#FridayFictioneers – It’s All In The Bread


PHOTO PROMPT © Jean L. Hays

“Best sandwiches this side of the state. No, the country. Maybe the world.”

“Really?”

“Yep. It’s the bread… That’s right, the bread. Fresh baked every morning, it makes the sandwich.”

“Bread does not make a sandwich.”

“No. And yes. Anybody can stuff fillers between two pieces of bread. Everyone has the same fillers off the same truck. The bread is the difference. People show up for the bread.”

“You are passionate about this bread.”

“Just wait, and you’ll see. Here it is now.”

“Place looks closed.”

“No way! What happened?!”

“Don’t know. Maybe they quit making dough.”

WC: 97


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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 – Fences

PHOTO PROMPT © Russell Gayer

“Wait.”  Randell held up a hand.  “Climb…that?”

“Yeah,” I replied.  “It’ll be fun.  Look at it.”

“I see.  I see a fence and No Trespassing signs just back there.”

I shrugged.  “No signs here.”

“That’s not how that works,” Randell said.

“Oh well, I’m a free spirit.  Ever heard that song, Signs?  ‘Put up a fence to keep me out, or to keep all the nature in,'” I sang.

“Yeah, I know it.”

“Besides, who’s gonna know?  You gonna tell?”

We slipped the fence just before three large, rifle toting patches of grass rose up.

“That’s far enough boys.”

WC:  100


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#FridayFictioneers – The Goat

PHOTO PROMPT © Randy Mazie

Lightning streaked the sky.

Randy woke as the thunder crashed to find himself strapped to the cold concrete of the mausoleum.  He wished he could rub his aching back.  Or just stretch, but rough rope cut into both wrist and ankle.  A scream squeaked past strained vocal chords and trembling lips.

The gathered didn’t notice his struggles, their glazed eyes stared into the distance from within deep hoods.

Eyes he knew.  These people bought his goats.

A smiling, dagger toting man approached the mausoleum.

“Wait!  I’ll give you a goat.  A freebie.”

“Goat?”  He smiled.  “Tonight, you are the goat.”

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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