Who Came Up With This?

j-hardy-boxing-gymPHOTO PROMPT © J Hardy Carroll

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Who Came Up With This?

Way back so long ago people hadn’t invented calendars yet, two brothers came up with this great idea: we will fight each other, and people will pay us money to watch us.

Unfortunately, they couldn’t seem to agree on who came up with the idea first.


“No, me!”

Punches were thrown. Hair may or may not have been pulled (depending on who you “believe.”) Their fight attracted so much attention that they called it an exhibition match and sold tickets to the next one for one big gray stone each.

Thus was boxing invented.

This is my weekly submission for Friday Fictioneers, where each week we write 100-word stories in response to the prompt given to us by author and talent manager Rochelle. For more stories or to add your own, click the froggy! (Just don’t punch him too hard – he’s sensitive.)

Author’s Note: No one have ever been able to convincingly explain to me how beating up people (not oops did my hockey stick accidentally hit you – but literally knocking people unconscious on purpose) is an actual sport.  I have theories.

Love You Less



Love You Less

I arrive home early from work to find candles burning, romantic music, rose petals strewn across our hardwood floor.

What? You were never this romantic.

The sounds draw me to our bedroom, to you half-dressed with my best friend.

“Loves me not, I guess.”

You look up from kisses, drowsy with love. “Honey? You’re early. Um. I can explain.”

“Great. Now you can’t be mad at me for hitting your car.”

“What? When?” You start to get up. Now, you’re worried.  You and that car.

“In about thirty seconds.” I wave and go. You were never that smart, either.

This is my weekly story for Friday Fictioneers, where ever week author Rochelle Wisoff-Fields gives us the prompt and we write 100 word stories to match. For more stories and to add your own, click the froggy!




A single light blazes in the distance guiding my way, the only thing visible through the haze. The past haunts each step: explosions, screams, decisions, truths too harsh to remember or forget.

Twenty feet away now, feet crunching through snow, hair frosted by harsh winds. A door swings open to reveal a shadowed face.

They will call us heroes, saviors of our world.

But what about our life together? Can you accept the person I’ve become? Can the person I’ve become accept you? I have to know, once for all.

“Honey, I’m home.”

This is my weekly post for Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle, our ever-present light in the dark. For more stories, click the link.

The Love Boats


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The Love Boats

When we first met, it was love at first sight. You were well-built and strong, sturdy steel sides carving a path through water. My gleaming white surfaces glistened in the sun as I glided past.

We said we’d go slow. No promises. No regrets.

But then, something happened, something neither of us expected. And now, there’s a jet ski in my hull. I think it’s yours.

I wait for your response, fingers clasped on my radio.

Static. Held breath. Then, “You are so weird. Call me later, and I’ll pick it up when I’m in port.”


This is my weekly submission for Friday Fictioneers. Our captain for this voyage is the ever-vigilant Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. For more stories or to add your own, click the froggy!



PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

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“You need help.”

And I walked away wondering what is wrong with…me?

You did help me. You’ve taught me so much.

Like saying “you need help” without offering to help is actually an insult. Also, sometimes “really good people” are perfectly okay with shattering you, leaving you to pick up the-

Anyway. Now I know. There are people out there willing to take credit for doing nothing. That’s what they do, how they apparently thrive.

But I’m not magic. I can’t turn shards of glass into a mirror.

This is my weekly story for Friday Fictioneers. This year the picture is from Rochelle, our fearless leader, writer, and a good photographer too. For more stories, click the blue Froggy!

Hollowed Out


PHOTO PROMPT © Sandra Crook

Hollowed Out

When I woke the first time, I lay on a cold stone slab, incense and smoke thick in the air. Robed figures stood in a circle chanting.

Then, nothingness.

Then, a room with sun-colored walls, a single person in a robe, her hood thrown back to reveal pale green eyes, fiery red hair.

“I don’t even believe in….” I look down at my hands, wrinkled and old. I’m 29. Was 29.

“You’re going to be okay. The exorcism was successful.”

But that’s not true, is it? I don’t know if I will ever be okay again.


This is my entry for Friday Fictioneers, hosted brilliantly as ever by our fearless leader Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. For more fun stories, click the blue frog!

They Came  From the Trees

PHOTO PROMPT © J Hardy Carroll

They Came From the Trees!

When the alien invasion happened,  it took a long time. Really long. Thousands of years long. By the time human beings noticed something strange, it took several more years for scientists to figure out that the sentient clouds weren’t just pollen or some new bio weapon. They were aliens, and they came in peace.

That’s okay though. In humanity’s defense, it took the aliens thousands of years to figure that trees weren’t actually sentient. They should have been talking to those hairless mammals the whole time.

Everyone makes mistakes.


When I first saw this image on my phone screen, I thought it was some kind of weird alien tree. By the time I figured out it was an amusement park ride, it was too late. This story idea was born. Everyone makes mistakes, including me, I guess. Not sure if anyone else will find this story as funny as it is in my head. You never know with these things.

For more fun stories don’t forget to click the frog!