rochelle. Read the other entries here.

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A Prisoner of Conscience

ceayr-purple-door

PHOTO PROMPT © CEayr

His breath was ragged and his voice gravelly from calling out.  He was locked in the confined, cold, damp building.

Knuckles bleeding from incessant knocking, face covered in a congealed mess of blood and snot, he slithered to his knees, wretched and despondent.

The constant drip, drip aggravated his tattered nerves.

Why couldn’t I have just turned a blind eye?

“Have a heart, let me out,” he beseeched.

A faint scratching sound; was it help or threat?

Thorny tendrils of fear sneaked around his heart and squeezed persistently causing his heartbeat to increase.

A metal key turned in the lock…

 

Word Count: 100

Written for Friday Fictioneers – a 100 words story based on a photo prompt. Hosted by Rochelle. Read the other entries here.

Pre-Concert Nerves?

bjc3b6rn-14

PHOTO PROMPT © Björn Rudberg

The cello sat silently in the corner, polished and ready to play.  Twinkling lights dripped from the ceiling around the podium.

Edward hurried in, brushing the snow from his heavy navy cashmere coat.  He glanced around furtively, confirming he was alone and swiftly poured himself a double Jack Daniels from behind the bar, which he necked and repeated three times.  He drew a deep breath and sternly told himself to behave normally.

He wasn’t anxious about the concert.  Pre-performance jitters disappeared the moment he picked up his bow. 

What troubled him was the carnage he had left in his bedroom.

Word Count: 100

Written for Friday Fictioneers – a 100 words story based on a photo prompt. Hosted by Rochelle. Read the other entries here.

 

There is Always One

crook-roof

PHOTO PROMPT © Sandra Crook

There is always one who stands out,

One who insists on being different,

Which would be fine if it were tasteful,

But it never is,

It’s always tacky, brassy, common,

Does changing gender really mean he has to lose all sense of good taste?

He believes he is a woman inside,

He is nothing like a woman on the outside,

He lacks the softness, the fragility, the beauty,

He is a grotesque parody of a woman,

He tries hard to achieve a look that will always evade him,

I try hard to hide my embarrassment.

That one is my dad.

 

Word Count: 100

Written for Friday Fictioneers – a 100 words story based on a photo prompt. Hosted by Rochelle. Read the other entries here.

One Man’s Vintage…

one-mans-vintage

PHOTO PROMPT © Jean L. Hays

Joan twirled into the kitchen where Bob was washing his hands, having carefully arranged the old metal cart with various other artefacts on the forecourt.

“What do you think of my new dress?” she asked coyly.

“Pretty, but it doesn’t look new,” replied her hopelessly unromantic husband.

“It’s vintage, it cost a mint.  I bought it for the party Saturday night.”

“Still think it looks second-hand,” he mumbled.

An unexpected reflection made Joan glance out of the window; she recoiled in horror.

“What is all that junk on the forecourt?  Get rid of it Bob.”

“That’s not junk, it’s vintage!”

Word Count: 100

Written for Friday Fictioneers – a 100 words story based on a photo prompt. Hosted by Rochelle. Read the other entries here.