Postscript #Friday Fictioneers

I light an American Spirit and lean on the fence, tapping the first ash into the weeds.  My sun-browned arm, dust mixed with water set in motion for the allotted time, brings the cigarette back to my lips.

The house looks good. Needs a little plaster but the walls are  sound.  Can’t say why I care much anyway, it’s just mortar and adobe bricks stacked up in place for a few decades or so.  I think for a moment. The price of dust, figuratively speaking, is around thirty pieces of silver.  A done deal – no returns accepted.

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I return after a week’s absence!  Superlative apologies for not being around last week – I was flying instruments on balloons over explosions meant to simulate volcanoes.  Has life ever been this good?  Anyway…Every Friday, writers from all around the world write 100 word (or thereabouts) flash fiction based on a photo posted that Wednesday on Rochelle Wisoff-Fields’ blog.

I welcome constructive criticism; without it I cannot grow as a writer.  The weekly photo that inspired this story is below:

The Key to the Past #Friday Fictioneers – Genre Sci Fi

“Science fiction writers once envisioned vast, self sufficient colonies drifting in the void of space.”

He took a deep breath, and looked out past the incongruous sycamore to the vast horsetail forests beyond.

“But we did something that none of them foresaw.  Instead of conquering space, we conquered time.”

He pointed towards the hotel behind him.  “Ladies and gentlemen, fellow time travelers all, I give you the Carboniferous Period.  Breathe deep, but don’t light a cigarette – the oxygen’s a little richer in these climes.   And mind the dragonflies – they’ll take your hat right off your head.”

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Yes!  Despite a little format change, this is the same old Friday Fictioneers!  Every Friday, writers from all around the world write 100 word (or thereabouts) flash fiction based on a photo posted that Wednesday on Rochelle Wisoff-Fields’ blog.

I welcome constructive criticism; without it I cannot grow as a writer.  The weekly photo that inspired this story is below:

A King of Infinite Space #Friday Fictioneers

The semester is officially over, and I am released from the tedium of classes to unleash my full attention on Science.  Well, not completely…there’s always Friday Fictioneers!   Every Friday, writers from all around the world write 100 word (or thereabouts) flash fiction based on a photo posted that Wednesday on Rochelle Wisoff-Fields’ blog.

Here’s my story this week.  I welcome constructive criticism; without it I cannot grow as a writer.

A King of Infinite Space

I hear them the ossified thoughts packed side by side whispering intimations of immortality to the mystics the bored and the lost.  And I who am sometimes all three scrawl in secret beneath the covers these flashlit pages that I will slip between two tomes to rest and whisper to you if you still have ears to hear.  So brush off the dust and let me tell you my story locked in time but living in memory this simple soul swimming in the umbra of the real thrown from darkness to darkness as in a mirror, darkly.

Deseret #Friday Fictioneers, Genre Post-Apocalypse

Recently learned that my plane has “mechanical problems” so I might not be getting home as soon as I thought.  To put a silver lining on my Detroit airport experience, at least I have time to post my Friday Fictioneers!  Every Friday, writers from all around the world write 100 word (or thereabouts) flash fiction based on a photo posted that Wednesday on Rochelle Wisoff-Fields’ blog.

Here’s my story this week.  I welcome constructive criticism; without it I cannot grow as a writer.

Deseret

The survivors of the blast had told him about the flash, how lucky they were to make it. They hadn’t, though.  They were the walking dead.  It just took them a few days to lie down, one by one.

He picked up the old wasp nest and crushed it in his fist, then looked up at the golden figure on the topmost spire of the temple.  “I can’t say I believe in you much anymore, Moroni,” he said. “But if you’re really up there, why not give that horn a toot?”
The ground trembled, then lay still.

Out of the Weather #Friday Fictioneers

North Carolina makes the switch from early Spring right into Summer, but I’m not complaining, and neither are my tomatoes.   That and finally posting an epic video from 15 miles in the air has had me occupied (and grad school…), but I can’t miss my weekly ritual!  Every Friday, writers from all around the world write 100 word (or thereabouts) flash fiction based on a photo posted that Wednesday on Rochelle Wisoff-Fields’ blog.

Here’s my story this week.  I welcome constructive criticism; without it I cannot grow as a writer.

Out of the Weather

Hey man, thanks for coming over and helping me move that thing. It was super heavy so good call with the ramp.  Iron rusts, you know, just withers away to crumbly chips on the ground, so I figured I should put it here instead of leaving it under the mulberry tree.  In other news I decided his gravestone ought to be kinda weather resistant so I told them to carve it out of quartzite.  You’ll be able to read the name and date for a million years, they said.  That’ll be long enough, I said.

April’s Way #Friday Fictioneers

Another week rolls by, and I am actually on time!  I should have gone to bed an hour ago, but you can sleep when you’re dead!  Anyway… Every Friday, writers from all around the world write 100 word (or thereabouts) flash fiction based on a photo posted that Wednesday on Rochelle Wisoff-Fields’ blog.

Here’s my story this week.  I welcome constructive criticism; without it I cannot grow as a writer.

April’s Way

As she brushed past him between classes, she slipped him a note.  Above the eraser marks and crossed out text she’d finally written:
“Meet me by the old tree along Eden Prairie Road.  I think we should get to know each other.”
At three thirty he pushed open the double doors and walked out past the suburbs with their ruler-straight lawns and carefully trimmed rose bushes till the houses trailed off and the tree stood lonely and tall.  There she was, back towards the town, gazing out at the land falling away far and green and wild.

A New Life #Friday Fictioneers

Late is better than never…even two weeks in a row…right?  In any case, here’s my Friday Fictioneers.  I actually wrote it on a very good Friday (my friend was coming in from MN, I found out about a big fellowship), but didn’t get a chance to write it down till now.  Why, you ask?  Because my friend and I were sending cameras into the stratosphere.  Anyway… Every Friday, writers from all around the world write 100 word (or thereabouts) flash fiction based on a photo posted that Wednesday on Rochelle Wisoff-Fields’ blog.

Here’s my story this week.  I welcome constructive criticism; without it I cannot grow as a writer.

A New Life

I remember my father leaving one night, just grabbed a lantern and off he went.
Set all the dogs barking like crazy when he came back around four in the morning.
Said he’d finally found a beginning for his book, kept talking about some little hill and leopards and Roman ghosts and God knows what else.
Never did understand what happened to him out there, so eventually I got my courage up and asked him where he’d gone that night.
It ain’t a place you can find by looking, he said.  You’ll understand one day.