The Present State of the City

Photo Copyright: Randy Mazie

Here we are again and this week we’re gathered near a boarded-up factory. We’ve come together to discuss our original stories for the week. This is the Friday Fictioneer’s group. Our hostess for the gathering is the talented and gracious author and artist, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. The challenge for each of us this week and every week is to write a story with no more than 100 words, not counting the title. It’s supposed to have a beginning, middle, end, and be inspired by the picture prompt for the week. This week’s prompt was provided by Randy Mazie. Thanks, Randy. To read the other stories by group members, just click on the link below, then on the smiling frog. Next, follow the given directions.

9 August 2019

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 99 Words

The Present State of the City by P.S. Joshi

The city once was buzzing with activity, the downtown crammed with shoppers.

The local cinema showed the name of the latest movie.

Now, the cinema was showing X-rated movies. Few people were downtown.

The enormous factory, once humming with the buzz, whir, and clank of the line of cars in the making was silent. No more the smells of oil, grease, and paint. Windows were boarded up.

No bicycles were left outside homes due to theft.

A sign downtown offered quick cash for a government check.

This was the state of Pickering, Michigan today. We had nowhere else to go.














Old building next to a creek

Photo Copyright–Barbara W. Beacham

This is my contribution this week to the challenge, Monday’s Finish the Story hosted by Barbara Beacham. Every Monday, Barbara supplies a new picture prompt along with the first sentence to be used for the story. The original story to be written should have only 100 to 150 additional words. I’ve bolded the first sentence given with the picture prompt. Be sure to click on the little blue frog in the blue box to read the other stories.

The link for all other stories is as follows:

Genre: Humor Fiction

Word Count: 11+4+150=165 Words


Diamond Jack had his hideout next to the Rattle Snake River. It was an unpainted shack of a place. Inside it had only the barest furnishins: an old cook stove, a couple a beds, a table. and a couple chairs.

I been Jack’s partner for nigh on to forty years now. We’re both gettin’ up in age.

It’s been so long since we pulled a successful bank job, I think the law has forgotten about us.

I asked him just the other day, “Jack, ain’t we ever gonna pull another bank job and get some more cash?”

He said right back in my face, “You shut your trap, Tom. You’re eaten ain’t ya?”

What I didn’t know was Jack was holden’ out on me. His son was sendin’ him money just to keep him out of trouble. That doggone Jack is a proud one. He sure is that. He didn’t want nobody to know he was acceptin’ handouts from his boy.

Symbol for Monday's Finish the Story