#FridayFictioneers – Islander at Heart

May 14, 2020May 14, 2020 ~ Russell ~ 32 Comments

“What’s that thing?” Janie laughed.

Daryl tipped his floral ISLANDER hat. “This is a mere reminder of where my heart resides,” he said.

“Really? You ever been to an island? Ever even seen the ocean? And where’d you get that thing?”

Her questions hit him like punches. He almost reeled back, but he set his feet and his jaw. “Yes, no, no, and the internet if you must know.”

“Well, if you’ve never been to the islands, how do you know you’re an islander?”

“Come here,” Daryl said. “Look out the window at all the snow. That’s how I know.”

WC: 100

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#FridayFictioneers – Hide ‘n Seek

May 8, 2020May 8, 2020 ~ Russell ~ 29 Comments

Billy loved spending his weekend at Gramps place. He would play with the neighborhood kids out back in the wide open field and surrounding woods.

They played a lot of chase and war, but Billy’s favorite was hide ‘n seek. He was, by his 11 year old reckoning, the king of hide ‘n seek, always finding the best hiding spots.

Like the old refrigerator he came upon just a bit off the path. He laughed as the heavy door closed tight, sealing him in darkness.

They would never find him there.

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#FridayFictioneers – Memories Burn Hot

April 30, 2020April 30, 2020 ~ Russell ~ 35 Comments

Sarah stacked the bills neatly atop the desk before calling her employees.

“Hello. Yes. We’re allowed to open tomorrow. No. I’ll get everything ready. Just come in tomorrow.”

A dozen of the same calls later, she made her way to the dining room

Oh the memories.

She worked through the night. With every place setting perfect except the lack of guest, she made to leave.

All was done, save one final deed. One switch wired just so by the back door. She flipped it on her way out.

Tears streamed down her face as her dreams went up in flames.

WC: 100

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#FridayFictioneers – One Man’s Trash

April 27, 2020April 27, 2020 ~ Russell ~ 18 Comments

Harry hopped down from his perch on the large green rumbling garbage truck before the squealing pads clamped down on the large rotors could force the massive vehicle to a standstill.

“Look at this Donny! Can you believe someone would throw that out?”

“As a matter of fact, I can,” Donny said. “Looks like trash to me.”

“Not to me! This will go perfect over the couch. Once it’s cleaned up that is.”

“You always do this Harry. Just toss the thing. You may be a hoarder, ya know?”

“Naw. Just help me get it in the cab, will ya?”

WC: 100

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#FridayFictioneers – A Keeper

April 2, 2020April 2, 2020 ~ Russell ~ 24 Comments

“Hey Susie, you want to keep this one,” Randy shouted from behind the laptop at the kitchen table.

Susie muted the tv, shushing the talking head and gave an exasperated shout back, “which one is that?”

This had been going on all morning and she had had enough. It wasn’t fair that she was tortured just because Randy was out of work and bored.

“The one of that bird that flew into your office and crapped all over everything while you tried to get its picture. Remember?”

“Yes,” she sighed. “Gotta keep that one. It cost too much to trash.”

WC: 100

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#FridayFictioneers – To Sleep

March 27, 2020March 27, 2020 ~ Russell ~ 23 Comments

George sipped his coffee while reading the latest draft not realizing it had gone tepid. He winced. Probably for the best. That cup marked the last of pot number two, and his nerves were standing on end. Sleep would never come. Tomorrow would be misery.

Pushing the cup away, he reached instead for a glass. One made for his “other” favorite liquid.

Wine flowed around the smooth curl of the glass. Red essence crashed into itself, crimson waves breaking on an ocean shore.

He sipped and read and felt his jangled nerves untangle. Perhaps sleep would come tonight after all.

WC: 100

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#FridayFictioneers – Back in Time

March 20, 2020March 20, 2020 ~ Russell ~ 23 Comments

Marty swung the door up on the DeLorean and ignoring the looks at the steaming car, stepped out onto a sunny 1955, tree lined street. He waved at a woman and she screamed before running off.

The diner was just across the road. Just as he remembered it. He never thought he’d come back, but there was nowhere to eat in the future. Everything there had shut down.

He remembered great burgers. And fries to die for. Oh, and the malts! His stomach did a happy flip as he hurried across the street.

He never saw Biff round the corner.

WC: 100

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#FridayFictioneers – Virus

March 12, 2020March 14, 2020 ~ Russell ~ 27 Comments

Margie sat stiffly on the bench, her satchel placed beneath it, under a cloudless summer sky. Sparrows splashed in the fountain directly in front of her, but her glazed eyes never saw them.

A gloved man in a fine black suit came around the fountain to join her. He took note of her eyes and bare hands. It took all of his considerable will not to pull away.

“Do you have it?”

“Yes,” Margie replied standing and swaying as she found her feet.

She had disappeared before he carefully took the satchel in his gloved hand and left the park.

WC: 100

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#FridayFictioneers – Fruitarian?

March 6, 2020 ~ Russell ~ 27 Comments

Liam crunched into the apple. Juice ran from the corners of his mouth and stuck in the bit of stubble he called a goatee. “That is so good.” He sat hard on the curb outside the store, held the apple high, and marveled. “I think I’ve found it.”

Emma shouldered her pack. “Congratulations. It’s an apple. You ready? We’ve got miles to go yet.”

“No listen. I read about this fruitarian diet and…” Crunch. “It could be for me.”

“That’s fine. Will’s grilling burgers tonight though.” Emma began walking.

“Hey wait! That’s tonight.”

Emma laughed. “More for us, I guess.”

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#FridayFictioneers – Behind the Curtain

February 27, 2020March 6, 2020 ~ Russell ~ 30 Comments

The papers would all say that it was their greatest performance. One for the ages.

The cast would never forget it.

Devon locked arms with his fellow performers and bowed low. The applause was deafening. Their smiles wide. The curtain fell as they waved enthusiastically to the adoring crowd.

He was found slumped against a wall in his dressing room the next morning. A spent pill bottle on the floor. Vodka bottle clutched in a fist.

A crumpled paper lay beside the stage make-up. He had scrawled one word.

“Sorry.”

The papers reported that he showed no signs of depression.

WC: 100

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