Wrong Side of the Tracks…


“Are you sure this is the place?” Maria looked out the driver’s side window at the rundown building.

“It’s where the car told me to go.” Brett jabbed at the GPS screen on the dashboard. “It’s a smart car, it knows where we should be.”

“This just doesn’t–” Maria stopped as she saw three hooded men walking toward them, one of them grabbing something from his waistband. “I think we should go.”

Brett didn’t look up. “This is where we are supposed to be. 128 North… oh, crap. I put in south. Let me just fix–”

“Drive. Now!”


PHOTO PROMPT © Sandra Crook

Friday Fictioneers

The Kiss…

My first week's response from my college class where we had to use the above famous photo from Life Magazine as a prompt. The instructions: 250 words, max; tell the story behind the kiss. Seems simple...


Sarah’s alarm clock had failed and now she sat on the bus, running her sweaty hands down her nurses uniform. The ship would have pulled in over thirty minutes ago. He was going to think she forgot. He was going to be standing on that pier, looking for her, and she wasn’t going to be there. Tears began to form in the corners of her eye as she wished the bus to move faster.


Billy stood on the bow of the ship looking sharp in his dress blues. He looked at the crowd of people gathered on the pier. Continue reading The Kiss…

The First Time…

It was the first time, and it wouldn’t be the last. But that first time, I didn’t know any better. It was clumsy. It was awkward. I was scared out of my mind. And it was pure luck that it happened.

Most will tell you their first time was a matter of planning and preparation. That they put hours and weeks into making sure they were ready when the time came. They’ll brag about it afterwards like it was just another day, Continue reading The First Time…

The Winds Have Blown…

The winds have blown

Filled with a furious anger

The winds have blown

And the sea is cross at our course

Since we dared to defy danger

And left the safety of Bangor.

The winds have blown.


Jane’s Poetry Challenge #37

Photo by Odilon Redon

My first rondelet so I'm not completely sure I got perfected, but it was a fun poem type to try..

A Different Drum…


His feet bang and clang in a bat-a-rang sing-song style, while his heels heave heavy upon battered metal with no apparent rhythm.

His untied laces and muddy boot faces mark the derelict work shoes that are one size to many, but for a penny, they will just have to do.

But there he rests, up on top the chest,  with the handles to drawers planned for his comeback encore while his dad yells from the other room.



Three Line Tales #22

photo by Rosan Harmens – click here for full res version

Sam the Scarecrow…


Sam the Scarecrow lived a pretty good life. He had the sun during the day, the moon most nights, and although the rain would come along and make things wet, he reasoned even he could use a bath from time to time.

Yes, Sam was content.

Spring was filled with birds stopping for a rest on his arms as they flew back from the south. Summers got hot, but his hat gave him plenty enough shade so he didn’t see a reason for complaint.

Fall was his favorite. Farmers would tend their fields and Sam just loved watching them work. It also didn’t hurt that he’d get a nice fresh stuffing of hay and sometimes even a new suit.

But, autumn turned to winter.

And winters were the worst. Alone, Sam would stand sentry in the silent stalks. He’d get so lonely that he’d even crave the company of crows, his resented rivals.

Eventually, though, winter would wane, and Sam would spot the first bloom of spring.

And once a year, on that day, Sam the Scarecrow would smile.


FFfAW 71

Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers

photo provided by Louise with The Storyteller’s Abode.