Photo prompt copyright J Hardy Carroll
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.
Continue reading “#FridayFictioneers – Back in Time”
PHOTO PROMPT © Ceayr
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.
Continue reading “#FridayFictioneers – Virus”
PHOTO PROMPT © Roger Bultot
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.” Continue reading “#FridayFictioneers – Fruitarian?”
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.
The papers reported that he showed no signs of depression.
Continue reading “#FridayFictioneers – Behind the Curtain”
“Just pick one already?” Josh said. “The game’s on soon.” They walked back through the gallery yet again.
Cindy shrugged. “I like them both. What do you think?”
“I’ll go with whichever’s cheaper.”
Cindy rolled her eyes before cutting him a look. “Men,” she mumbled as they neared the painting she was leaning toward. A red barn set beneath a blue sky on a field of green. It conjured memories she thought lost to her, causing tears to well in her eyes. “This one.”
Josh flipped the paper slip up to check the price. He thought he may cry also.
Continue reading “#FridayFictioneers – How Much?”
PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields
“How miserable is this weather,” Raul moaned.
“Oh no,” April said. “This is the perfect day to stay in and… I don’t know, write some poems.”
“Poems? No thanks. Never been able to figure them out.”
“That’s because you never really tried.”
Raul slumped down in the couch cushions. “Did too. The words just don’t fit together.”
“You’re overthinking. How’s this:
"The rain today,
Is here to stay,
Time to write,
Since I can"t go play...
“Ugh! Maybe you’re right. That’s no good”
“No, I liked it.” Raul sat up and stared into the rain. “Lemme try… Okay, here goes…”
Continue reading “#FridayFictioneers – A Day for Poems”
The down side didn’t work. I wondered why but kept silent.
There were men with guns. Hard looking men. They didn’t seem the talking type.
Surely there would be someone on the upper level to explain. We were citizens and as such, deserved an explanation.
The escalator carried us up to where we slotted into lines. More hard-eyed, gun carrying men lined the walls.
Haz-mat suited figures scanned those at the head of the lines. They parted the subjects left and right.
A man screamed and ran. A dozen rifles appeared before him. He wept and parted to the left.
Continue reading “#FridayFictioneers – Left and Right”