7 P.M., Friday Night – Friday Fictioneers

So it’s Thursday and why did I wait until Thursday for Friday Fictioneers?  Total writer’s block.  Almost gave up but suddenly, here I am.  I love this community headed by our writer/artist or is it artist/writer leader, Rochelle Wis(please no e)off-Fields.  How she does it, I do not know… but I sure do appreciate it!  This week Rochelle chose a picture by Roger Bultot – thanks Roger!

For those of you who would like to join in on the fun, click on Rochelle’s link for the rules and regs.  For those who just wish to enjoy all the different stories, click on the blue frog.

©Roger Bultot

Genre:  Fiction

Word Count:  100


For years he came, alone, on Friday nights, at 7:00 P.M.  Always sat at the same table, always the same meal:  hot chicken sandwich with a side of fries and please do not forget the canned peas on top!

And then one day, she came with him;  same time, same table.  For him, same order; for her:  hot hamburger with fried onions and gravy and a side of mashed potatoes. They were adorable.  For years, like clockwork.

One Friday, she came alone, ordered hot chicken sandwich with a side of fries and please do not forget the canned peas on top.






Friday Fictioneers – Rendez-Vous

Friday Fictioneers is here!  This time our lovely hostess, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields of Addicted to Purple has chosen an image provided by the equally lovely c.e. Ayr.

Please do join in by submitting your own 100-word story with beginning, middle and end inspired by the photo.  It’s a fun challenge with a great group of writers.  Don’t want to submit?  All good, you can just read the other stories by clicking on Monsieur Blue Frog!

Word count: 100

Genre:  Fiction



Stewart waited for Margaret at the designated spot, as per their agreement.  Grate no. E48.

He arrived a bit early – wouldn’t make a good impression to arrive late now, would it?

While waiting, he paced, whistling a merry tune, watching the passersby, in the happiest of moods.  He never thought he would meet the “One” at this stage of his life.  I mean come on.  How often does a new love bloom at the age of 70?

Hmmm… She was running late.  He happened to look down and spotted the shoe.  He had seen that particular shoe before.  On Margaret’s foot.