friday fictioneer’s – An Occasional Story or Magazine

Light at the End of the Tunnel

I sent this photo to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for her to use on her Friday Fictioneers 100-word fiction challenge, which I see she did. I thought it was a good photo prompt. However, I myself, being a lazy SOB, didn’t write any story to accompany it. OK, better late than never.

The light ahead was finally visible, within reach. Only a few steps more and Morris would be free. There was no going back. Steadily he advanced. His steps echoed eerily in the dark, dank subterranean passageway. Actually, to tell the truth, it was only a pedestrian underpass. It was a Thursday and Morris was going to the beach, and he had chanced upon this underpass that went under the Pacific Coast Highway. But never mind. Morris saw the passageway metaphorically. It was his pathway to freedom. Morris had always been a bit dramatic, an artist no less. Ah, freedom. Sweet freedom.

The Beach House ——-Friday Fictioneer’s

Every Friday on Friday Fictioneer’s the gracious Rochelle Wisoff-Fields provides us desperate writers and/or bloggers (Which is more desperate? A writer or a blogger?) with photo prompts for 100 word stories, which are linked to the Friday Fictioneer’s site. So check it out. This week’s prompt is

“Beachfront Property Available” read the real estate ad.

The real estate agent drove north on the Pacific Coast Highway in his shiny, black, BMV SUV, jabbering non-stop about mortgage terms and interest rates. I wasn’t listening of course. I was just thinking about the possibility of achieving my dream: a beach house. Amazingly, this property was priced within my range.

When we arrived at the abandoned shack – which indeed sat at the ocean’s edge – the agent grew silent for several moments.

“I tell ya, though, it has potential. Definite upside.”

“Yeah,” I commented soberly. “Definitely a fixer-upper.”

So much for bourgeois dreams.

Members Only

This week’s Friday Fictioneer’s photo prompt is this not very charming sculpture. It reminds me of belonging – or rather it reminds me of not belonging: the theme of my contribution to Friday Fictioneer’s – hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.

Marcus looked up at the entranceway to the Athletic Club. He actually held in his hand a free pass to enter this exclusive white-men-only club. For years Marcus had walked past this building on his way to work. As a Black man the club was verbotten, off- limits. Now that he had a ticket in his hand, now that the club had officially integrated (by court order it was) Marcus no longer cared to enter. He crumpled the white entrance pass in his hand and squeezed it for a good while in his tightened fist before he walked on..

The Three Doors

Thanks to Rich V for this week’s photo prompt for this week’s Rochelle Wisoff’s Friday Fictioneers’ 100-word Challenge.

The photos is –
Poor Bumba could only think of titles for stories. Or captions for the photo. No text, just titles. Please forgive him if he got silly, but it was Friday.

1. The Doors – without Jim Morrison
2. Behind Closed Doors: A Field Study
3. Three Doors Walk Into A Bar and..
4. The Adooration of the Magi
5. The Picture of Doorian Gray
6. Oscar Wilde and The Three Doors
7. The Doorsey Brothers: Tommy Doorsey, Jimmy Doorsey, and Unnamed Guest Soloist
8. Fyodoor Dostoevsky, Isadoora Duncan, and another Unnamed Guest Soloist

Museum Pieces

Our thanks to Rochelle Wisoff for hosting another Friday Fictioneers 100 word (or thereabouts, there’s no sense getting compulsive about it!) Challenge. This week’s challenge is prompted by the photo below:

Bumbastories has been out of action for the past week or so. Readers will be reassured that the weekly As I Sat On The Bus Invitational will be back and running on (Sunday) schedule. Meanwhile, check out the other entries at the Friday Fictioneers link

There are always a lot of good entries. Bumbas’ entry this week is a lode of….

Rhodonites and Malachites

Calcites and Opals

Fluorites, Meteorites

Aragonites and Beryls

Diamonds, Rubies

Amethysts and Quartz

Emeralds and Topazes

And Gold of course

All the stones lay silently in their quiet display cases

Remembering the raging infernos that birthed them

Recalling the volcanoes that spewed them forth

From the bowels of the earth

The precious stones lay shining, dreaming

So far from their homes

In their quiet glass cases

Check ’em out at the Museum

The Assessment ————–Friday Fictioneers Challenge

Thanks to Rochelle Wisoff for challenging us writers to come up with a 100 word story each week. Aristotle said that all drama, all stories, must have a beginning, a middle, and an end. Good advice. But last I heard, Aristotle is dead. All the same it’s good advice.

Prompted by this week’s Friday Fictioneers photo, and flying in the face of Aristotle’s dictum, see Bumba’s modest contribution, which is a silly joke.

“Holy Moly, guacamole! Will you look at that?”

“That’s right, Bill. You got some bad damage there. But let me tell you, it could be worse.”

“Whaddaya mean it could be worse? There’s tire damage, the trunk, the door. And last week my insurance expired!”

“Still, it could be worse….”

“What could be worse? You see those parking tickets on the front windshield? Well, when my wife saw those tickets she fainted. She’s at the ‘mergency room……”

“Still, it could be worse”

“What could be worse? The doggone ambulance had an accident on the way to the hospital! I have no car, no insurance, wife in the hospital…….”

“Still. It could be worse”

“Whattaya mean it could be worse? What could be worse?”

“It coulda been me.”

Library Blues

This week’s Friday Fictioneers (100 words or less) photo prompt, courtesy of Rochelle W, is this lovely bookshelf, which bears a strange resmblance to
our friend’s George Packard’s personal bookshelf. So….so prompted:

George Packard, retired schoolteacher, straightened out the books in his bookcase. He stepped back to admire his collection. He basked in a familiar feeling of satisfaction: a lifetime of reading, of learning. What happiness these books had brought him!

Ach! But why was he saving them all? Hoarding them? Savoring them so? Was he going to read them all again? Why all this clinging? This holding on?

Friday Fictioneers

Here’s the photo prompt for this week’s Friday Fictioneer challenge, which I confess I haven’t done for a good month of Fridays…Thanks to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.

Marcus staggered toward the farmhouse. Since last night he had barely stopped running. Perhaps he could lie down for an hour. Maybe pick up some food. Quietly he slipped inside the musty barn. He was greeted by a small child.

“Who are you?”

“Oh, my name is Marcus.”

“I’m Samantha”

“Samantha, do you have any food? I mean does your Mom…”

“Sure. We had pancakes for breakfast.”

“Pancakes.”

“Yes! You want maple syrup?”

“Maple syrup…. Yes, Samantha”

Marcus lay down on a small pile of straw.

Most likely this would be his last meal, he thought.

That Cat Is Looking At Me

This is the photo prompt for this week’s Friday fictioneers 100 word challenge. Click to see the other entries or to make your own.

The cat looked at old Mrs. Bender with that vacant yet interested gaze that cats seem to own – as if the animal was thinking of something, or sizing her up.
“Hell, I don’t need no dumb-assed cat judging me today. Or any day for that matter,” she muttered under her breath.
“Get off the table, Cindy!”
Mrs. Bender had to go to the doctor today: more chemotherapy, more tests. She gobbled her medicines, 17 pills in all, and trudged inside to get dressed.
When she returned to the kitchen the cat was still sitting on the table.
“I said to get off the table, Cindy.”

Friday Fictioneers Challenge

My entry for Madison Woods‘ 100 word Friday Fictioneers Challenge (with a nod to Leo Tolstoy):
General Kutuzov leaned forward on his horse Blanca and surveyed the steep valley below. This heavy fog concealed the French perfectly. Lucky bastards! Surely they were moving through that fog right now. Right under his nose! They would escape and join LeMarc’s division at Mattersberg. His left flank would be closed.
His adjunctants, Prince Andrei among them, waited for their orders. Kutuzov needed to decide. To allow the French to join forces at Mattersberg was an unacceptable option. Ach, but to attack in this fog! Blanca shivered and whinnied.

“Misha!” he barked, “Bring me my sword. And where is that coffee?”