Friday Fictioneers: Venetian Vixen

Fatima Faker Deria

Photo courtesy:  Fatima Fakier Deria

Venetian Vixen

Word count:  100


Sylvia cupped her chin in her hands and watched Louis.  Her elbows rested on the window sill while her bottom smooshed against the end kitchen cabinet.  It was a small kitchen in a small apartment.

Louis would visit this evening after he had finished unloading the barge, and his clothes would smell of fruit and vegetables.  She would help him remove his shirt then press her mouth to his warm, damp skin.  He would taste divine.

Across the street, Martha watched from her window.  She was not interested in her husband; only in the woman who had stolen his affection.


Friday Fictioneers: Mother-in-claw


Photo courtesy:  Rochelle Wisoff-Fields


Word count:  100


“Is that the bowl I sent you for Christmas?”

Meredith knew what was coming.

“Why’s there a plant in it?”

Her mother-in-law scooped it up, opened the trash can and dropped the ivy in.

“It’s not a vase, Meredith.”

She pawed through drawers with piggy fingers until she found the kids’ candy, and refilled the bowl.

“Honestly Meredith.  I wasn’t going to say anything but since my dear Albert died, I’ve been thinking of selling the house to move closer to you lot.”

Meredith’s husband arrived in time to catch the bowl before it struck his mother’s head.

Friday Fictioneers: Portkey Life


Photo courtesy: Anonymous


Better Life

Word count:  100


“That’s odd.” Cordelia stopped, tugging Montague’s jacket as he walked ahead.

“What’s that, pippin?” He stepped backwards, eyeing the boots, and came to rest behind his wife’s shoulder.

Cordelia reached out. “Where did these come from?”

“Best not to touch dear.” Montague chided gently.  “Probably belong to that brute gardener next door.”

Walking on, Cordelia briefly imagined that distasteful man grimace brown-toothed spittle at the effort of strapping his boots together.

In another realm, the gardener (whose name was Simon) gawked at the abrupt change in surroundings;  a beautiful estate all his own.

“All I done was touch the boot.”

Friday Fictioneers: What Childish Notion


Photo courtesy – Jill Wisoff


What Childish Notion

Word Count:  100



She held Nathan’s hand tightly through the swarm of other pedestrians.


“Why is there a monster over there?”

“What?  Where?”  She replied without looking.

Exasperated with human traffic, she jerked her son a little too hard.  Nathan wailed, and passersby bestowed judgmental glares.

Screw this city, and screw Daniel; damn worthless ex-husband with shitty timekeeping.

She pulled Nathan toward her and looked down upon his tearful eyes.

“Momma!  The monster!” He pointed behind.

“Nathan, the only monster here is the one you’re…”

Her words were cut short as the Empire State Building broke free from the ground.



Friday Fictioneers – Loop

Karen Rawson

Photo Courtesy:  Karen Rawson



Word Count:  100

Heather loved running this path.  She never deviated and bounded expertly over rocks and tree roots; strong legs pumping, and her orange hat bobbing visibly to warn hunters.

It felt as if she’d been running for years.

Heather paused to negotiate the rickety steps when she heard a sharp crack in the distance, followed by immediate head pain, then nothing.

Heather loved running this path.  She never deviated and bounded expertly over rocks and tree roots; strong legs pumping, and her orange hat bobbing visibly to warn hunters.

She crossed the stream, indifferent to the memorial cross bearing her name.

Friday Fictioneers: Honey Done


Photo courtesy:  Yarnspinnerr

Honey Done

Word Count:  100


Nathan eyed the fan; another thing on the honey-do list for the house.  He puzzled at the cause of such damage; the blades were all bent at the same angle, and the whole thing seemed odd.  He retrieved his ladder from the foyer in order to inspect further.

Perhaps it’s not a fan at all, he mused.

As Nathan scrutinized, the blades creaked into life, snapped shut around his head, and zapped him into nothing.

“Babe, I…” His wife appeared as the machine resettled.

Assuming her husband was slacking somewhere, she grasped the ladder resolutely, and made her own ascent.

Friday Fictioneers: Love’s Interest


Photo courtesy: Fatima Fakier-Deria

Love’s Interest

Word Count:  100


Over two hundred years have passed since the fine Rossiter ladies sat beneath the Yew tree, sewing, and talking in veiled ways of romance and social affairs.

The house is open to the public Monday through Saturday but nobody visits the far terrace; it appears abandoned and therefore, uninteresting.

However, if someone wandered down on a dusky Sunday, they might imagine having seen ghostly outlines in silk or satin dresses, and dainty hands tugging needle and thread.  They’d imagine overhearing conversation regarding Miss Rossiter’s love interest; a temperamental man with an unexplained fortune, and a habit of losing his wives.