Photo Copyright: Claire Sheldon

Here we are this week sitting around a large desk. We’ve gathered again to discuss our original stories for the week. This is the Friday Fictioneers 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 follow the picture prompt for the week. This week’s prompt was provided by Claire Sheldon. Thanks, Claire.

To read the other stories by group members, 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”

Genre: Humor Fiction

Word Count: 100 Words

THE STORY by P.S. Joshi

Janie sat and stared at the vacant computer screen. The magazine wanted a nonfiction story about some exciting adventure she’d had in her life.  What adventure? She was fourteen years old for crying out loud.

Then she thought about her summer camp experience. She didn’t know about exciting. It was more terrifically embarrassing. The skunk came out of nowhere.

It must have smelled her sandwich as it followed her. The camp counselor came running when she screamed. All the commotion scared the skunk and it ran off.

Oh, well. She began, Last summer I had an adventure at Camp Wigwam.



















Photo Copyright: Al Forbes

This story was written for Sunday Photo Fiction–November 13th, 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 including 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:

Genre: Speculative Fiction

Word Count: 200 Words


It had been a boring evening at the Sea Lanes Yacht Club. My wife was enjoying herself gabbing to friends but I was bored.

I decided to stroll down to the beach and get some fresh air. There was a breeze and I could smell the salt. This was my element, not the stuffy club atmosphere.

It wasn’t quite dark yet. I looked toward the horizon and saw a large ship. It looked like a battleship but how could it be? This was 1980.

An old man came strolling down to join me.

“You watchin’ for ships? Didn’t expect to see that battleship didja'”

I turned toward him. “You mean to tell me that is a battleship? Where on earth did it come from? Is it a tourist attraction?”

“No sir, no sir. That’s the Newport. It shows up sometimes on nights like this. Went down in 1918 on its way back from France. Troop carrier it was. A torpedo hit it and it limped toward New York but never made it. Some men were lost.”

A cold chill swept through me. I studied him. “Are you trying to tell me that’s a ghost ship?”

“Ain’t tryin’. I’m just tellin.'”




Written Act of Kindness Award