Another story for Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.

Photo prompt by Jean L. Hays

They were just kids. They arrived right on closing time wanting coffees, extra hot, and Gina opened the till for their money.

Darlene waited, wishing they’d leave, worried about her own kids left alone while she worked nights.

Suddenly Gina screamed and clutched her face, dripping coffee, and they clambered over the counter, grabbed fistfuls of cash and ran. Darlene froze, then snapped into action—cold water for the scald; call the police. Then she spotted the open till, the stacks of notes they’d missed.

Nobody would blame her. Nobody would know. For once her rent would be paid on time.


The colours of her week

Thanks to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for this week’s photo prompt.

Monday mornings she’s white and wan, but the book club girls arrive at 11 and a cool chardonnay or two soon restores her colour and sparkle.

Tuesday and Wednesday are red days—she’s off uptown for some retail therapy and wine bar get-togethers. She loves her reds.

Thursday’s vermillion. She feels somewhat worse for wear on Thursday. It’s her down day.

But she’s in the pink on Fridays when her handyman arrives. And she’s flushed as a rose as she waves him goodbye. Friday is her favourite.

Each evening she welcomes hubby home, freshly lipsticked and demure in yellow.


This story is for Friday Fictioneers, generously hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.

The watch-house

This week’s photo prompt is by J. Hardy Carroll

The watch-house

We called it the watch-house. It was the perfect playground, despite our parents’ warnings.

A hornets’ nest hung from a high window. Someone would come and remove it periodically, but the nest always grew back.

We dreamed up the notion that the nest was a collector, gathering up the world’s evils, growing huge with them, until the watchers came to take it away. We imagined that life sat less heavily on our young shoulders each time it disappeared.

I called in again recently when I happened to be nearby. The nest was enormous. Maybe the watchers have given up.


This is my offering for this week’s Friday Fictioneers. Thanks to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for hosting the link-up.

In the embers

Thanks to Anshu Bhojnagarwala for this week’s photo prompt.

In the embers

Archie let his thoughts drift, soothed by glowing embers, the flames’ soft crackle. The fragrance of burning pine-cones took him back to boyhood summers, hunting here in these mountains with Father.

Now, Archie hunted alone. He longed to settle, to share all this with a son of his own. He’d tried to find the right woman, but none had endured. He had held great hopes for the last one—the failure still hurt.

He prodded a smouldering piece of leather into the hot centre of the fire, incinerating every trace. He sighed. She’d looked good in those red shoes.


Another story for Friday Fictioneers, a weekly flash fiction link-up kindly hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.

Out of touch

This week’s photo prompt by Renee Heath

Out of touch

“How long do we have to stay outside, Dad?”

“Not long.They’ll soon go.”

“They’re weird – the way they wander around, with one arm raised. Is that their war dance? Are they praying? What are they anyway?”

“You don’t want to know. Just be patient and keep your head down.”

“But it’s prickly and the ants are biting and I don’t want those creatures going in our teepee. It’s ours, not theirs, and my toys are in there. When will they leave?”

“As soon as they realise there’s no phone reception out here no matter how far they search.”


Another 100 word story (actually only 99) for Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.

Coming of age

Thanks to Ted Strutz for this week’s photo prompt.

Coming of age

“Please, Daddy. Can we take him home? Look—he’s hungry. He wants to come with us, I can tell. Please. Can we?”

“No, Jimmy. We’ve been through all this. It looks harmless, but once it’s been fed and restored it will own you. It will take all your pocket money to keep it going. It will take all your time playing with it and keeping it healthy. It will get into your mind and heart until your thinking gets all twisted up.

“Jimmy, you’ll be a man soon enough. You don’t need to own this monster to prove it.”


This is my contribution to Friday Fictioneers. Thanks to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for hosting this weekly flash fiction event.


Thanks to Dale Rogerson for this week’s photo prompt.


Bruno visited daily, bringing little treats to cheer her, longing for a spark of interest in the darkness of her eyes.

He knew it wasn’t his fault. The road was treacherous; he hadn’t expected her to be there. He hoped she wouldn’t blame him. In fact, as he’d lifted her into his car he could swear he’d seen a flash of gratitude in her expression.

He knew it was destiny. Guilt, gratitude—they were immaterial. This was love.

When her shattered shell healed, Bruno would take her home, and this little turtle would never be alone and vulnerable again.


This story is my contribution to Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.

Photo courtesy of Wikipedia

Here’s a little article about what to do if you find an injured turtle or tortoise. It’s amazing where a Friday Fictioneers prompt can lead.