Treasure Hunt Plea

FF 203 Dale Rogerson

copyright Dale Rogerson

One of the nice things about a photo prompt is that there are many different aspects that you can draw a story from. For instance, the clouds, the buildings, the garbage bag, the snow, the graffiti on the building, or the whole thing together. I’ve decided to concentrate on the graffiti, telling the story in the medium itself.

Treasure Hunt Plea

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

Here is the plain text of the above, in case you had trouble reading it.

Please help!

I use what little freedom and money I have to paint this, hoping it will be seen

We have no voice, no dignity

They treat us like cattle, herded back and forth

They drug us into stupor, give us slop to eat

Profiting off our lives and our deaths

My generation is being wiped out from the front and from behind

If you read this, do not forget about us, the silent ones

They promised us rest and instead gave us a chilly cell on death row

The nursing home is so cold, in temperature and in spirit

As you know, I like to try experimental things sometimes. Let me know if you don’t get this. 🙂

You are invited to the Inlinkz link party!

Click here to enter

 

Advertisements

Competing Vows

FF 202 Roger Bultot

copyright Roger Bultot

Competing Vows

We met at the garden gate after dark, both trembling and nervous. She was still beautiful, even swathed in the crisp, new habit.

“Hello, wife,” I said, still unused to that glorious word.

She looked troubled. “The abbess said the cardinal has annulled it.”

“We didn’t agree to that! Did you?” She shook her head. “Let’s run away. Tonight.”

“Where?”

“There hasta be somewhere your family can’t find us.” I tried to draw her outside, my body aching for her. “Do you have some time, at least?”

She resisted. “They made me take other vows here.”

“But ours came first.”

 

You are invited to the Inlinkz link party!

Click here to enter

 


The Family Legacy

The Family Legacy

The basement stank of burned flesh.

“It’s a gateway to outside our world,” my dad said, pointing to the hole. “They never stop coming, but light attracts them.”

I adjusted my night vision goggles. “Can we block it up?”

“You don’t think I’ve tried?”

A stygian tendril snaked out. Dad’s machete came down, severing it cleanly. I heard a shriek.

“They do that sometimes.” He tossed the writhing limb into the incinerator.

“What if they’re intelligent, if they need help?”

“We can’t risk it,” he said. “Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it. All blood is black in the dark.”

 

You are invited to the Inlinkz link party!

Click here to enter

 


Baby Balloons

This is my 200th Friday Fictioneers story, each one exactly 100 words. I started doing these over six years ago, but I took a break for most of the last two years, which is why I’m only reaching this number now.

I decided to go through the Friday Fictioneers stories I did in the past and pick my top five stories. I came up with 22 favorites, but narrowed it down to 10. If you have been reading for a while, you might remember some of these. Here they are in chronological order:

1. The Wrong Tourist (#11) (This was the first one that used a picture I submitted)

2. Knick-Knack Paddy Whack (#40)

3. The Dog, the Clubhouse, and the Cookies (#53)

4. What Does This Button Do? (#61)

5. Jasper’s Lamp (#62)

6. Fructocidal (#63)

7. The Last Few Seconds (#64)

8. A Bad Car Dynamic (#127)

9. Desertedmoonlitclearing.com (#139)

10. Prodigal (#181)

And now, this week’s story.

FF 200 Sandra Crook

copyright Sandra Crook

Baby Balloons

Finally, the loom stopped.

“That’s the last one,” Mrs. Arane said. She sighed.

Her assistant Cyclosa pointed to the hundreds of shroud-white balloons along the walls. “You made them well.”

“What if they get hungry during the flight?” Mrs. Arane sniffed.

“They’ll be okay.”

Mrs. Arane wiped her eyes. “Some of them.”

“Children, come get your balloons!” Cyclosa called. She grabbed four balloons in four of her limbs.

The baby spiders lined up, bouncing with excitement. One by one, they took a balloon and, waving goodbye, launched themselves into the open air.

Mrs. Arane watched with tears and a smile.

Read about spider ballooning

 

You are invited to the Inlinkz link party!

Click here to enter

 


The Secret Conversations of Kids

Alice sat in the café in Cedar Rapids, Iowa and sipped her coffee, watching her daughter Priscilla romp around, burning off excess energy. The other moms were discussing toilet training, but luckily Alice was through that by now.

“Mom, I want my cell phone,” Priscilla said. Alice pulled the plastic flip phone from her purse and handed it to her four-year-old daughter. It was a dollar-store variety that didn’t even take batteries and had a sticker for a screen.

Priscilla grabbed the phone and flipped it open with one hand. For a while, she went around the café, holding the phone up and pretending to take pictures of the display of baked goods, the walls, the cups for sale, even other patrons.  A few stopped to flash smiles and pose while Priscilla squinted at the sticker screen, moving the phone until it was in just the right position. Alice tried to keep an eye on her as she moved around.

Priscilla wandered back, flipping the phone open and shut. Then she looked down at it, flipped it open and put it to her ear.

“Hello?” She listened a moment. “Oh, really? I’m at the coffee shop now. Where are you?”

One of the other moms asked Alice a question and she turned to answer. Priscilla continued to talk and listen for a long time. She started to pace back and forth, her frizzy hair bouncing. At one point, she held the phone between her cheek and her shoulder to use both hands to gesticulate.

“I-O-WA,” she said, making lines in the air with her finger as if she were spelling the word. “I-O-WA.” She stopped and listened for a bit. “No!” she exclaimed. “Oh. My. Goodness.”

“They start early, don’t they?” one of the moms said, and the others tittered and agreed. They were all watching Priscilla’s antics now. A two-year-old of one of the other moms toddled up to Priscilla, reaching for the phone. Priscilla made a shushing gesture and turned away, cupping her hand around the phone.

“It’s amazing the things they pick up from us,” Alice said. “It makes me worried what else they notice.”

“Okay, bye!” Priscilla snapped the phone shut.

“Have a good talk?” Alice asked. Priscilla only nodded happily and bounced away to take more pictures.

*     *     *

“That’s quite a talk you had,” Subin said to her son Hojun when he stopped talking. They were walked from his preschool back to their apartment in Pohang, Korea.

She put the toy cell phone back in her purse. “I don’t know where you come up with this stuff sometimes. Honestly, I don’t even know where Iowa is.”

 

This was inspired by sitting in my local coffee shop today, seeing a little girl carry on a similar conversation on her toy cellphone.


Rebirth

I tried to think of a pithier title and couldn’t come up with anything.

Rebirth

You can’t know what happens after you die. The piano feels screws loosening, feels a crowbar somewhere underneath. Wood cracks, splinters. It’ll be soon. They’ve already pried off its ivory keys.  At least it doesn’t hurt.

There’s a pling sound as its strings are cut, the last music it will ever play.

Consciousness fades.

* * *

“What a unique table!”

The table feels a hand run along its glossy surface.

“It looks like it was made from a grand piano top.”

Was I ever a piano? the table wonders. It can’t remember. Unfortunately, you can’t know what happened before you were born.

 

You are invited to the Inlinkz link party!

Click here to enter

 


McGonagall’s Delivery Service

Pamela pushed through the driving snow, balancing the cup carrier on her back. Why hadn’t she started this business in the summer? She had always been impulsive and starting her own delivery business had seemed like a great idea when she was lying by the heater behind the counter of the bodega with her friend Maya.

Maya knew all about business, having lived in the bodega her whole life. She had advised Pamela on all parts of the business, from advertising to hours to invoicing. Maya could even use a computer and had helped Pamela set up a Paypal account to make payments easier. However, even Maya could not deny that it would be an uphill battle starting a business in New York City as a cat.

She had decided to name the business McGonagall’s Delivery Service after the Harry Potter character who could turn into a cat. She figured that people would trust her more if they thought she could turn into a human if she wanted to. If nothing else, the name would appeal to the Potterhead demographic.

Pamela consulted the smartwatch strapped to her paw. She was almost at the address. She ducked under the covered entrance and scratched at the door until the doorman opened it. She resisted shaking her fur as she walked in, as not to spill the coffee she was carrying.

“Shall I push the button for you, miss,” the doorman said after she showed him the address on the smartwatch. She liked doormen like this, professional to the marrow and deferential to all woman, regardless of species. She gave him a meow of thanks as the elevator doors opened and she darted inside.

The customer was waiting outside the apartment door when Pamela stepped out onto the 12th floor. She plucked the cup of coffee out of the carrier and took a sip. “Ugh, it’s not even hot anymore.”

Pamela typed out a quick message on the smartwatch and held it up. I apologize, but you did order a cup of coffee from 10 blocks away in a snowstorm. It was catty, but Pamela couldn’t help it. She resisted the urge to add a certain canine-based insult to the message, about the worst thing a cat could say.

The woman grumbled something and went into her apartment and shut the door, not even saying good-bye. Without the coffee on her back, Pamela could leap up to push the button for the elevator. The doorman tipped his hat to her and held the front door open as she left. She hesitated under the covered entrance as she prepared to brave the storm again to go home.

I can do this, she thought as she trudged home. Life was never easy as a catrepreneur, but she’d get her break.

I can do this.

 

 

Read more about Pamela’s friend Maya here.


The Green-Walled Chapel

Writings on Faith, Religion and Philosophy

To Be A Magician

A fiction blog of funny and dark stories

My music canvas

you + me + music

Eve In Korea

My Adventures As An ESL Teacher In South Korea

Luna's Writing Journal

A Place for my Fiction

Bikurgurl

Traveler, Foodie, Eclectic Unschooly Mama, Blogger, Outdoor-Seeker, Gardener, & Voracious Reader, sharing bits of my life at Bikurgurl.com

Upper Iowa University

Center for International Education

Here's To Being Human

Living life as a human

The Moving Quill

Writing & Blogging by Shailaja V

jenacidebybibliophile

Book Reviewer and Blogger

yuxianadventure

kitten loves the world

Strolling South America

10 countries, 675 days, 38,540km

It's All in Finding the Right Words

The Eternal Search to Find One's Self: Flash Fiction and Beyond

Reflections Of Life's Journey

Lessons, Joys, Blessings, Friendships, Heartaches, Hardships , Special Moments

A Writer's Path

Sharing writing tips, information, and advice.

Chris Green

Tales of Mystery and Imagination

Finding Myself Through Writing

Writing Habits of Elle Knowles - Author

Commendable Soap

"...the manufacture of stories... a business safe and commendable as making soap..." Willa Cather, 1920

BEAUTIFUL WORDS

Inspiring mental health through creative arts and friendly interactions. (Award free blog)

Claire Fuller

Writing and art

TALES FROM THE MOTHERLAND

Straight up with a twist– Because life is too short to be subtle!

Unmapped Country within Us

Emily Livingstone, Author

Silkpurseproductions's Blog

The art of making a silk purse out of a sow's ear.

BJ Writes

My online repository for works in progress

wordsandotherthings.wordpress.com/

she is confidence in shadows.

Musings on Life & Experience

Poetry, Fiction, & Non-Fiction Writings

Outside The Lines

Fun readings about Color, Art and Segmation!

obBLOGato

a Photo Blog, from swerve of shore to bend of bay, brings us by a commodius vicus of recirculation back to dear dirty New York

Björn Rudbergs writings

Poetry and fiction by a physicist from the dark side

SightsnBytes

A.K.A. Ted White

WordDreams...

Jacqui Murray's

The Day After

Musings, Photography, Writing, and More

Mondays Finish the Story

This is a flash fiction site where you finish the story!

Sketches By Boze

An ongoing exploration of faith, culture, myth, life, art. An advocate for all who are trapped in nightmares.

Tiffys World

A diary type blog following the life of a Forensic Science Student

San Diego Professional Writer's Group

A San Diego based critique group for professional and aspiring writers

Five Years to Mediocrity

chasing kitties, crashing scooters, and learning spanish, one anxiety attack at a time

athingirldotcom

never judge a girl by her weight

The Discerning Christian

Philosophy, Christianity, Social Justice

€merald Wake ©

❤ The art marked by the Pain ❤

Fiction et al

Navigating the modern business of book publishing

Yarnspinnerr

Just Fiction and other things that seem fictitious.

%d bloggers like this: