A Life at Sea

PHOTO CREDIT - G.L. MacMillan

PHOTO CREDIT – G.L. MacMillan

Since he was a child, Damon spent his summers at the cottage wading along the surf, collecting bottles washed up on shore. He wrote elaborate chronicles of their journey, instilled in them a history to dignify their existence as cast-offs. 

“I kept every story,” Myriam said, weeping.

“They became increasingly sullen over the years,” whispered Harold.

The opening lines from their son’s final story, published posthumously after his death by suicide:

A boy, cast away at sea like an empty bottle, drifted for years in search of land. He became a man among the lonely depths; the darkness having claimed his life before his weathered body was found.

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This has been an installment of the Friday Fictioneers Challenge. If you would like to give the challenge a try, start at Rochelle’s Purple Blog and join the fun.

Here’s the concept: A weekly picture is posted, and the writer is challenged to produce one-hundred (more or less) words of some sort of fiction with a complete plot (beginning, middle and end).

The Anniversary

FF Image - Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

PHOTO CREDIT: Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

“Mister Sam!” yelped Rosalyn, rushing through the door.

“Rosie?” groaned Seamus, prone on the floor.

“You crash into the tree in your yard!”

“Did I?”

The clacking of designer high heels stopped beside him.

“Hey Bukowski, we had a date,” huffed Shelagh.

“The chandelier is extraordinary. I hadn’t noticed until just now,” Seamus remarked.

“Rosie, hose him down and torch the place,” Shelagh said, lighting a cigarette, stepping over Seamus.

It had been a year since Charlotte’s death from cancer. Shelagh hoped a housecleaning and brunch at the country club might lift her widower son’s spirits, but it seemed hopeless in the circumstances.

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This has been an installment of the Friday Fictioneers Challenge. If you would like to give the challenge a try, start at Rochelle’s Purple Blog and join the fun.

Here’s the concept: A weekly picture is posted, and the writer is challenged to produce one-hundred (more or less) words of some sort of fiction with a complete plot (beginning, middle and end).

Vanished Flowers, Faded Stars

PHOTO CREDIT - Raina Ng

PHOTO CREDIT – Raina Ng

“The peonies in the yard; they’re sublime,” she said. So we set our roots there on a whim. Our family blossomed, nourished by a mixture of love and hope.

The kids launched themselves down the balustrade and imagined space-walks to the kitchen; in the simple light fixtures astronauts loitered among ‘the brilliant stars.’

Time and complacency starved the delight that sustained our home. I agonize over how luminous cosmic lights simply fade; how a marriage flounders in the undergrowth of enmity.

“When did the peonies vanish?” I said.

“I don’t know.”

She closed the door as I left our house for the last time.

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This has been an installment of the Friday Fictioneers Challenge. If you would like to give the challenge a try, start at Rochelle’s Purple Blog and join the fun.

Here’s the concept: A weekly picture is posted, and the writer is challenged to produce one-hundred (more or less) words of some sort of fiction with a complete plot (beginning, middle and end).

Have fun and happy writing!

THE ADVENTURES OF THOMAS AND LINGUINE: EMPEROR CONCERTO AND THE CATS CURSE

PHOTO CREDIT - C. Hase

PHOTO CREDIT – C. Hase

(A continuation of last week’s Friday Fictioneers entry: The Adventures of Thomas and Linguine: The Battle Against the Forces of Negativity)

“Do you smell that?” Linguine winced.

Thomas took a sniff. “Festering onions, liver, and black tea,” he concluded.

“Old Curmudgeon has unleashed her Hectoring Halitosis in these parts.”

Wilted flowers and dazed hummingbirds stunned by wafts of smelly, incessant criticism, lined the shore.

“Why?” asked Thomas.

“She conspires with Andrew Lloyd Webber to rob your dreams of goodness and replace it with horrendous ‘Memories.’ We sail to Cheeseville at once!”

“Every sappy line of Cats drives me insane! I’ll turn into a Vegetable,” cried Thomas.

“Beauty and truth always win,” said Emperor Concerto, who would know.

The trio sailed off on a high note.

*****

Beethoven: Piano Concerto No.5 In E Flat Major Op.73 -“Emperor” – Krystian Zimerman on piano with Leonard Bernstein conducting the Wiener Philharmoniker

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This has been an installment of the Friday Fictioneers Challenge. If you would like to give the challenge a try, start at Rochelle’s Purple Blog and join the fun.

Here’s the concept: A weekly picture is posted, and the writer is challenged to produce one-hundred (more or less) words of some sort of fiction with a complete plot (beginning, middle and end).

Have fun and happy writing!

THE ADVENTURES OF THOMAS AND LINGUINE: THE BATTLE AGAINST THE FORCES OF NEGATIVITY

PHOTO CREDIT - Douglas M. MacIlroy

PHOTO CREDIT – Douglas M. MacIlroy

“Good night,” said Thomas’s mother, as he fell asleep.

“It’s about time! General Anxiety advances along the River of Doubt!” exclaimed Linguine, the wrought-iron lizard.

Songbirds and butterflies fled the darkening woods. Linguine and Thomas readied their Falstaffs; a foolish choice of weapon, except against Harrowing Figments of Imagination.

“Thomas, why is there egg on your face?”

“Why are you turning green?”

A floret-shaped projectile whizzed past Linguine’s snout. “It’s the Forces of Negativity, pelting us with broccoli and rotten eggs!” he cried.

“What gall! Charge!”

With a swing of their Falstaffs, bullies, zombies, boredom, and other faceless torments disintegrated into laughter, leaving Thomas’s dreams happy and free.

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This has been an installment of the Friday Fictioneers Challenge. If you would like to give the challenge a try, start at Rochelle’s Purple Blog and join the fun.

Here’s the concept: A weekly picture is posted, and the writer is challenged to produce one-hundred (more or less) words of some sort of fiction with a complete plot (beginning, middle and end).

Have fun and happy writing!

Leaves

PHOTO CREDIT - Santoshwriter

PHOTO CREDIT – Santoshwriter

As we kneeled at the river’s edge, father pointed to the ground, “What is this?”

“A leaf?” I said. He shook his head.

He baffled me for years with koans. At a funeral he gestured at the deceased, whispering “Me, or you?” I had nightmares for days.

Following the war, millions fled the revolutionary zeal gripping the country. “Mao tilts a poison cup into the land, wilting leaves blow far away,” father lamented.

Years later I live in the place my ancestors called Gold Mountain. On a stroll with my grandson I pointed to a thicket and asked, “What is this?”

“A leaf?”

“Ha!”

He was genuinely puzzled.

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This has been an installment of the Friday Fictioneers Challenge. If you would like to give the challenge a try, start at Rochelle’s Purple Blog and join the fun.

Here’s the concept: A weekly picture is posted, and the writer is challenged to produce one-hundred (more or less) words of some sort of fiction with a complete plot (beginning, middle and end).

Have fun and happy writing!

The Git, The Welshman, and the Pilfered Stash

PHOTO CREDIT - Marie Gail Stratford

PHOTO CREDIT – Marie Gail Stratford

“Say again why our hundred thousand quid was in there!” yelled Mickey.

“Been stashing here for years. I was jobbed,” said Nigel.

“Bloody git!”

Yesterday, Nigel stopped at a petrol station for a bottle and a smoke.

“Spare a fag?” Gwyn asked.

“Fuck off,” Nigel barked, butting out his cigarette and trundling into his lorry.

Later, Gwyn spotted Nigel’s lorry at the side of a road near Reading. He noticed a stepladder jutting out the concrete structure in the adjacent field. Nigel lay passed out at the bottom beside a bag of money.

That night, Gwyn burst into a pub in Aberystwyth. “Pints all around!” he yelled.

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This has been an installment of the Friday Fictioneers Challenge. If you would like to give the challenge a try, start at Rochelle’s Purple Blog and join the fun.

Here’s the concept: A weekly picture is posted, and the writer is challenged to produce one-hundred (more or less) words of some sort of fiction with a complete plot (beginning, middle and end).

Have fun and happy writing!