Friday Fictioneers – Martha’s Mind

Dale Rogerson

Photo courtesy – Dale Rogerson

Martha’s Mind

Word count:  100

 

Martha inhaled deeply, held it momentarily then exhaled slowly.

She repeated this twice before settling into practice.  It was a warm evening with low humidity so she took the opportunity to meditate on the back deck while the mosquitoes were preoccupied.

The sun warmed Martha’s face; eased her frown lines, and smoothed her crow’s feet.  The cushion beneath cupped her bottom with ease which promoted a relaxed attentiveness.

Bird evensong and faraway car sounds floated by for her consideration but she paid them no mind.

For thirty minutes, Martha simply was.  Nowhere to go.  No-one to be.  Nothing to do.

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Friday Fictioneers: Alan’s Apathy

Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Photo courtesy:  Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Alan’s Apathy

Word count:  100

 

Alan’s finger idled through the bar chimes.  He stared at the wall and wondered what he might have for dinner.

Two months ago, Rachel had pouted in the doorway:  “I want something Beatle-esque.”

Then, she’d eyed the room with distaste.

“And, I want this room back after we’re married.”

She had flounced off to continue preparations – buying the dress; choosing the bouquet; finding the location, and deciding who sat where.  His only job (except to show up) was to create the music for them to exit the church to.

Alan sighed.  The only song that provided inspiration was “Yesterday”.

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

bowl-and-leaves

Photo courtesy:  Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Mother-in-claw

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

dadsshoes.jpg

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

nyc-jill-wisoff

Photo courtesy – Jill Wisoff

 

What Childish Notion

Word Count:  100

 

“Momma?”

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

“Uh-huh?”

“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: Not So Swashbuckled

Jan Wayne Fields

Photo courtesy:  Jan Wayne Fields

 

Not So Swashbuckled

Word count:  100

 

With sword in hand, Gerald leapt into the clearing.  He braced, expecting his opponent to pounce from behind the rock.  When nobody appeared, he let out a menacing bellow.

Still nothing.  Ever the professional, he yelled. “Yes, I am the Incomparable Giacomo!  And you want to kill me!”

A murmuration grew among the audience, and the spotlights glared uncomfortably.  Gerald glanced offstage to see the other actor take a drunken swing at the director before crashing through the backdrop to sprawl at his feet.

Gerald’s sword puckered his neck. “I am the Incomparable Giacomo, and you have ruined this play.”