Good afternoon. It’s Friday! And for most people, that means the end of the workweek… for me? It means it’s Sunday. Does it matter? No, because come Monday, it’s my Saturday… confused? So am I. So let’s just skip this nonsense and get to Crispina’s lovely challenge number 88, shall we?
Some Assembly Required
Got all the pieces?
Yep. Here they are all lined up.
They don’t seem to make much sense. Where’s the instruction sheet?
I don’t have it.
What do you mean you don’t have it? Didn’t it come inside the box?
I chucked it.
What the hell would you do that for?
Instructions are for pussies! Plus, it was in Chinese!
You’re telling me they didn’t have an English version? C’mon man…
Well, they did, but the translation was so bad, I figured it would be best if we just tried to figure it out ourselves.
Oh, for heaven’s sake. Lemme see the box cover, so we can have an idea.
I can’t for the life of me see how those pieces will make this.
I can’t either. I think we got screwed.
Good Wednesday! Time for another episode of Friday Fictioneers! Our illustrious leader, Rochelle, has challenged us once again to use a photo and write a 100-word-max story inspired by it. This week, it is Jean L. Hays’ photo. Should you dare (g’head, try it!) click on the frog below and add your link. It’s fun and addictive.
©Jean L. Hays
She had been waiting for her lover’s letter for ages.
Patience, she told herself. There is nothing you can do, so stop fretting. She refused to believe it was anything else but an extremely slow postal service. They did call it “snail mail” after all!
The grandfather clock in her hallway chimed eleven times, reminding her the mailman had passed.
She made her way down the driveway, telling herself not to expect anything.
What now, a box? Oh right, she was expecting a clipper for her dog.
Phooey. Not even for her. It was addressed to the former owners. Sigh.
I was going to go a whole ‘nother route. Even had a kinda/sorta matchy-matchy but then this popped into my head so I felt it best to just run with it. Thanks to Crispina for hosting this fun party weekly.
Fountain of Youth?
I think we found it!
The Fountain of Youth!
Seriously? Looks more like a wishing well to me.
Ye, of little faith.
Don’t you find it a tad small to be anything of that sort?
Maybe that’s why it’s been so hard to find. People must have been looking for something way more grandiose.
Maybe it’s been hard to find because it only exists in myths! Besides, it’s not even deep enough to go to your knees!
Who says we have to go IN it? Maybe all we have to do is drink from it.
You may have a point.
Hah! You willing to agree this might be it?
Ummmm… sure. So, go ahead. Give it a taste.
You go first.
Your Fountain, YOU go first!
Fine. The water looks clear enough.
Yeah, you can see all the coins people have thrown in, thinking it’s a wishing well.
A word prompt to get your creativity flowing this weekend. How you use the prompt is up to you. Write a piece of flash fiction, a poem, a chapter for your novel…anything you like. Or take the challenge below – there are no prizes – it’s not a competition but rather a fun writing exercise. If you want to share what you come up with, please leave a link to it in the comments.
So, it’s no longer the official weekend though it is MINE… Besides, I didn’t have three seconds to myself during work and my brain was mush after so. Today it is. Thank you, Sammi, I think… whatever possessed you to use this word? Love the challenge of trying to think outside of the box.
I’m in syzygy
You’re a celestial body aligned with a moon and planet?
No, metaphorically speaking
Neck, back and feet – working in conjunction – a straight line of pain
It’s Wednesday! Yes, just to confuse you, that means Friday Fictioneers… I’ve decided to do a reverse of last week’s thanks to Na’ama Yehuda‘s wonderful photo. Thank you for allowing us to use it this week. And always, thanks to Rochelle for hosting this weekly party. I just can’t resist it (besides, she’d have my head if I did – don’t be fooled by her size…)
And to my fellow Canadians…
HAPPY CANADA DAY!
Country Mouse Goes City
Rachael pinched herself. She was here. New York City! Great-Aunt Penelope invited her to stay for the summer in her brownstone on the Upper West Side. No cows, no chickens, no manure. No chores.
She was so excited when she saw a yellow cab she waved at the driver in excitement. With a squeal of his tires, he swerved and pulled up beside her, causing the guy behind to honk in anger. “Where do you wanna go?”
“Central Park, please.”
He shook his head. Stupid country folk. “You’re already here. Just cross the street.”
She blushed, “Silly me. Thank you!”
What day is it? Wednesday!
What does that mean? Friday Fictioneers!
What? Yeah, well… yanno, sometimes there’s no explaining things. This week our lovely leader Rochelle has chosen a picture by Todd Foltz. You want to play? Click on the frog below and add your 100-word max story link.
Click me to play!
City Mouse Goes Country
Betsy loved spending the summers at her grandparents. She got to live a completely different life than the one she had in the city. A life that was simple and felt more real. She particularly enjoyed the chores Nana made her do. Waking up with the sun, collecting eggs from the chickens was one of her favourites. Who knew chickens could be so affectionate?
“Hullo Susie. Hey there Gertrude. You ladies have something for me this morning?” she asked as she scratched them under their chins. They clucked their responses rubbed against her arm.
She wished she could live here forever.
It’s Wednesday! Know how I know? Rochelle sends us the weekly pic to write our 100-word story inspired by that pic. This week, our hostess with the mostest is oot and aboot but she left us with her very own pic to use. Should you want to participate, click on the frog below and add your link. G’head, it’s fun!
Click me to play
The best thing about having a basement bedroom was that it was separate from the rest of the family. And it was cool – downright cold in summer thanks to the A/C. I loved my space and could do my own thing, undisturbed.
I was changing for bed when suddenly a ruckus broke out and I could hear thundering steps above my head and yells followed by the front door slamming. What the hell?
I looked out my window and saw my father and uncle chasing a guy down the street.
He’d been having a look-see at me without my knowing.
Thought I was going to wait until tomorrow to post but got blown away by the wind outside and came in for a break. It is time for Crispina‘s CCC number 83. I seem to be in a reminiscing mood. Or the photo prompts are jarring old memories. Either/or. The horse in the background made me think of one of the horses at the ranch because he had the colourings of an Oreo cookie There was a fight between calling him Caffoon or Oreo, so they compromised and called him Cafforeo. The things that remain in my memory banks, sheesh…
I Wanna Do It Again!
Summer of ’75, our family vacation was at Golden Acres Ranch in the Catskill Mountains of New York. Think “Dirty Dancing” but with horses. And I dunno if we were the only Gentiles there, but it sure felt like it.
(My youngest sister, Tracy, has been a horse fanatic since she can talk and walk. She tried to convince Dad that we could keep a horse in our backyard and she’d take care of it, promise!)
We were having a lesson in the main ring when Tracy’s horse, Cafforeo, took off like a bat outta hell, Tracy holding on tight, a smile the size of Canada across her face.
Mom and Dad and Mike, our teacher, ran like crazy to catch up with them, now safely in Cafforeo’s paddock.
“What did you do to make him take off like that?” Dad yelled.
“I dunno! But I want to do it again!”
Didn’t have a picture of Tracy so here I am on my favourite horse named Muddy
Good Wednesday early evening (Montreal time, anyway). It is time for Friday Fictioneers. I fear I have once again gone down memory lane. It was that or bring in Tannille‘s muse for a repartee over here. I chose the former. Thank you, always, to Rochelle for holding the door for us and inviting us in to play week after week. This week, thanks go to Ronda Del Boccio for the use of her photo. Should you want to play along, click on the frog below and add your link.
©Ronda Del Boccio
Dad loved gathering his family for barbecues in the summer, serving his “world-famous ribs” (to us), his mother’s Minute Rice salad, baked sweet potatoes and other delicious goodies. I often brought dessert.
Every August, the International Balloon Festival of St-Jean-sur-Richelieu, where Dad lived, was held. If we were lucky, and the winds were acquiescent, they flew directly over his house. Why pay an entrance fee, with no guarantee they would fly, when you could watch for free?
I’ll never forget the time we heard a loud “PSSSSSSSHHHHHTTT” that made us jump out of our skin.
There was one RIGHT THERE.
Sadly, I cannot find a picture I took of one that was right there because it must be in another hard drive. Oh well. Trust me.. It looked as close (almost) as this one!
We arrive at the same time. It has been so long we are almost shy. Our tentative first steps become more of a bound as we join in a clench that any blind man could see too much time has passed since our last reuniting.
We kiss and pull back and kiss again and laugh as we gather our things to bring them into our bower for the next week. It will be just the two of us, away from our realities. We will cook, read, write, love; creating new memories to add to those already part of our story.
Our last day comes too soon and we know this is how it must be. We say our heartfelt goodbyes before we go in different directions down the imperturbable street, towards our respective homes, already missing the other and dreaming about our next time.
A bit of flash fiction for the prosery prompt on dVerse brought to us this week by Merril D. Smith. I can’t resist Merril so here I am. The prompt line that must be incorporated is “We go in different directions down the imperturbable street,” from Gwendolyn Brooks, An Aspect of Love, Alive in the Ice and Fire.”