Beautiful Imperfection

Time again for Friday Fictioneers. A 100 words of fiction (or there abouts) based as close as you like to the photo prompt provided. Imagination is a funny old thing, strange where each new picture takes you, follow the link and join in the exploration.

janet webb

Photo Copyright : Janet Webb

She was hot, nauseous and dead on her feet, her legs almost too weak to stand. She felt sea sick. Like a small skiff cutting through the swell, each new wave hit, pulled her under, filled her lungs till she couldn’t breathe.  She was drowning on dry land.

She’d waited her whole life for that perfect family. Watched her friends have their first, their second and still she waited.

And now she was almost there, doctors had said he wouldn’t be perfect.

She stroked her stomach and felt a smile warm her through. Looking down, odd shaped pebbles and rocks glistened under foot, beautiful imperfection.

The Choice

Time again for Friday Fictioneers. A 100 words of fiction based around the photo prompt provided. This week’s photo is another re-visit, the original prompt was from 2014. Still struggling with time, life and all that jazz I’m re-using my original story with just a sprinkle of editorial changes.

adamickes-boardwalk

Photo Copyright : Adam Ickes

To cross the bridge or not, was the choice really hers? Fading light was closing in and a cool chill settled deep in her bones. She saw shadows hovering above, heard voices whispering in the stillness. A faint brush of lips touched her forehead, another brushed her cheek. Each kiss stealing a moment from a lifetime of memories; each one taking away a smile or a look, a joy or a heartache.

Then heads bowed low in reverence, she took her last breath.

Dancing barefoot across the old wooden bridge, she smiled. The choice was hers and she’d chosen now.

Do You Remember?

Written for Haibun Monday – A Little Romance. Don’t we all have those moments we lock away for a rainy day?

bar

There was no design, or plan. No thought of what might happen. It was just a touch, just an accidental touch.  I reached for a glass, he reached for his, skin touched skin and just then, just for a moment, I knew it wasn’t over.

I can’t remember where we were or even who we were with. I can’t remember the song that was playing or what was in my glass. But I remember the touch.

Too afraid to let go, yet too afraid of what it meant. We didn’t move our hands.

That night we left together.

Over twenty years later I can still feel that touch. I don’t know where you are, or what you’re doing now. But I like to think you feel it too.

 

A moment to feel,

A lifetime to remember,

Some hurts never mend.

 

Cara Brown

I’ve written so little fiction lately, I thought I’d join in the fab Sunday Photo Fiction this morning. 200 words of fiction based around the prompt provided. Follow the link to join in.

cliffs

Cara Brown knew who she was. You could tell by the way that she walked, the way she held her head, looked up at the sky and said bring it on.

I didn’t know where she lived, I don’t think anybody did. She was a bright star we worshipped from afar, never daring to get too close.

Perhaps we were frightened that she wasn’t real; that the dream of her could unravel and shatter into a thousand tiny fragments of disappointment and loss.

But then one day she was gone.

And life seemed that little bit duller. It was as though the main light had been switched off and we were only left with the afterglow.

It was months before the cave was found. Hidden behind large stone boulders, overlapping in such a way to look as if the cave was completely sealed. It wasn’t until you were stood right in front that you actually saw the opening.

Inside they found clothes, cooking pots and a large ornately framed mirror, mottled with age and cracked down the middle.

Charcoal drawings covered the walls, frantic and menacing, each one the face of Cara Brown.

If only the cliffs had eyes…

Million Dollar Baby!

Another re-visit for Friday Fictioneers. A slightly amended version from Sept 2013. Who’d have thought 3 years later, writing 100 words of fiction for a weekly photo prompt would still be so much fun.

the-boat-and-miss-liberty

Photo Copyright : Jan Wayne Fields

She flailed and kicked, desperately trying to keep her head above the water, but exhaustion was pulling her down. She fought against its hold, craving the air just above the surface. Nearly there. Almost there. Again she went under.

A liquid vice imprisoned her limbs, each futile stroke lighter than the last.  She tasted the water and the salt of her tears.

As the darkness consumed her, calling her to sleep, she whispered goodbye to the disappearing boat.  Her husband Robert, the only beneficiary of her million dollar life insurance, sat on the deck whispering a much drier farewell.

Freedom

Another Friday Fictioneers. Another 100 words of fiction based around the photo prompt provided. Come on in and join the party.

back-ally1

Photo Copyright : Jan Marler Morrill

Nearly free. The alleyways, the door fronts, even the sky seemed foreign and unfamiliar. The sun filtered between the gaps in the rooftops and each time it dipped, a cold chill crisscrossed her back.

Someone was following.

Don’t look back.

She walked faster, gripping the handle of her tote so tightly her knuckles were translucent.

Just a few more yards.

Nearly there.

Almost there.

“STOP”

She froze.

Hot breath burned against her cheek “I told you I would find you”

The cold stone walls were closing in. There was nobody to hear her scream.

A different freedom beckoned…