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The House That I Built – Friday Fictioneers

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Good Wednesday morning, my peeps!  What does that mean?  Friday Fictioneers!  Luckily for me, I was asked to switch shifts (from 11 to noon) so I had an extra hour this morning so I could write this now rather than later, when I could have forgotten what I wanted to write.  Coz that happens.  Often.

Thank you always to the lovely Rochelle for hosting this here weekly party and this week, a thank you to our very own Dawn M. Miller‘s grandson, Nathan Sowers, for this beauty of a picture.

Want to join in on the fun?  It is fun.  And addictive.  Just click on the blue frog below to add your link to your 100-word story that you came up with when you saw this picture 😉

Get the frog for your blog

The House That I Built

“Why do you always bug us to keep the house up?”

“You listen to me very carefully.  It took me everything to get where I am.  I worked hard.  But I became a drug addict and a pusher.  I had a house at age 23.  Amazing, eh?  Well, I almost died from those drugs and lost everything.  I owed lots of money and could have gone bankrupt but instead I worked my ass off, ate macaroni and bologna for years as I paid back every single dime I owed.

“So yeah.  It’s really important to me to keep my house up.”

Damaged But Still Standing – Friday Fictioneers

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Good Wednesday, my Readers!  ‘Tis that time of the week where we get our lovely email from the even lovlier Rochelle, where, once we’ve read hers (well in MY case, anyway), we take our copy of the photo she chose – quite the one from Sandra Crook this week! – add it to our own blog and try to come up with something no one else thought of; something original; something outside of the box… you get the picture.  Hyuck, hyuck, hyuck!

Anyway, ’nuff foolin’ around.  If y’all wanna play, click on the cute blue frog and add your link… Just remember.  MAX 100 words, not counting the title…

Get Froggy’s code

Word count:  Was gonna do 87, bulked it up to 100 (hope it wasn’t overkill)

Damaged But Still Standing

The woman sat at the window seat of the more than run-down diner, one of only three customers who had braved entering the premises.  She marvelled that the bloody thing was still standing, never mind open to the public.  Wondered how it could be possible.  And how could it be open to the public?  And how could anyone even work there?  How could a building with holes going right through it, cracked all over and falling apart not only stand and survive, but actually function?

She looked out the grimy window, her vision blurred.  Actually, she could more than understand.