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.















Posed skeleton in a shed.

Copyright–Alastair Forbes

This is my contribution to Sunday Photo Fiction for February 1, 2015. Every Sunday a new picture prompt is supplied by Alastair Forbes, the host. The weekly challenge is to write an origianl 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:

Genre: Speculative Fiction

Word Count: 200 Words


Dad and Aunt Margaret never got along. She came to live with us after Mom died four years ago. Then, three years ago, she suddenly left. Dad said she was going because she found a job in another city.

Dad’s always been good to me, and I love him. He drinks sometimes, but has always managed to keep his job at the factory. We eat okay and make the rent each month.

The only thing Dad insists on is that I not go into the shed in the back yard. He said he’d seen rats back there and didn’t want me to get bitten. I’ve never seen rats though, so I don’t understand the problem.

Today Dad said, “Bobby, I’m gonna be late gettin’ home this evenin’. Can you get somethin’ to eat for yourself?”

I said, “Sure Dad. Don’t worry about it.”

I just got home from school and I’m wondering again about that shed. I went and got the key from Dad’s room. I know where he keeps it.

I went out back and fitted it into the rusty door lock. The old door creaked open, and there was a skeleton with Aunt Margaret’s blue dress on.

Sunday Photo Fiction Image