They Were Wrong

PHOTO PROMPT © J Hardy Carroll

They said it wouldn’t last, that we were on the rebound. We both knew they were wrong.

On our first date you ignited a spark in my damaged and hardened heart.  In return, you said my child-like enthusiasm for life rejuvenated yours.

We’ve had our obstacles, but overcame them together, flames still dancing between us.

Fifty years on, I look at your crumpled face, my heart fills with warmth.  The soft glow from within pumps out to you, willing you to recover.  Instinctively, I know you won’t.

Your time is near.

I wish it wasn’t so.

My sorrow is unspeakable.

Word Count: 100

 

Written for Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle. Read the other entries here.

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The White Horses of My Mind

rogers-sunset

PHOTO PROMPT © Roger Bultot

I welcome the cool fresh air softly cosseting my skin.  The gentle eddies in the water mirror the ripples of my life.  That’s all they are now: ripples.  The white horses of the past have been slayed, more accurately, the white horse has been slayed.  Events will challenge me in the weeks to come, of that I am sure, but the possibilities ahead do not alarm me.  The chaos that previously resided in my mind has gone, replaced by a calm serenity.  I inhale deeply, regard the colourful reflections in the water, then toss the knife into the ripples below.

Word Count: 100

Written for Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle. Read the other entries here.

We Have A Hostage Situation

myna-bird

PHOTO POMPT © Douglas M. MacIlroy

“You’d better do what they say or I’m gonna cop it!  They ain’t messing around here.  So far I’m being fed, but if you don’t meet their demands, I’m gonna meet my maker!” squawked Tarquin.

The fist clutching the valuable bird swept away from the camera.  A masked face filled the screen.

“You wanna see the bird again, you wire ten million bucks to this account by the end of today.”  He held up a board with the offshore account details. The screen went black.

“It’s a hoax,” said Edward.

“It’s my baby,” wailed Elizabeth.

“Wire the funds,” ordered Edward.

 

Word Count: 100

Written for Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle. Read the other entries here.

 

Don’t Be Too Hasty

 

Firstly, apologies for my recent absence.  There are a few reasons for this, but I was determined to write 100 words this week!

red-apple-rest-jhc

PHOTO PROMPT © J Hardy Carroll

It looked drab now, but in it’s heyday it had been magnificent, a thriving business and nucleus of action.  Dad invested his inheritance to employ thirty people to produce LPs.  A young man then, he’d been enthusiastic.  The equipment was costly, but business had prospered until the advent of iPods and Smartphones.

“Not much call for gramophone records now,” he’d said sadly as he locked the door for the final time.  Shortly afterwards he’d thrown himself off Beachy Head, unable to cope with the humiliation of bankruptcy.   If only he’d delayed, he’d have seen the revival of music on vinyl.

Word Count: 100

Written for Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle. Read the other entries here.

 

Duplicity

ceayr

PHOTO PROMPT© CEAyr

There are so many holes in her story.  There always are.  I look into her eyes, sparkling with excitement and know she is lying.  She looks away fidgeting uneasily.

The cracks in her explanation are bigger than usual, gaping in fact.  I love her dearly, but wonder why I stay.  Bizarrely, I know she loves me too.  Sadness washes over me like surf rolling onto the beach.  Why does she need to do it?  Why am I not enough?

I know she wasn’t with Sophie all evening.  I know this with absolute conviction, because Sophie was in bed with me.

Word Count: 100

Written for Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle. Read the other entries here.

The Long, Hot Walk

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PHOTO PROMPT © Kent Bonham

Rachel had been walking for hours, energy sapped by the heat.  As she rounded the bend, she saw a battered VW under a tree.  If it weren’t there, I’d be able to rest in the shade.  She traipsed on exhausted, wondering idly about the lack of occupants in the car.  Silence, save for a slight rustling of leaves.  Suddenly, the car doors opened.  Rachel stopped, startled.  Black, eyes stared coldly at her.  They were quick, no time to react.  A cloth covered her face; strong hands lifted her and thrust her roughly into the car.

Word Count: 100

Written for Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle. Read the other entries here.

Betrayal, Anger, Determination

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PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Andreas sat outside in the sunshine, head in hands, frappe melting in the heat.  He ran over it in his mind several times, but instead of providing answers, his anger intensified.  How could they?  He clenched his fists and kicked a table leg, causing his drink to spill.  Scowling, he got up and marched resolutely to the police station.  With lips pursed and a vein pulsating in his neck he reported his fiancé and business partner cleaning out his business account.  If they wanted to be together fine, but they weren’t going to get away with taking his livelihood too.

Word Count: 100

Written for Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle. Read the other entries here.

Ferry Frightening

ted-struts-in-the-rain

PHOTO PROMPT © Ted Strutz

Suddenly the ferry lurched.  Passengers fell from seats; drinks flew through the air slopping their contents.  The boat levelled, everyone resumed positions amid nervous chatter.  The journey continued, equilibrium seemingly recovered, but a sharp tilt to starboard sent people reeling again.  Screams, panic, confusion!  Anxiety crawled up inside like an intrusion of cockroaches.  Seeing water flooding into the bar, her fear intensified.  The ugliest side of humanity exposed itself.  Drunken men shoved children aside to reach lifeboats.  She dragged heavy legs in rising water.  Another sway, a surge of seawater.  Her head was submerged, leg trapped, fighting to break free.

Word Count: 100

Written for Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle. Read the other entries here.

Trapped

dale-rogerson4

PHOTO PROMPT © Dale Rogerson

Paul glanced over his shoulder, following the path of the older man into the hotel.  He waited, listening to the crickets and feeling the evening warmth on his face.

Abruptly, he gulped down his iced water, stood, walked purposefully into the building and took the lift to the third floor.  He tapped a pattern on door 370.

The look of surprise on the man’s face turned to horror as Paul thrust the gun in his chest and flashed his badge.  There was nowhere to run, no way to escape or hide the evidence.

Paul watched him wilt with cold dispassion.

Word Count: 100

Written for Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle. Read the other entries here.

 

The Disc, The Witch and The Desk

sp-overgrown-summer-house

PHOTO PROMPT © Sarah Potter

A wet summer’s day, Phoebe was bored.  In the conservatory, a shiny disc on the floor attracted her.  She wriggled into the gap between the two sets of drawers to retrieve it.  A startled spider retreated rapidly.  Her fingertips scrabbled at the disc.  As she started to pull it towards her, a cold, warty hand clamped hers.  She tried to scream, but no sound came out.  Phoebe struggled to break free.  A dragging sensation pulled her towards complete blackness.

“At last, a child.  Now with the amulet and the girl, I can complete the spell.”  Phoebe gulped, fighting back tears.

Word Count: 100

Written for Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle. Read the other entries here.

 

The Floor is Lava

charred-toys

PHOTO PROMPT © Karuna

“The Floor is Lava.” Abigail’s dad said.

Abi grabbed her toys and clambered onto her bed, struggling with the height of it and the bulk of her beloved teddies in her arms, but giggling with determination.

A repetitive high-pitched beep made Abi cover her ears.

Dad rushed downstairs to investigate.

He called urgently to Abi to come down, but she shouted back “I can’t the floor is lava!”

He climbed the stairs three at a time and grabbed Abi.  She screamed for her toys, dropped in the urgency.

Abi made it.  The toys burned.

She never played that game again.

Word Count: 100

Written for Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle. Read the other entries here.

Why?

j-hardy-rubble

PHOTO PROMPT © J Hardy Carroll

A dust-covered beetle scuttled across the floor.  Cold air blew in from the broken window and a fallen timber creaked as it strained under the weight of the debris on top.

Outside bulldozers approached, music blaring, wheels bouncing over bumpy ground and men shouting instructions.

Mary watched, smearing a tear across her cheek.

It should have been a happy evening.  It had been… until, abruptly, it wasn’t.

She remembered her daughter’s excited face when she had given her the tickets, her anticipation at the unexpected treat, her enthusiastic chatter with her friend.

Her beautiful, innocent daughter gone forever, for what?

Word Count: 100

Written for Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle. Read the other entries here.

Monday Morning Blues

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PHOTO PROMPT © Roger Bultot

“Double espresso, please,” Anna exhaled heavily.

She’d arrived at work earlier and parked her car.  As she got out, something caught her eye on the river next to the office, or more accurately, in the foliage covering the bridge.  She’d gone to investigate and called to the man climbing up the shrubbery.

“What are you doing?  Are you stuck?”  He didn’t answer.  She frowned, annoyed.

His arms hung by his side, belly exposed where his T-Shirt had ridden up.

It took a minute for her to realise he wasn’t climbing.  He wasn’t going to be doing anything anymore… ever.

Word Count: 99

Written for Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle. Read the other entries here.

The Sadist

auto-aftermath

PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Broken, abused, defeated!

That’s how I felt when we split.  He wasn’t content with being unfaithful like most husbands.  That wasn’t enough; he tried to destroy me.  He almost succeeded.

We shouldn’t have married.  I never loved him and he obviously reciprocated that absence of emotion.  I’d ricocheted from a failed relationship into his merciless life. How I wish I’d listened to those who dispensed warnings.  Instead I suffered years of cruelty bestowed by him.

How different my life could have been.

Thankfully, broken things can repair and my strength has returned.  I’m contented now.

Happiness is a gratifying revenge.

Word Count: 100

Written for Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle. Read the other entries here.

The Gendarme’s Lot Is Not A Happy One

sandra-crook-1

PHOTO PROMPT © Sandra Crook

Hugo dragged on his Gauloise.  He’d left the hotel room swiftly and was looking at the beautiful facade.

How could such a monstrous act have been committed in such a picturesque building?

Years working for the police had hardened him to acts of depravity, but what he’d witnessed sickened him.

The activities in that room had been evil; blood saturated the sheets and the girl’s hair was a dishevelled, congealed mess.

How could anyone view children as sexual beings?

He threw the dog-end into the gutter and strode back inside.

For the first time ever Hugo considered not following procedure.

Word Count: 100

Written for Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle. Read the other entries here.