#FridayFictioneers – Rose’s Doll

PHOTO PROMPT © Jean L. Hays

Rose pressed in the last bit of stuffing, stitched the final seam, and began to focus on the details.

Cute buttons for eyes, black thread stitched just right for mouth and nose, and most important, the hair.  Long, luxurious curls of black that tumbled from head to waste completed the work.

Everything was just right.  Perfect.

She lay the doll atop a pillow and turned her full attention to the pin cushion.  She selected a long silver prick with delicate fingers, and pressed it through the doll’s chest and into the pillow below.

Somewhere, miles away, a young woman screamed.

WC: 100

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#FridayFictioneers – The Game

PHOTO PROMPT © Priya Bajpal

Rosie wrung her hands and began reaching before forcing a stop.  She leaned back with a hint of a smile.  Her cheeks bloomed red.

The game was simple.  Everyone writes their wildest fantasies, pops ’em into the jar, and shakes ’em up.  Then the “fun” starts.  The fun was figuring out who matched what fantasy, one at a time, until they were all found out.

Rosie glanced at Ken.  He smiled wide in return, a knowing twinkle in his eye.

This somehow calmed her.

“Everyone ready?” Barb asked before emptying her wine.  “Time to play.”

Rosie’s heart skipped a beat.

WC:  100


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#FridayFictioneers – Retirement

Copyright –Douglas M. MacIlroy

So this is retirement, Frank thought., his tools scattered before him.

He had dreamed of retirement for years and all the things that he would no longer have to do once that time came.  Banish early mornings and the workday for starters.  Retirement meant relaxing, or so he thought.  But here he was, up since the crack of dawn, working on this… thing.  And when this is done, there’ll be another thing waiting.

Who knew honey-do lists grew at the speed of light?

“I’ll never catch up,” he grumbled.  “I’ll have to go back to work to rest from retirement.”


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#FridayFictioneers – Getaway Train

 

PHOTO PROMPT © Dawn M. Miller

“Tickets,” the attendant called from down the aisle.  The train began to sway as it picked up speed.

Kev held his tickets in easy reach and tried not to look at the scrolling landscape.  Train travel.  He hated it, and everyone that knew him knew that.  He had been sure to drop it casually into conversations over the last few months as the investigation ramped up.

The attendant took and tore Kev’s ticket.  “Thank you,” he said handing back the stub.

“No,” Kev smiled.  “Thank you.”  He relaxed.  It would be days, maybe weeks before they even suspected the train.

WC:  100

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#FridayFictioneers – Tin Man Fan?

PHOTO PROMPT © Nick Allen

“This one was used by Henry Ford in 1908 as they tweaked the Model T’s production line,” Nick said.  This one a few years later, on the Model TT, Ford’s first truck model.”

“Really,” Sarey said trying to look interested as he talked.  He was a good looking guy, and rich to boot.  But what kind of guy collected oil cans?  Car guys, okay, but oil cans?

“I’m sorry.  I’m boring you.  You wanna just go get something to eat?”

“Sure, but why oil cans?”

Nick shrugged and glanced over the mantle.

Sarey cringed at the Tin Man mural painted there.

WC:  100

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#FridayFictioneers – Thanksgiving 2018

PHOTO PROMPT © Dale Rogerson

Jeremiah took the package and walked a little distance to the river’s edge, hopped from rock to rock and settled down where the rushing water could rumble around him.

Warm sun forced the long tan coat he wore off, so he folded it neatly and laid it beside him, clear of the water insuring it would be dry for the night’s cold.  It was a good coat, showing a few holes from years of wear, but it would be good for years yet.

Settled, he looked to the sky, mumbled a few words of thanks, and unwrapped the turkey sandwich.


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#FridayFictioneers – Voices

PHOTO PROMPT © J.S. Brand

Stacy looked out back and started.  Marv crouched there in underpants, chisel in hand, carefully working the huge chunk of wood, making… something?

“Marv?  Marv, what are you carving?” Stacy called from the now open rear door. “Come in Marv, you’ll catch cold.”

Marv kept working, ignoring the cold as he ignored his wife.  He had no answer.  The voices hadn’t said what it was.

“Get in here before the neighbors see!”

“Finish!” the voices screamed.  “Finish!”

Marv worked frantically, obeying the voices.  Stacy’s cries blew away like wind, drowned by the voices.  Only the voices mattered.

“Finish, finish, finish.”

WC:  100


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