#FridayFictioneers – That’s My Jam!

PHOTO PROMPT © Ronda Del Boccio

Scott strutted around the kitchen, head swinging to and fro, red curls swaying in time to the music. “Oh yeah, that’s it,” he declared, throwing out something between a Michael Jackson thrust and a Travolta finger pointing thing.

The toaster popped, and he set to slathering the perfectly browned bread with jelly found in the fridge. His backside kept the beat. Finished, he licked the knife clean and popped it back into the jar.

“Hey, that’s my jam!” came a distressed cry from the kitchen doorway.

“Yeah man. Turn it up!”

“No you idiot, that’s my jam.”

“Oh. It’s delicious.”


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#FridayFictioneers – Bad Business

PHOTO PROMPT © Fatima Fakier Deria
PHOTO PROMPT © Fatima Fakier Deria

Jack sipped his namesake, then turned up the cheap hotel glassware, draining the contents in a gulp before resting the glass atop his tupperware.

He chuckled at the little stack of plastic bowls. He had meal prepped for this trip with all the good intentions of a habitual dieter. Then the business went bad, and the diet with it. The healthy habits landed in the trash can, while he landed in all the local dives eating slop and drinking worse.

He poured another drink as he packed. There’s always next week, he thought. I’ll do better then.

WC: 97


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#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 - Huff & Puff

PHOTO PROMPT © Jan Wayne Fields

“Wow, he really meant it,” Stinky squealed.

“Sure did. Got inside just in time too,” Pinkey said peeking out the window. “Hate to think what would have happened…” She shook her head.

Gray stepped out amid the destruction unafraid, spotting the wolf laid by the street recovering from all the huffing and puffing. “Yep, you’d think they’d learn after all these years. This old brick held up for my Great Grandhog, and it’s still strong as anything.” He patted an appreciative hoof on the brick and squealed laughter.

“One day little piggies,” croaked the wolf. “I’ll get you one day.”

WC: 100


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#FridayFictioneers – Chasing Smoke

PHOTO PROMPT © Randy Mazie

Thin wisps of smoke climb from the trembling tip of Henry’s cigarette, up and up through fading shafts of evening light. He watches them go and dreams of joining them, lazily curling up, wafting away, free on the constant breeze that flows through the old building, making it the perfect place to fix.

Henry watched it go, visualized his own journey, drifting free among the clouds and picked up his belt. His hand steadied the moment he bit down on leather, the vein stood out, and he plucked up the needle. It was time to make his dreams come true.

WC: 100


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#FridayFictioneers – Run to the Light


PHOTO PROMPT © Ronda Del Boccio

David ran.

Faster than ever, he ran. A thousand thousand scratches oozed blood, leaving his trail on the leaves.

The thumping rhythm of huge paws sounded from the deep wood. The beast followed fast an effortless track. It flew, thorns and limbs sliding harmless off its thick ebony coat. Drool overflowed the maw, leaving streamers behind.

David’s adrenaline spiked at the sound, and he pushed harder still, moving at inhuman speed.

The light looms ahead. One final stretch to the wall. They wait there, faces hopeful, before their eyes focus behind the runner and fill with terror.

David ran.

wc: 99

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#FridayFictioneers – No Fingers, No Play

PHOTO PROMPT © Anshu Bhojnagarwala

Old Elroy had two passions in life.  Music and woodwork.  Oh, how he could tickle those ivories, and build the bench to sit on while doing it.

You know, he could have been famous playing that old piano.  We told him to focus, but he would have none of it, being of two minds as he was.

And so, when the tablesaw took his fingers, the music died as well.

You can still see his piano though.  He couldn’t sell it, even though his playing days were done.  Turned it into a planter, he did.

Darndest thing I’ve ever seen.


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