Wednesday again and time for ‘Friday Fictioneers’. A 100 words of fiction based on the weekly changing photo prompt. Jump in and have a go, but beware you’ll soon be addicted.
She rubbed the ticket between her fingers. The ink had faded, but the date, time and destination still lingered on her skin, like a tattoo seared beneath the surface. A tapered link to what could have been. What should have been.
Every year, she asked herself, “Why”?
Why she’d hid behind the clock tower.
Why she’d let him board the bus.
Why she’d watched it pull away.
Time hadn’t brought her any answers.
As her husband and daughters rounded the corner, it wasn’t so much regret, but acceptance, that put the ticket back into her pocket.
Passion fades. What’s so wrong with ordinary?
Time again for ‘Friday Fictioneers’. A 100 words of fiction (or there abouts) based on the weekly photo prompt provided. This weeks inspiration offered by our ever fabulous host, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.
In the darkened hotel room, clammy fingers teased a gap in the curtains.
They’d found him.
He couldn’t breathe. His chest tightened.
For the last four nights; 7.40pm on the dot, same car, same routine.
Enter car park… One circuit… Stop… No one gets in… No one gets out…
It must be them!
The loot, still in the holdall, like a beacon. His eyes back and forth between the car and the bag.
He dropped to the floor, stone dead!
Mumbling, Sally threw the Sat Nav onto the back seat. Four nights this week she’d ended up in this car park instead of the new offices.
“I thought these things were supposed to be DEADLY accurate”!
It’s the first Wednesday of the week, so time again for Friday Fictioneers. The hottest joint this side of the equator, pull up a chair, grab a drink and join in the party. A 100 words of fiction around a weekly changing photo. Enjoy..
Photo Copyright : Ted Strutz
It was the memory that gave off the smell. So much fear, it clung to her; to her hair, to her skin. With every breath, she could still taste the shame.
“Go on, it’s only a swing” they’d said,
“We’ll sit next to you” they’d said,
She’d seen them at the rail, pointing, laughing. The lonely girl who thought she’d finally been accepted, soaring alone, 60 feet above.
She’d peed her pants!
20 years later, laughing seagulls circled above. A single tear pooled.
Chiding herself, she got back into the car.
After all, seagulls don’t laugh and big girls don’t cry…