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.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THE CITY GIRL

 

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Photo Copyright: Roger Bultot

Here we are, gathered together again. Today we’re sitting in an apartment in the city. We’re here to discuss our original stories for the week. We’re the Friday Fictioneers group. Our hostess for this gathering is the talented and gracious author and artist, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. The challenge for each of us this week and every week it to write a story with no more than 100 words not including 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 Roger Bultot. Thanks, Roger.

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:

https://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/2017/02/01/3-february-2017/

Genre: Humor Fiction

Word Count: 100 Words

THE CITY GIRL by P.S. Joshi

Martha had spent her life in the city. Her best friend told her she needed to take a trip to the country and experience it.

She replied, “I always have my flower in the window. Besides, bugs and dirt bother me. The last time I went to Central Park several years ago a dog wet on my shoe.”

Then she met Ed. He was athletic and enjoyed the outdoors. The main thing she admired in him was his interest in her.

One day he talked her into driving with him to the country to visit friends. Her attitude changed entirely.

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Written Act of Kindness Award

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FOUND GUILTY

window-on-town-at-dusk-al-forbes-november-27th-2016

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 WINDOW

 

 

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Copyright–Janet Webb


 

Here we are once more gathered in the virtual front room of our gracious and talented hostess, author and artist, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. We’re here to share our original stories for the weekly meeting of 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 Janet Webb. Thanks Janet.

http://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/2014/09/10/12-september-2014/

Genre:  Horror Fantasy

Word Count:  100 Words

THE WINDOW By P.S. Joshi

Terrifying dreams haunted Marjorie the last few nights. First came the tap at the bathroom window, next the moan. She was looking in the mirror when the window started to rise. Then the dream stopped and she woke, covered with sweat.

She was now alone since her husband’s death. Her fear increased, but she hesitated to tell anyone about the dreams for fear they’d laugh and think her foolish.

On Sunday evening she’d come home from her book club meeting. As she checked her hair in the bathroom mirror, there was a tap at the window, then a low moan.

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