Have You Seen Me?

Friday Fictioneers 2-28

Copyright – Sandra Crook

The tattered flyer stapled to the pole asks,
Have you seen me?
Missing: February 27, 2005.
DOB: January 4, 1985.
Last seen hitchhiking –.

I remember the day she went missing, shocking our pastoral farm town; suddenly, no longer exempt from real world horrors. Some still held out hope, certain she’d return, remaining vigilant in their search. Others were more rational.

Her family and the town deserve closure; need to put her to rest. Today she’ll return, on the anniversary of her disappearance. I grab the shovel and go out back into the field to unearth the long dead mystery.

This 100-word story was written for Friday Fictioneers. To join in the writing fun or to read more stories, click the badge below:

Summer of the Bell

Friday Fictioneers 02-21

Copyright – David Stewart

Ma always rang the supper bell at sundown. We sprang from the woods, eager grasshoppers half-starved for peaches-n’-cream corn and buttermilk biscuits. Junie and me woofed it down, bickered over dibs on the last piece of cobbler, and then bellyached about sick tummies.

The sultry summer days stretched out like a lazy porch hound. We jam-packed in a childhood of explorin’ the boonies, catchin’ crawdads, and laughin’ ‘til we darn near peed our pants.

Last day of summer, the bell clanged early. Roundin’ the corner of the house, Reverend waited on the porch.

“Where’s Ma?” I asked.

Reverend’s wet eyes shed the answer that forever changed our summers.

Written for Friday Fictioneers 100-word photo prompt. Let’s pretend that I didn’t go over the word limit by eight words.

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Faces: Macro iPhoneography

I have faces on my mind; all kinds of faces made of glass, plastic, stone, metal, and paper. They’re everywhere, always watching. Luckily, these faces can’t talk or move. Well, at least they haven’t yet.

I took these random macro faces around my house using my iPhone.

Bottle Man

Glass Bottle Stopper

Continue reading

My Soul Wept

Shoah – A Hebrew term for the Holocaust, meaning catastrophe.

I put a lot of emotion into my writing because I want the reader to experience and believe my stories, although they are ultimately fiction. While I wrote this piece with the Holocaust in the forefront of my mind, it is representative of a perpetual affliction of hate and intolerance that affects everyone in the world. I do not claim to know or understand the horror that any person experiences(ed) in wartime, in my story, I just tried to visualize it and write to the best of my ability. You can learn more about the Holocaust at USHMM.

For VisDare’s weekly photo prompt, I wrote what I felt, meeting the 150-word or less challenge in 136 words. You might notice I only used two extended sentences for a little extra drama and a sense of urgency. I’m sure I pushed the boundaries of proper sentence structure. Continue reading

Stick of Burning Love

Friday Fictioneers 02-14

Copyright – Janet Webb

With smudged black eyes and tear-etched cheeks, Elsie inhaled the corrosive nicotine, savoring the deep burn. She needed it, just one, a few drags to steady her trembling hands and frazzled thoughts. The four glasses of sangria she enjoyed earlier was an added bonus, an anesthetizing gift.

The marriage proposal had blindsided her. So unexpected, Elsie reeled from the notion that she could be such a fool. She flicked the smoldering cigarette into the trail of gasoline and watched it slither toward his house, the house he shared with his bride.

She hissed, “Best wishes for a life of fiery, all-consuming passion.”


This story brought to you by Friday Fictioneers photo prompt. You can read more prose and poetry by clicking the badge below.

Discarded Leftovers

This week, Trifecta Writing asked us for exactly 33 of our own words about love gone wrong. The catch, we couldn’t use any of the following words: love, sad, tears, wept, heart, pain.

Here’s my 33-word tale:

Discarded Leftovers

Splotchy cheeks wet with anguish, droplets spatter my feet. Clenching the distended backpack of my life’s leftovers, wondering why she discarded me, I balk as the door opens to my next temporary family.

Be My Light or Don’t

Friday Fictioneers 02-07

Copyright – Dawn M. Miller

Don’t appraise my messy mind

or feign to understand my plight

Sympathetic eyes do judge

the pity extinguishes my glow

Lightly be my friend in life

or heavily be my foe. Continue reading

My Afternoon Matinee

The afternoon matinee is the one place I can get away from life’s madness to contemplate nothing. I crave the thunderous sounds of the movie, drowning out the roar of my self-loathing thoughts. I don’t care about the plot; it’s the thrill of the darkness when the lights go down. It takes me away from my noxious mind. I ignore the characters and their inane conversations as they only serve to exasperate me. I close my eyes and enjoy the rush of just being, alone, adrift in my dispossessed world. No more pity or judgment.

But today I hear a steady beep-beep as it turns into a piercing, unbroken flat line. And the distant voices say… Continue reading

The Un-fortune-ate Teller

The dimly lit room reeks of funky incense and the hopes of the pathetic believers who place their future in the hands of a charlatan. Their presence hangs heavy in the creases of the cheap brocade curtains veiled in years of dusty deceit.

Roosting on a crimson velvet chaise lounge, I wait to have my future revealed by the Great Madame Oriel. She comes highly recommended by her throng of devotees.

The curtain to the back room parts and a disconcerted woman hurries past me, clutching a tissue in her trembling hand.

“Bad news?” I ask, but my question is answered with a curt snort.

“Miss Ellanora,” a disembodied voice with a southern drawl beckons me, “I’m ready to help you discover your destiny.” Continue reading