Campfire Fun: Friday Fictioneers

bonfire-anshu

PHOTO PROMPT © Anshu Bhojnagarwala

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“That’s not even scary,” Nicky said, leaning back away from the crackling campfire. Tall and thin, he wore his lanky hair in a bun.

“There’s no such thing as werewolves,” Amanda agreed. Comfy in t-shirt and jeans, she had decent meat on her bones..

From their places across the campfire, Rebekah cast her mate Lyon a knowing glance.

“Just in case, we should stick close to the fire,” he said, implying the group would be safer there.

Rebekah knew the truth, though. Soon, the full moon would rise, and Lyon preferred his meals preheated.

….

This is my submission for Friday Fictioneers, where every week intrepid adventurers set out to create 100-word flash fiction. Some of it perhaps not so fictional after all….

Love You Less

mg-rose-stem

 

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!

Home

dale-rogerson-snow-photo

Home

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

PHOTO PROMPT © JS Brand

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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!

Hollowed Out

derelict-building-sandra-crook

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!

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.