THE HOLIDAY DOG

 

GEDSC DIGITAL CAMERA   Photo Copyright: Al Forbes

This story was written for Sunday Photo Fiction–December 24, 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 Al himself. Thanks, Al.

To read the other stories written by the 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/2017/12/24/sunday-photo-fiction-december-24th-2017/

Genre: Realistic Fiction

Word Count: 200 Words

THE HOLIDAY DOG by P.S. Joshi

Juliet inspected the fridge and saw there was no milk. She also knew there was snow on the ground and more falling. It was 20 degrees out.

As she dialed the nearest convenience store she also called to her husband, Mitch.

In twenty minutes Mitch chilled through was entering the warm store. He swiftly made the purchase muttering under his breath.

Trudging home he saw something barely moving to the left. He pointed the beam of his flashlight at the movement and saw a large golden retriever curled up and shivering under a piece of thick cardboard leaning against a brick wall.

As he got nearer the dog started thumping its tail.

“Well, guy haven’t you got a home?”

The animal slowly got to its feet and met him halfway. Mitch’s heart melted. There was no collar.

“Come on boy lets go home together.”

The dog followed in Mitch’s footsteps.

Back at the house, Juliet called from the kitchen, “Well, did you get the milk?”

“Yes, and a little something extra.”

“What do you mean? Oh.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

HARD TIMES

 

barnyard-rooster

Photo Copyright Free

New York Public Library

This is a three things story for Teagan’s blog at the following link:

Three Things Fire Rooster

The challenge is to write a story using the words fire, rooster, and calendar. Following is my story.

HARD TIMES

by P.S. Joshi

Mary hated to do it, but they did have an old rooster and a young rooster now and times were still hard. Pa finally was back to work in the coalmine after breaking his leg so the future looked brighter.

She checked the calendar on the kitchen wall where she’d circled tomorrow’s date, June 1, 1901, when Pa would get paid. For today she’d have to make due with what she had.

Mary took out a metal canister of flour and the big iron pot. With salt, pepper, and milk she could fix chicken and dumplings. The milk could stay in the ice box until needed. Yesterday she’d put the dried string beans from the garden to soak. With flour and milk she’d make a white sauce for them when they’d boiled.

She put wood from a box beside the stove inside it and lit a match starting the fire. Then she put two kettles of water on to boil. Resolutely she took out the hand ax and carried a chair outside into the back yard. She put down old newspaper and weighted it with rocks.

“Toby!” she shouted, “I need you.”

Her younger brother aged ten came running. Seeing the ax, he guessed what she wanted.

“Heck, Mary, we only got two chickens and two roosters. You gonna’ kill old Barney?”

She shook her head and he started looking. The darn bird could hide like anything.

Finally, the boy came running from behind the hen house, the rooster several feet ahead. He finally managed to grab the bird by the legs, taking it to the chopping block. In a moment it was over.

Mary sat on the chair and started plucking. When the bird was plucked free she took it into the kitchen and scalded it in the boiled water so the pin feathers would come off.

The next step was to clean out the inside back on the paper, saving some of the organs in a bowl to use for gravy and biscuits for breakfast the next day. She washed the bird under the outside pump as Toby worked the handle.

The cut up chicken went into the hot water of the second pot.

By the time Pa came home and washed up, she had a delicious dinner of chicken, dumplings, and cooked beans with white sauce ready to be served. They all said grace and sat down to dinner.

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Written Act of Kindness Award

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ALWAYS TOGETHER

 

kitchen-window--Rochelle

Photo Copyright: Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Here we are together for another week. Our hostess is the  gracious and talented artist  and author, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Today we’re gathered in her lovely kitchen.  We are the Friday Fictioneers, and the challenge this week, and every week is for each of us to write an original story with no more than 100 words. It’s supposed to have a beginning, middle, end, and follow the picture prompt provided for the week. This week’s prompt was provided by Rochelle herself. Thanks again, Rochelle.

To read the other stories from group members, just click on the link below, then on the little blue frog in the blue box. The link for the other stories this week is as follows:

https://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/2015/12/16/18-december-2015/

Genre: Speculative Fiction

Word Count: 100 Words

ALWAYS TOGETHER By P.S. Joshi

The kitchen is the only room in the house without curtains. I’m all alone since John drowned.

I eat dinner early because the house has been surrounded by fog after dark. Something lurks there.

I hear waves impacting the sea wall. Nearer there’s a low moan.

I loved John, but I didn’t want him to come back to haunt me. He said we’d always be together, but, John, not like this. Please no, John.

The moaning isn’t the worst. There’s the scratching on the door.

This is not the man I knew and loved. Now he’s a monster.

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NEWLYWEDS

 

Kitchen

Copyright: Raina Ng

Here we are again this week. Today we’re in a virtual model home and sitting in the kitchen. We’re here to discuss our original stories for the week. This is the Friday Fictioneer’s group. Our hostess for this gathering is the talented and gracious author and artist, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. The challenge for each of us 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 chosen from one used before, so is a repeat for some of us. It was supplied then by Raina Ng. Thanks, Raina.

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/2015/06/10/12-june-2015/

Genre: Humor Fiction

Word Count: 100 Words

NEWLYWEDS by P.S. Joshi

A pair of newlyweds is strolling through a model home in a new development. Let’s listen in.

“Oh Henry, this is lovely. What room is this?”

“I think this is the kitchen, Laura. It looks something like the place where Mom cooks our food.”

“Oh yes, my mom cooks in a room a bit like this one. This looks a lot nicer than that kitchen though. The microwave is beautiful. I do know how to use that.”

“Well, never fear. Ha, ha. I’ll buy you the best one I can find.”

“Oh, Henry, you’re a great husband. I chose well.”

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THE LONG WALK

 

c2a9tales_from_the_motherland (1)

Copyright–Dawn Quyle Landau

 

Here we are once more taking a virtual trip to far places and strange venues with our guide, the gracious and talented author and artist, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. We’re sharing our original stories for the weekly trip of the Friday Fictioneers. Our challenge is to write a story with no more than 100 words. It’s supposed to include a beginning, middle, end, and follow the picture prompt supplied for the week. The prompt this week is supplied by Dawn Q. Landau. Thanks Dawn.

http://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/2014/09/17/19-september-2014/

Genre:  Humor Fiction

Word Count:  100 Words

THE LONG WALK By P.S. Joshi

John was a nice guy, but he had two big faults, telling tall tales and overeating.

His wife Marg had enough. One night she found him gorging at midnight. She came up behind him and said, “John.”

He jumped about a foot. “Would you believe–and it’s a fact–would you believe I had this strange dream where I was walking across a long, wide terrace? I walked and walked. I woke up to find myself sitting here eating in the kitchen.”

She shook her head, trying not to laugh. “No,” she said. “I don’t believe a word of it.”

 

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