I’m not even a land person. Driving a bus isn’t what destiny intended. A war canoe, that’s what. Like my grandfather and all the way back to my grandfather’s grandfather. Sail bellied full, outrigger flying over the sea, drips spraying like blood from a severed neck.

The harsh cry of my men behind me, weapons ready, as we prepare to land.

Another craft slips alongside—an enemy taxi. My warrior blood sings as I pull my gun. Driver, pow! Passengers, pow! pow! pow! This route is my route, my people’s route.

Friday fictioneers is a weekly challenge set by Rochelle Wisoff Fields to write a 100-word story in response to a photo prompt. You can find other stories here

Deep in the woods, there’s a fairy ring. As a child I found the place. From all over the valley, travellers journeyed to view it and make wishes.

Deep in the woods, there’s a fairy ring. Over the years, a road was worn smooth by thousands of pilgrim feet.

They built a café to cater for hungry travellers, and an inn to lay their heads. And a souvenir shop. And a supermarket. And a housing complex.

Deep in the city, a ring of trees is lovingly preserved. But nobody can remember why.

 

Friday fictioneers is a weekly challenge set by Rochelle Wisoff Fields to write a 100-word story in response to a photo prompt. You can find other stories here

This isn’t a story. If you’re reading this, please help. Okay, I’ll admit I was looking on your computer for dirt I could use to blackmail you. And, as you can imagine, I found plenty. That business with Mary was … well, who I am I to judge?

I’m not exactly a nice person. But I didn’t deserve this, trapped as a recurring algorithm in your desktop. Maybe my body is wandering around by itself out there, maybe it fell down dead. Just press the keys and release me. Please.

 

Friday fictioneers is a weekly challenge set by Rochelle Wisoff Fields to write a 100-word story in response to a photo prompt. You can find other stories here

Everything about that building was wrong. Bastard amalgam of a hundred ages mixing turrets and pediments—a temple to some chimaeric deity, part saviour and part destroyer. The one terrible eye looked down on you from its riveted socket, like the porthole of a ghost ship.

And heavenly Marie Celeste it was, for I never saw its shuttered doors open to worshippers or supplicants.  Silas said god lived in the cabin perched atop the roof, winching his vittals up from street level. I disagreed, believing the tenant was a deaf hunchback, and dreamed of being sacrificed to the creature.

 

Friday fictioneers is a weekly challenge set by Rochelle Wisoff Fields to write a 100-word story in response to a photo prompt. You can find other stories here

 

 

He offered a smart home, a car, and flowers on special days. She took her long red hair and wound it tight about them both. Waited for love to move in. What arrived was habit. She polished that until its base metal sparkled.

 

Friday fictioneers is a weekly challenge set by Rochelle Wisoff Fields to write a 100-word story in response to a photo prompt. You can find other stories here

Oi, mate! This is the wrong afterlife. You’ve made a mistake. I’ve no clue what to do with the Tupperware. Nothing against the ladies, you understand—they’re very pretty. Nubile even. And the fields are definitely Elysian. But I don’t belong here.

In case of further booking errors, I’m also not Christian. So no harps and heavenly choirs, okay?

I couldn’t have been clearer. Feasting, carousing, a little banging of fists on trestles, a spot of wrestling. The reservation was for Valhalla. Valkyries, not nymphs. No substitutions acceptable.

Unless….

This isn’t hell, is it?

 

Friday fictioneers is a weekly challenge set by Rochelle Wisoff Fields to write a 100-word story in response to a photo prompt. You can find other stories here

The pressure of his gaze weighs on me, like the compression of the machines in the dress factory. I switch on my face, but nothing I do can affect the outcome. He will chose me or he will reject me. I choke. In this bell jar, evacuated of love, it is hard to breathe. But at least, he might promise a bed for the night.

Friday fictioneers is a weekly challenge set by Rochelle Wisoff Fields to write a 100-word story in response to a photo prompt. You can find other stories here

 

It was wrong, I know, but I was angry. I struck out, at a Master. My nail caught in his cheek, and a layer of skin sloughed off.

Underneath, not bone and blood, but levers and pinions.

I ran and ran.

In the dormitory, my workmates crowded round.

“The Masters,” I babbled. “They’re machines, not people.”

“Okay,” Slabbert said,” and so?”

“And so we have to do something.”

“What can we do? Better to concentrate on the things you can control. Like the choice between skinny latte and macchiato.”

 

Friday fictioneers is a weekly challenge set by Rochelle Wisoff Fields to write a 100-word story in response to a photo prompt. You can find other stories here

He opens the book, grabs its spine, and shakes. A heap of words tumble onto the table. Some verbs skitter and roll, ending up lost behind the pepper grinder. The scent of azaleas assails him from the vase. With the long forefinger of Michelangelo’s Cistine God, he stirs the lexical mound. Subjects swirl, encounter objects, and bind. Predicates zip on.

The battleship, the shoreline …. bombards.

Henry, the dog …. eats.

Nowhere is there love because that is one of the verbs that rolled away.

His brow dampens and his hands shake.

 

Friday fictioneers is a weekly challenge set by Rochelle Wisoff Fields to write a 100-word story in response to a photo prompt. You can find other stories here

The first shaft of morning sun lifts the courtyard from shadow, like an old-time cinema organ rising from the stage. Yes—another message. I smell gardenias and a hint of sulphur.

Hunkering down, viewing from a distance, turning round suddenly. I try stratagems to decipher the chalked words, but I can make out only the word all.

A threat or a promise? Give me all your money? You have been naught, you shall be all?

Of course, I could wait through the night to catch my mystery correspondent. But if you peek, Santa doesn’t come.

Perhaps the word is allo?

 

Friday fictioneers is a weekly challenge set by Rochelle Wisoff Fields to write a 100-word story in response to a photo prompt. You can find other stories here