Photo Copyright: Eric Wicklund

This story was written for Sunday Photo Fiction–January 28, 2018. Each week the host, Al Forbes provides a picture prompt taken by himself or sent in by one of the other participants in the group of writers. The challenge for each member of the group is to write an original story or poem with no more than 200 words, not counting the title and inspired by the prompt. This week’s prompt was sent in by Eric Wicklund. Thanks, Eric.

To read the other stories written by group members, just click on the link below, then on the little blue frog in the blue box.

The link to the other stories this week is as follows:

Genre: Humor Fiction

Word Count: 200 Words


I hadn’t seen Romar Lineberger since the Wall Street crash of October 29, 1929. There he was sitting in the Metropolitan Museum on this fine June afternoon.

The object of his concentration was a lusty statue of the god Cupid carrying in his arms his bride Psyche. The models, it seemed had no qualms about posing in the nude. Cupid or his model seemed to have had a terrible accident as his legs ended just above the knee. What there was of him was sufficient, however, to incite jealousy in the common male.

I stopped and greeted Romar as politeness required. “Hello, old friend. How’s it going?”

He turned to answer, tear trails down his cheeks.

“Oh, hello Rudy. I’m feeling exceedingly sad.”

“Why, old man?”

“My girlfriend left me.”

“What happened to your wife?”

“Oh, she left when the market crashed. She said she refused to support us on her inheritance, especially since she knew I was cheating on her.”

“That’s tough old pal. Why did your girlfriend leave?”

“Well,” he said, a tear running down his cheek, ” she said I was now poor, old, and she wouldn’t support me on her earnings as a dancer.”





















Debris on river banks.

Copyright–Sandra Crook

Well, here we are this week, gathered in a virtual cabin beside a stream in the woods. It would be even prettier if it hadn’t flooded recently, washing debris up onto the shores. It’s peaceful though. We’re here to discuss our original stories for Friday Fictioneers. Our gracious and talented hostess for this gathering is author and artist, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. The weekly challenge for this group is to write a story with no more than 100 words. It’s supposed to have a beginning, middle, end, and follow the picture prompt for the week. This week’s prompt was supplied by Sandra Crook. Thanks again Sandra.

The link for all other stories is as follows:

Genre:  Realistic Fiction

Word Count:  100 Words


Luke hadn’t contacted a family member in ages. He was a drinker– had been for years.

After his wife died in the car accident, he lost his will to live.

Sixty and let go from his job when the company downsized, crying inside, he felt like human refuse.

He’d sold the house, but bills and booze ate up the money.  Sleeping in his car, he ached from the bone-chilling cold. His fingers felt numb.

Christmas was coming and he was now freezing and lonely. Should he call his only sister?

He did. He heard the words, “Come home to us Luke.”