Drachenfutter

15 Apr

100 words for Friday Fictioneers that may save your life.

(Last week I didn’t get to half of the stories because I couldn’t. Still working on answering comments. Insert excuses here. I remember when we thought 20 stories was a good number. Wish me luck this week. I’ll try. Aloha, D.)

 

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(Copyright Roger Bultot)

 

I sift ashes between my fingers as the ambulance bearing two bodies departs.

“A waste,” I utter.

“Arson?”

Newly married, my apprentice investigator had a roving eye and much to learn.

“Something else, son” I reply. “Review what we know.”

“Witnesses say the husband arrived home pre-dawn carrying a small gift-wrapped package. He entered the house and the wife was heard shouting. There’s a brief silence, then sudden ignition.”

“Characteristics?”

“Volatility, accelerated involvement, high heat.”

“Conclusion?”

“It can’t be…”

“Insufficent drachenfutter. Remember it. The life you save may be your own.”

 

 

 

Drachenfutter needed

He Stands Waiting

9 Apr

A 100 word meditation on migration for Friday Fictioneers based on the photo prompt below from Jennifer Pendergast.

(And an extra twenty-three words as a reminder that though we are not often aware of it, the Universe and all creatures that inhabit it are subject to laws laid down to ancient rhythms at the dawn of time.)  [Do not read if you are prone to information sickness or anything that unnecessarily pushes  the hundred word envelope.]

 

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(Copyright Jennifer Pendergast)

 

The arc of the sun sweeps ever lower across the sky and each day grows shorter and colder as the light fades by degrees. At length a deep and insistent voice intones a command that resonates through earth and steel and tiny bones and into the hot-blooded heart of a lone scissor-tailed-flycatcher. It warns of bitter winds, long dark nights and killer frosts to come.

FLY

Until the sun is high in the sky again above green forests and halcyon days are suffused with warm radiance.

FLY

It cannot be ignored.

FLY

Gather your strength. Spread your wings.

Take flight.

 

 

 

Fly(blowup)

Though the mills of God grind slowly;

Yet they grind exceedingly small;

Though with patience He stands waiting,

With exactness grinds He all.

       (Henry Wadsworth Longfellow)

Low Brows and High Art

1 Apr

100 words for Friday Fictioneers based on the photo prompt below from Lauren Moscato.

Lauren Moscato

(Copyright Lauren Moscato)

Who was the artist?”

Salguod Yorlicam.”

How long’d it take?”

Three days. Dude asked could he put a mural on my wall, slept on the scaffolding I rented when he wasn’t painting, then signed it above the air conditioner when he was done and walked off. Some gallery owner just offered me three-hundred grand for the whole building. Said an original tromploy by Yorlicam was well worth it.”

A what?”

Tromploy. Means fool the eye. He did a good job, don’t you think?”

You going to sell?”

Shark fart in the water?”

These Shoes

25 Mar

100 words for Friday Fictioneers based on the photo prompt below from David Stewart. (I once spent a long day sleeping and sick underneath just such a gazebo, listening to people walk above me unaware as I waited for a friend. I cannot imagine a lifetime of that.)

Gazebo:be nice

(Copyright David Stewart)

 

Officer Sloan cruises by the gazebo.

“You alright, Sam?”

I nod and smile.

Long ago a robbery suspect shot him. I called for help with his radio and kept pressure on the wound until I was tasered and arrested. Dash camera footage changed their minds and since then the police department has looked out for me. Like elephants, they have not forgotten.

Am I homeless? Guilty as charged. Hopeless? You tell me.

You’ll never know anyone’s story until you ask. Never know where you’ll find yourself until you’re there. Never know how it happened until it does.

Be nice.

 

These shoes

 

 

Them That Ask No Questions Isn’t Told A Lie

18 Mar

100 words for Friday Fictioneers based on the photo prompt below from Rachael Bjerke, a green hued picture that seems synchronistically perfect for the celebration of the day of St. Patrick, who, as we all know, was canonized by Pope Bartholomeo the Pre-emptory for driving all the frogs out of Louisiana. Imagine that.

 

Rachel Bjerke

(Copyright Rachael Bjerke)

In 1954, a talking frog said goodbye to his thousands of brothers and sisters and climbed to the top of a magic fountain to ask about his future with the spirit that lived within.

“You will live in a big city but make your living on the street. Each year before the ponds turn to ice, people will inflate a gigantic likeness of you and pull it between tall buildings.”

“Why?”

“It’s not clear.”

“Anything else?”

“You will marry a pig.”

“I’m going back to the swamp.”

“It’s not easy being green.”

 

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Snow Angel

11 Mar

One hundreds words for Friday Fictioneers based on the photo prompt below by Sandra Crook.

 

Frost on a stump. Sandra Crook.

(Copyright Sandra Crook)

On the morning of my sixth birthday they were fighting again.

I took my Flexi-flyer to the estuary and hurled myself down chaotic tilted slabs of tidal floes and out onto the thinner ice of the river, which popped and cracked behind me as I passed.

At day’s end, cold, wet and tired, I felt something soft brush my eyelid. I lay down on the sled and looked up. Flakes the size of quarters spiraled from a featureless gray sky.

As the new snow fell silently with the night I closed my eyes and wondered whether they would miss me.

 

 

angelsnow

Social Darwinism

4 Mar

100 words of apophenia for Friday Fictioneers based on the photo prompt from Erin Leary. Thanks to all who read Dream of the Dragonfly and commented during the preceding week. If I didn’t get to your story please accept my heartfelt apology. Out of 117 stories and I read about 40%. Madison’s baby is turning into a demanding teenager under the patient care of Rochelle. Hide the car keys. I can’t promise I’ll be doing any better, reading-wise, this week, but one thing I will tell you is that if you write a good story, word will get out. Witness the writing of Dr. Tracey of http://whatsfordinnerdoc.com. She’s new but good. Welcome to the party, pal.

Cepheus

(Copyright Erin Leary)

“What do you see?” asked Emily’s court appointed psychiatrist, Dr. Rochelle Fields.

“Stars.”

“You know what most people see when they look at that picture?”

“Mushrooms?”

 

“Did you kill him, Emily?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know why?”

“It was a mercy killing. We’d been married a month when he said he wanted me to share him with another woman.”

“My report will say temporary insanity, Emily. Doing my bit to save the world, one retroactive abortion at a time.”

“Thank you.”

 

“What stars, Emily?”

“The constellation Cepheus.”

“Remarkable.”

CepheusStars

Cepheus