Zipped – Crimson’s Creative Challenge #62

Well, hell.  Crispina finally chose a picture that I had no matchy-matchy for!  And no, I was not going to go out with my camera searching for a similar situation.  Nope. That’s not how I roll.  So this week, for Crispina’s CCC, I am going a more classic route, if you were.  With a story of sorts.  Actually, I am doing something I thought I’d not done before but upon checking, not only did it once before but did it for THIS very challenge… go figure. So, for this challenge, a haibun.



They were such a bright and colourful couple. No, not that they were colour-matched – he preferred earth-tones to her more jewelled ones.  I mean colourful in manner.  They were funny and entertaining, each sharing their part of the story they were telling; one speaking over the other but not in a rude take-over manner. They were just so enthusiastic it bubbled out uninhibited. There was never a dull moment when these two were on a roll… They each had their roles, working in harmony without losing themselves.



They came together, just like

a perfect zipper


Word count: 98

Deaf – Friday Fictioneers

My goodness.  Had a little trouble getting myself going today.  The fun part about working in a seasonal job is I can have dinner parties on a Tuesday night.  Wednesday morning comes along, and, though I may feel a tad “fragile”, I can take it easy and recuperate from my excesses.  Not that I would ever dream of over-indulging in food and wine.  Nuh-unh, not me…

Rochelle nabbed her own picture this week and so, only one thank you is required this week 😉

Do join in on the fun by clicking on Monsieur Frogue below and adding your own 100-word story inspired by this lovely picture.

©Rochelle Wisoff-Fields


Get the Frogue for your Blogue


Every anniversary, without fail, he arrived with a beautiful bouquet of fragrant roses; an extra rose for every year.  Every anniversary, she reminded him that she could not stand the smell of roses as they evoked the memory of her brother’s death.  There were so many flowers at his funeral, the stench was forever imprinted into her senses.

Did he listen?

Not for twenty-nine years.

Now, instead, she receives a beautiful glass rose to add to her scentless and everlasting bouquet.

She has never liked knickknacks and doohickeys.  Dust-collectors she calls them.  And she hates dusting.

Does he listen?