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.
Continue reading “#FridayFictioneers – Getaway Train”
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.
Continue reading “#FridayFictioneers – Tin Man Fan?”
PHOTO PROMPT © Ronda Del Boccio
Rob lifted his head above the top step and looked through the planters at his old life before laying back again in a spreading pool of blood.
Jen screamed nonstop curses from the window above as he lay there, his life leaking onto the brick. She threw his phone. Plastic and glass shattered inches from his head, peppering his face.
So much for calling 9-1-1, he thought closing his eyes. It would be over soon. Will that be so bad.
Curses fell from above like rain along with drawers full of his clothes.
I’m ready go anyway, he thought. So ready.
Continue reading “#FridayFictioneers – Ready To Go”
PHOTO PROMPT © Roger Bultot
Jude read the inscription, “Hall of Warriors,” and stumbled through the double doors.
Cool air enveloped him, evaporating sweat from sunburned skin. Exposed skin turned to goose-flesh as he slumped against a wall and slid to the floor.
A giant warrior from an age long past dominated the room, glaring down on the small, soft, people who filled the room.
“Come on, come on!” Sammy tugged at Jude’s arm.
“In a minute son. You’ll see them all. I promise. Help me up.”
“What now?” Sammy asked as they edged along the wall.
“The concession stand. I need something to drink.”
Continue reading “#FridayFictioneers – Hall of Warriors”
PHOTO PROMPT © Dale Rogerson
Mr. Jowers sucked in a sharp breath as Jenny’s eyes lit up. Just his luck that she “loved” the most expensive place.
“It’s perfect Daddy!” She exclaimed pointing. “Band there, cake there, …and this dance floor!” She twirled with all the grace of the ballerina she was.
“Yes, it’s nice. But the last place was nice too.”
“That place,” Jenny said crinkling her nose, “was horrendous.”
“B-but the columns.”
“Oh, Daddy, columns are so two years ago.”
With visions of the perfect wedding in her head, she left Mr. Jowers and a smiling hotel manager.
Daddy reached for his checkbook.
#FridayFictioneers is a weekly blog link up hosted by Rochelle over at
RochelleWisoff.com. You should check out her sight and perhaps try your hand at writing a 100 word story.
PHOTO PROMP T © Victor and Sarah Potter
“What a nice web you have,” the fly said to the spider.
“Well thank you,” replied spider, innocently. “Won’t you come over and rest a bit.”
The fly thought a bit. The web was nice, gleaming in the light, and her wings were getting tired. Though her mother had warned her against spiders, this one seemed so nice.
“I don’t know,” she said. “I should be flying on home.”
“But it’s such a long flight. A rest would do you good, besides I could use the company. It gets so lonely up here. Please.”
“Okay, but I can’t stay long.”
Continue reading “#FridayFictioneers – Web of Lies”
It’s funny, the things noticed at the end of the world.
The sand on the floor beneath your jeans, pictures of people you never met adorning the house you’re holed up in, and reflections in a well oiled double barrel.
The last working light on the street flickered to life as the day failed. Darla checked her bag again for shells and peered through the crack in the curtains.
They would come soon, but the light would hold them off.
Low gutteral growls signaled the beginning. Darla stilled her racing heart, and peered through the window.
The light winked out.