Friday Fictioneers: Egg Game

PHOTO PROMPT © Dale Rogerson

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The Egg Game

Which came first? As a young child, Doug had this talent for obsessing over such questions. Once, he spent an entire month pestering his parents about spiders and insects and why we need them

His latest obsession was the question: which came first the chicken or the egg.

Finally, his mother announced that they were going to play a game called the egg game, wherein he would climb into this cardboard “egg” for “scientific purposes.”

Finally, some peace and quiet. And now, Doug knew the truth. Obviously, the chicken came first because moms always come first.

Friday Fictioneers: The Bridge Builder

PHOTO PROMPT © C.E. Ayr

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They said there was no way you would ever get along. Too different. Too much war and fighting. Maybe they were right.

As I write these words, I plan to give you each fragments, half to one and half the other. I don’t know who poisoned me or why. It does not matter. I forgive you. I forgive them.

I forgive. And so must you. They call me dreamer, deluded, but if you ever read these words, if you ever assemble these two halves into their single whole, then call me something else. Call me the bridge builder.

Friday Fictioneers: Support

PHOTO PROMPT © Sandra Crook

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“I will stand by you no matter what.”

He first said those words years ago, never imagining that they could become so literal, while he leans on his wife for support.

Waves crash and recede in bubbling whispers around their bare feet, well, three feet, one plaster cast with a heel.

“Next time you say ‘don’t walk there, it’s icy,’ I promise I’ll listen.”

“You shouldn’t make promises you don’t intend to keep.”

“Never. Not once.” Then, he laughs.

“What?”

“I love you. That’s all.”

“Yes. That is funny. I love you too.”

“Hilarious.” They stumble on, together.

WPS: The Leaf

cbk

This is my first time doing this, so I hope it works. This picture is taken from a Google Maps street view of Edinburgh, as part of What Pegman Saw.

To enjoy stories inspired by the What Pegman Saw prompt or to submit your own 150-word story, visit the inLinkz button:

The Leaf

Red-veined, golden, the leaf makes its way from past to present, catching a ride on a river on its way from rain to ocean. Once upon a time, they say a tree grew from seed to sapling. Knights danced with swords and leather. Castles rose. Castles fell. Leaves came and went and came again. Soon the leaf will crumble into dust. Soon.

So a child has heard and so a child believes as she bends down quick as a snake to snatch the leaf from the current, to twirl it in a curious hand.

“What is that?” Child’s mother.

“Nothing.” A lie.

“Put it back.”

A sigh.

“But-”

“Now.”

“Fine.” Another lie, a fake throw. The leaf does not fall again. Instead, it catches a new ride, from a girl’s pocket to leather-bound pages of memory. From there, perhaps, to fight another day.

Friday Fictioneers: Help

shaktiki-2

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When I came to,  I didn’t know where I was. My head throbbed,and the world shuddered in time. Slowly now, up on my elbows. Streetlights. People.

“Drunks on the street in broad daylight.”

“Someone should call the police.”

“I’m not getting involved.”

Your kind round concerned face, dark hair bright eyes.

“You okay man? Looks like you hit your head.”

“M-mugged. I was mugged.”

“Well, crap. Come on. The hospital is this way.”

Years later, I see your face again, on the news.

“Need a lawyer? For you, no charge.”

Friday Fictioneers: Homeland

diner-roger-bultot

PHOTO PROMPT c. Roger Bultot

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Rose crossed the border illegally when she was still a small child, too young to remember. That’s the truth as they’ve told her, so says the immigration official with the kind but firm eyes.

She wants to join the military, to serve her country and, okay, to help herself through college. That’s how the truth came out.

In her heart, she is a patriot. She loves this country, the country of her heart – if not her legal birth.

She waits at the metal table with held breath to find out what will happen next.

FF: Very Donkey Christmas & Inside the Locker

This is my post for this week’s Friday Fictioneers. I actually wrote two stories because somehow I found the wrong prompt (which I can’t find again) before writing the second story. The first story is the one in response to this week’s prompt. The second one is a bonus, I guess. =D Sorry. Having a really long week.

horses-in-snow

A Very Donkey Christmas

Rachel only wanted one thing for Christmas: a brand new MP3 player loaded with all her favorite songs.

For the week leading up to Christmas, she was super nice: she only called her brother names twice. When he dropped a toy, she picked it up for him and only held it out of his reach for two, maybe three, seconds.

She was psyched. She was ready. Early Christmas morning, she crept downstairs and found

A donkey with a card attached to its collar.

Dear Rachel,
This is Wilbur. He was also bad this year.
Haw haw haw, Santa

Story two…

Inside the Locker

I used to believe the metal locker had everything. It was a gift from my father.

My mother finds me there, trying to figure out what to wear. I’m grown up now, almost thirteen.

“Something dark. It doesn’t matter.” She doesn’t get it.

“Something to bring him back. He said I could find anything.”

“Just another lie he told. Apparently. I’m sorry. Just get ready, okay?”

I am not okay. The locker is smaller than me now, but I wonder. If I climbed inside, would they bury me too? Of course not. I grab a dark t-shirt and jeans.