Friday Fictioneers: A Graceful Chicken

I can always count on the Welches, the soccer-loving family of six boys and one girl featured in my current work-in-progress, to create absurd scenes. My aim is to make the Welches the family everyone wants to be, chicken stunts and all.

PHOTO PROMPT © Luther Siler

 

A GRACEFUL CHICKEN

We stand on the patio, a circle of raised eyebrows. If no one else will ask, I will. “What is it?”

Pete waves a hand at the mass of golden feathers and wire. “Duh, Grace, it’s a chicken.”

“It was a chicken.” Jason kicks a broken wing.

Nathan crouches to tinker with the wires. “You might fix it.”

“So it can do what, cross the road?” I wish I had a sister, even a brother with some sense.

“We play Lewistown Friday.” John holds the chicken up, like Mom does to check if a shirt will fit me. “Team Lewiston just got an unexpected mascot.”

 

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Friday Fictioneers (n): A world-wide community of writers addicted to writing 100 word stories based on a photo prompt provided by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. 

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Friday Fictioneers: The Stuff of Which We’re Made

It’s been a busy few weeks – with our homeschool year wrapping up and pitch contests and manuscripts being written (or stared at in consternation) and just life in general – but I’m here this week with a short piece for Friday Fictioneers. I didn’t make it to the 100 word mark, but I’m used to the wet noodle after all the times I went over 100 words, and sometimes, simplicity is best. I’ll read as many entries as my schedule allows, and thank each of you for stopping by and saying “hello.” Be sure to check out the link at the bottom of this page for more 100(ish) word stories, and if the photo inspires you, please do join the fun!

PHOTO PROMPT – Copyright – Renee Heath

The Stuff of Which We’re Made (87 words, Women’s Fiction?)

It’s over.

The flame drowns in the waxen pool, its last flicker a gasp for breath.

As oxygen cascades into my lungs, I envy the flame its rest.

A drop of liquid solidifies on the end of a waxen stalactite hanging from the side of the desk. I break the stream of wax, still warm, and squeeze it into a ball.

The flame is gone. My flame is gone. But I am here. And I am made of brighter stuff than fire and harder stuff than wax.

 

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P.S. If you’re curious to learn a little more about the writing project closest to my heart, feel free to check out my previous post. Just bear in mind that the short pitch is my nemesis and judge me not too harshly! Or do judge. It’s okay. I’m a big girl.

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Friday Fictioneers (n): A world-wide community of writers addicted to writing 100 word stories based on a photo prompt provided by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.

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Friday Fictioneers – Fantasy, In Fact

Today’s story is a little under 100 words. Just debit the difference from my account. We all know I’ve gone over more than a couple times in the past…

Photo Copyright – Adam Ickes

Fantasy, In Fact (89 words)

“So our valiant son slew a dragon today.”

“It’s time to get rid of those boots. They aren’t good for him.”

“Relax. What’s the harm in a little imagination? So he thinks his magic boots carry him to a world of ogres, dragons, and princesses. It’s not the end of the world. At least he doesn’t hole up in his room playing video games till midnight like most kids his age.”

“Steve.”

“Jenny.”

“I found dragon’s blood on his boots today.”

“Jenny.”

“What?”

“How do you know what dragon’s blood looks like?”

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Friday Fictioneers (n): A world-wide community of writers addicted to writing 100 word stories based on a photo prompt provided by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.

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Friday Fictioneers – A Brief Lesson in Economics

Photo Copyright – Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

A Brief Lesson in Economics

The dusty, weathered shelves hung in sharp contrast to the shiny mahogany paneling. Ignoring the man at the desk, Basil scanned the shelves’ contents: crayons, Monopoly pieces, a keychain Etch-a-Sketch. His gaze rested on an old shape-sorter in the top left-hand cubby.

“Ah, you recognize your old playthings.” The man’s voice was deep and smooth as chocolate pudding.

“I want them back.” Basil glanced at the nameplate on the desk. “Mr. Templetorn.”

“Of course you do.” August Templetorn smiled knowingly. “There is, you understand, a price for what you want. Everything has a price, you know. Even you, Basil.”

 

Previously on Basil: Basil Thistlethorn’s Curious Reception

 

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Friday Fictioneers (n): A world-wide community of writers addicted to writing 100 word stories based on a photo prompt provided by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.

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Friday Fictioneers – For Better or Worse

Welcome back to the (pre) Friday Fictioneers! (Or maybe the Friendsday Fictioneers?) Today’s photo prompt comes from Beth Carter and takes my character Sara back in time, to a day when she and her new husband Dan encountered a man named Gabe with a car that’s a far cry from the chariots and Porsches of which he is so fond.

You’ve met Sara in the following previous stories:

Impossible Salvation

Not What We Had Planned

Another Kind of Death

You can catch Dan hustling through His Last Ride.

 

 

Copyright – Beth Carter

For Better or Worse (100 words)

I saw this car at a flea market once – two old shopping carts welded together with a rusty piece of metal for an armrest, cupholders and all. On the passenger seat was a cardboard sign, “Sure it runs! 69,000 miles!”

It was built in 2006, the year we met, and it was beautiful in its way. The owner – Gabe, I think – would have sold it to us, but Dan just laughed. “Heap of trash.”

But it’s us, you see, me and Dan. Ugly and rusted and looking like hell, but we’ve got more than 69,000 miles to go.

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Friday Fictioneers (n): A world-wide community of writers addicted to writing 100 word stories based on a photo prompt provided by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.

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Friday Fictioneers – Accidents Happen

So, um… how shall I put this?

I couldn’t come up with a good Angelique vignette that wouldn’t give away too much of her story’s end, so I did something a little different.

I came up with a bad Angelique vignette. If you recall, before becoming an Usher, she was an Avenger, with tasks less kind than her current ones. This would be one of her darker moments…

Photo Copyright-Janet Webb

Accidents Happen (100 words)

Angelique strode through the rotting wall, ignoring the door. It unsettled people, and she wanted him to squirm.

“Who are you?”

His stench arrested her, even from several yards. She snarled, eyes narrowed at the foul creature, body tense with anticipation.

“You may call me Vengeance. I answer the cries of the seven girls whose blood seeps through the soil outside this barn.”

He cursed, threw his bottle, sending a shower of beer arcing through dusty air. As he lunged at her, he stumbled. She stooped, slid an ax across the ground to cushion his fall.

“Accidents happen,” she crooned.

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Friday Fictioneers (n): A world-wide community of writers addicted to writing 100 word stories based on a photo prompt provided by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.

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Friday Fictioneers – On Angel Wings

This week’s story fits squarely between His Last Ride and The Next Assignment. I didn’t exactly incorporate the photo, but went more figuratively. For reasons you will probably understand after reading the story, the plane and the sun together made me think of Claire… strong, warm, powerful, and good.

copyright-Rich Voza

On Angel Wings (113)

In the instant her hand had touched his chest, she had known it would be different.

Now, high above the cordoned bus station, Angelique fought with every beat of her snow-white wings to free herself from him. All his fear, guilt, shame, and hatred mingled with Angelique’s own sorrow over what might have been. She writhed against the pain within and without as the frigid wind swirled around her tiny form.

Claire’s smooth, pure voice rose above the thunder in Angelique’s ears.

“Be still, child.”

A golden wing, strong and warm as the midday sun, enveloped Angelique. She collapsed, her head against Claire’s chest.

“Steve,” Angelique whispered. “The fat man’s name was Steve.”

 

For the rest of the story click on Angelique.

Friday Fictioneers (n): A world-wide community of writers addicted to writing 100 word stories based on a photo prompt provided by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.

Read or Join here:

Friday Fictioneers – Mea Culpa (Paranormal? Supernatural?)

Mea culpa. Through my fault, through my fault, through my most grievous fault, I have exceeded 100 words, posted two days early, and left all of my faithful readers wondering what awaits Angelique at the penitentiary. As recompense for my sins, I direct you to a previous story to shed some light on Robby’s guilt.

On a slightly dumb note, I’m not quite sure how to genrify Angelique. I’m thinking either Paranormal or Supernatural, but since I don’t actually read either of those genres, I’m not sure which label fits better or if she belongs elsewhere. If you would, please leave a note and let me know what you think. Thank you in advance!

Today’s photo comes from fellow Fictioneer Lora Mitchell. Click on the blue froggy guy at the bottom of the page to read all the stories inspired by her explosive picture. Better yet, join the Friday Fictioneer fun by writing your own 100 words and adding your story to the list!

Photo Copyright – Lora Mitchell

Mea Culpa (150ish)

From the belfry, the boy surveyed the crowd on the pier. Slowly, he stepped to the edge. Wind ruffling his hair, he turned to Angelique with anguished eyes.

“You were with her, weren’t you?”

“Till the very end.”

“Jen…” He threw his head back, eyes closed, stomach convulsing.

In the bay, the countdown began.

10, 9, 8…

“You can’t hurt me, you know?”

“I know.”

His dark eyes bored into hers.

7, 6, 5, 4…

“You can’t stop me, either.”

Angelique jumped first. Writhing in the air, she threw her arms around his torso. Pain tore down her back, and they slowed, her ivory wings spread wide.

3, 2, 1…

The cracking of his bones coincided with the first explosion of fireworks. She pressed her cheek to his, whispered “Robby,” and lifted off to the rhythm of “Auld Lang Syne.”

Claire had advised a solitary place. Perhaps if Angelique flew far enough, she could forget him and Jen and all the rest.

 

Friday Fictioneers – Oh, Be Careful, Little Heart

Friday Fictioneers time again!!!! As usual, check out more stories or jump into the fun by clicking HERE!

This week’s story is a continuation of Angelique’s story, more of which can be found here.

Today’s photo prompt comes to us from Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.

Oh, Be Careful, Little Heart

Out of The Gallery’s warmth and into Main Street’s chill, Angelique followed the lovers. Under sparkling Christmas lights, the woman smiled at the man while Angelique wondered when the drug he had slipped into her champagne would take effect.

He stopped before a bright red door, turned a key in the brass lock, and led her up a narrow staircase. Silently, resolutely, Angelique climbed the steps, her gaze fixed on the woman’s adoring face.

Soon her rapture would turn to horror. She would be helpless to defend herself, and Angelique could only hold her hand and pray a swift end.

 

Edited to Add: For an alternate, in excess of one hundred words take on the prompt that sheds a little more light on Angelique’s character, see Christmas Reflections.

Friday Fictioneers – Kiss Me, Child

I’m stepping out in faith today, hoping Rochelle meant it when she said no one would flog me if I exceeded the 100 word limit. (This is at 132). For more Friday Fictioneers, see here. For glimpses of Angelique from previous weeks, click here.

Looking forward to reading everyone else’s stories!

This week’s photo comes from Sean Fallon:

Kiss Me, Child

Pickle jars everywhere, full of batteries, pins, butterscotches. Beneath the peculiar odor of the aged, Angelique relished the fragrance of life well spent.

People crowded round the bed, obscuring its occupant from Angelique’s view. She inched closer and peeked between two of them.

“There you are, sweet girl.” The old woman’s eyes remained closed, her wrinkled lips barely parted. “I’ve been waiting for you. Come kiss me. Take a butterscotch on your way out, if you like.”

No one noticed as Angelique crawled onto the bed and kneeled beside the woman’s head. Leaning over, Angelique touched her lips to the woman’s. Fire and ice swirled in her spirit as the family lifted their voices in quiet song.

T’was Grace that brought us safe thus far…
and Grace will lead us home.