WHERE DREAMS CAN LEAD–A RECORDED TAPE

 

Photo Copyright: Eric Wicklund

This story was written for Sunday Photo Fiction–December 10th, 2017. 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 including the title and inspired by the prompt. This week’s prompt was taken 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:

https://sundayphotofictioner.wordpress.com/2017/12/10/sunday-photo-fiction-december-10th-2017/

Genre: Speculative Fiction

Word Count: 200 Words

WHERE DREAMS CAN LEAD–A RECORDED TAPE by P.S. Joshi

My older brother was a model builder. I was drawn to the model of a Hobbit cottage. It became an obsession but I was forbidden to get close so I turned to my imagination. That led to the dream when my brother wasn’t home.

It found me beside the model. There was one difference. It was inhabited. They weren’t the same Hobbits as in the stories. These were different. They were scary.

I listened through a window of the main building.

“When and how do we do it. The monster keeps watching us. It won’t be as easy as with the other giant we killed off and the other one took up a lot of burying room. Where can we bury this behemoth?”

“Let me think. A black magic curse worked before so we’ll find another.”

I found myself standing beside the model half asleep so went back to bed. I couldn’t believe I’d been sleepwalking. What a nightmare

The next night I found myself standing beside the model again, this time with the Hobbits waving a stick of some kind.

“May lack of breath now cause his death.”

“I can’t breathe. I’m falling to the floor.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A DIFFICULT CHRISTMAS

 

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Photo Copyright: Al Forbes

This story was written for Sunday Photo Fiction–December 4th, 2016. Each week the host, Al Forbes. provides a picture prompt. 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.

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:

https://sundayphotofictioner.wordpress.com/2016/12/04/sunday-photo-fiction-december-4th-2016/

Genre: Human Interest Fiction

Word Count: 199 Words

A DIFFICULT CHRISTMAS by P.S. Joshi

Marilyn stepped out onto the porch to a wonderland of sparkling trees, lawns, and rooftops. Frost was everywhere. It looked like a Christmas card.

She didn’t realize how long she’d been standing  there until numbness began setting in. Stepping back inside, she felt the warmth.

The furnace could heat her on the outside, but there was a kind of numbness it wouldn’t chase off, that of her dad’s death. It had been so sudden.

The hospital let him come home for the holidays. He lay down for a nap after lunch and never woke up. It was so unexpected, such a shock.

She told herself the numbness I feel now will soon leave to be replaced by pain. Her children were young and she had to hide the pain for their sake. She wanted every Christmas to be happy.

Her mother was another matter. She’d be living with them now and had Alzheimer’s. Marilyn had to take one day at a time.

There was still the Christmas shopping and wrapping and the tree to dig out from storage and trim. Her husband wasn’t one to celebrate holidays. It would all be up to her now. Somehow, gradually she’d have to get through it.

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FOUND GUILTY

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Photo Copyright: Al Forbes

This story was written for Sunday Photo Fiction–November 27th, 2016. Each week the host, Al Forbes, provides a picture prompt. 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.

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:

https://sundayphotofictioner.wordpress.com/2016/11/27/sunday-photo-fiction-november-27th-2016/

Genre: Crime Fiction

Word Count: 200 Words

FOUND GUILTY by P.S. Joshi

Jack stood at the window and gazed out at the city almost hidden by the dusk. Any moment now the police would arrive to arrest him.

He was guilty and knew it even if the dead man was the one who did the damage. He wrecked Jack’s marriage.

Margaret wasn’t to blame. She was lonely because he was gone so much. He thought his job was keeping them together not building  a wall between them.

When he’d walked in and found them together in bed he went wild. He’d grabbed the Glock from the dresser drawer, clicked off the safety, and started shooting. He was a practiced shot spending hours at the indoor firing range. It should have been a thief he’d shoot one day.

It a way, the dirty stinker was a thief.

Now he was waiting for the police to find him. He had plenty of time to think. He had nothing else–no wife, no job, no future, no hope. He was his own worst enemy.

What do you do to an enemy? He heard a knock at the door and pictured death or life imprisonment.

The maid holding clean towels heard a shot in the room.

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THE MIDNIGHT MELODY

 

hh-spinet--Jan W. Fields

Photo Copyright: Jan W. Fields

Here we all are again for another week. Today we’re gathered in a virtual room with a virtual harpsichord on display. Our hostess for this gathering is the gracious and talented author and artist, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. We’re the Friday Fictioneers group. Our challenge this week and every week is to each write an original 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 Jan W. Fields. Thanks, Jan.

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

The link for this week’s stories is as follows:

https://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/2016/01/20/22-january-2016/

Genre: Humor Fiction

Word Count: 100 Words

THE MIDNIGHT MELODY By P.S. Joshi

My friend Marge and I had often heard about the haunted Fritzen mansion. We decided to pay a fee and spend the night in residence.

It was said the ghost of Mitzie Ann Fritzen, the unmarried daughter of millionaire Horace Fritzen, had haunted for years since her tragic death of a heart attack as she played her favorite plaintive piece on the harpsichord.

It was a chilly, full-moon night.

We arranged our sleeping bags and waited with trepidation.

At midnight. her spirit appeared and began to play.

We both agreed on one point. Mitzie Ann could have used more lessons.

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THE HOBO’S STORY

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Copyright: Jennifer Pendergast

Here we are for another week, gathered today in a virtual train station. We’re here as the Friday Fictioneers to discuss our original stories for this week. Our hostess for this gathering is the gracious and talented author and artist, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. The 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 Jennifer Pendergast. Thanks Jennifer.

To read the other stories from group members, just click on the little blue frog in the blue box after clicking on the link.

The link for the other stories is as follows:

https://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/2015/04/08/10-april-2015/

Genre: Realistic Fiction

Word Count: 100 Words

THE HOBO’S STORY by P.S. Joshi

I’ve been a hobo since 1990. It’s a hard and dangerous life. My friend, Dan, and I travel together. I used to go it alone, but that’s lonely and even more dangerous. We ride the rails on boxcars.

We’re not “tramps” who work only when they have to, or “bums” who don’t work at all. We hobos are traveling workers. We look for the hobo sign of the two shovels that means there’s work available.

I’ll probably be a hobo until the day I “catch the Westbound.” That means in hobo lingo, “death.” Dan says he probably will be too.

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THE GREAT BOUDICCA

Chariot and rider.

Copyright — Alastair Forbes

This is my contribution to Sunday Photo Fiction for February 8, 2015. Every Sunday a new picture prompt is supplied by Alastair Forbes, the host. The weekly challenge is to write an original story with no more than 200 words. It’s supposed to have a beginning, middle, end, and follow the picture prompt for the week. Be sure to click on the little blue frog in the blue box to read all the other stories.

The link for all other stories is as follows:

http://sundayphotofictioner.wordpress.com/2015/02/08/sunday-photo-fiction-february-8th-2015/

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 194 Words

THE GREAT BOUDICCA By P.S. Joshi

She stood straight and determined in the chariot, holding the reins in a firm grip, giving forth an air of confidence. It was about A.D. 61. This was the great and powerful Boudicca, woman warrior and leader, Celtic queen of the Iceni tribe, widow of the Celtic king Prasutagus of East Anglia. She was filled with righteous anger, a determination to fight back.

Upon the death of her husband, their kingdom had been unjustly annexed by the Roman Empire under Nero, as if conquered. She had been stripped and beaten, and her daughters raped. Now she was leading her people and the Trinovantes, who joined them, on a revolt, an attack on the Roman-held city of Camulodunum (now Colchester), and capital of Roman Britain. After that, they would drive on to Londinium (now London) and Verulamium (now St. Albans), destroying both cities with a death toll in the thousands.

She was finally defeated by the Roman army led by Paulinus.

It isn’t known for sure whether she was killed, poisoned herself to avoid capture, or died from illness. A statue exists in her memory, while Emperor Nero’s name lives on in infamy

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