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City Mouse Goes Country – Friday Fictioneers

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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.

©Todd Foltz

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.

 

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.