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Part of the Plan – Friday Fictioneers

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Good Friday on Wednesday, my peeps!  Yep.  Another week has flown by.  The sun is shining brightly but it is still cold here in Quebec.  I’m having trouble visualising spring, the snow is so high still.  If this house had been settled before yesterday, I would be on the beach with my sisters and mother!  Oh well, I’ll just have to book something after I move by May 1st.

Thank you, always to Rochelle for challenging us to write 100-word stories that hopefully entertain you!  This week she chose c.e. ayr’s photo which reminded me of Italy.

Join in on the fun, why don’t you?

Click me! Click me!

 

Part of the Plan

Whose Vespa is parked outside the door?

Mine, why?

Yours? Really? Since when are you the Vespa type?

There’s a type? Where the hell did you get that notion?

Of course there is. You watch the movies. Any time there is someone driving a Vespa, they are well-to-do types who live in Italy, have al fresco parties with good food and wine and—oh… I get it…

What?

I see what you’re doing. Taking this whole visualisation thing a bit far, no? Wouldn’t it be better to just go back and visit Italy?

But I don’t want to come back.

Thoughts Become Things – Friday Fictioneers

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First Friday Fictioneers of the Year!  Yes, folks, it is Wednesday so, confusing for our Newbies, it means we get our photo for our story, which most of us try to post before Friday.  Just to confuse.  This wonderful photo that made me scratch my head was provided by Sandra Crook, wonderful author and photographer.  Rochelle, from Addicted to Purple, our ever-diligent facilitator, writer, author, wonderful person, sure knows how to pick ’em!  I’m no longer indicating my word count because, frankly, I always make sure it stands at exactly 100! 😉  As for the genre… well… let us not give too many hints, eh?

Click on the frog if you wish to add your own interpretation or just to read others’ stories.

  • Did a little tweaking to clarify this was an exchange between father and daugter…

sandra-crook

Thoughts Become Things

What is that incessant grinding sound?

It’s me, thinking!  Got such great thoughts you can hear me think!

You are so ridiculous!

No, seriously, my brain is going non-stop:  things to do, people to see, places to visit… anything but stay here on this dead-end farm.

There is nothing dead-end here, my dear.  We provide necessary food to our neighbours.  We are worthy.

Maybe, but it is so boring to me.  I’m dying here.  Same thing, every day.  Same people, every day. All old, nothing new.

He looked at her, eyes filled with sadness.  He’d have to let his daughter go.