It was so unfair! The decapitated android screamed murder. But androids were appliances, not people. The only crime here was dumping garbage in a public place. Eight weeks on this case, and all they had was an empty bottle and a severed head.

When Sergeant Anderson detailed Paul and his partner to get the Al-Azms, it seemed a pathway to promotion. They were going to bring down the last Mozzies in the precinct. Garbage! Still, Paul remembered, they got Capone on tax evasion.

“Take some pictures, Paul,” Paul told his partner. “I need to go plug in for a recharge.”

 

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.

Fancy sharpening your skill with writing exercises? The Scrivener’s Forge offers a new exercise every month to hone one aspect of your craft. Take a look at this month’s exercise here

Most guys would have sent a card and a dozen red roses. Not Herbert. He dumped two kitchen chairs into the pond, one at either end.

“Herb,” I say, “there are two chairs in the pond.”

“Yeah. Happy Valentines.”

I just look at him

He grins. “When two particles are entangled, darling, you get spooky action at a distance. Even when we’re apart.”

Herb is a quantum physicist. He doesn’t see the world like other people.  But, like most people, his socks are never entangled and he loses one member of the pair.

Entanglement is fragile and breaks down easily.

 

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.

Fancy sharpening your skill with writing exercises? The Scrivener’s Forge offers a new exercise every month to hone one aspect of your craft. Take a look at this month’s exercise here

Thin winter sunlight flooded the apartment and there was a cheery crackle. Mikhail rose from his armchair by the fireplace and crossed to the window, with the spray bottle in his hand. With care he misted the orchid on the windowsill. The flower was so delicate, white as the snowdrift in the street far below.

Another crackle, closer, and shouts. He looked down at the street and saw running figures. A shrill whistle and then the corner of the apartment block opposite bloomed flying masonry and bodies. Mikhail misted the second orchid, all the beauty that was left to him.

 

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.

Fancy sharpening your skill with writing exercises? The Scrivener’s Forge offers a new exercise every month to hone one aspect of your craft. Take a look at this month’s exercise on character, desire and plot here.

Henry vanished and was gone two years. I no longer worried – he’d turn up full of tales with that impish grin.

“It’s alright for you,” I’d complained, “you disappear and you come back. For me, it’s just waiting.”

Henry never waited for anything and didn’t understand. He re-appeared in summer ‘49, pockets stuffed with Tudor trinkets.

“Damn thing overshot again,” he said.

“One day you’ll arrive and I won’t be here.”

“Nah, Izzy, you’d never leave me.”

“One day I’ll be dead. Please, buy a modern model that returns you where you started.”

“Time travel should be an adventure. Old machines have character.”

 

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

Fancy sharpening your skill with writing exercises? The Scrivener’s Forge offers a new exercise every month to hone one aspect of your craft. Take a look at this month’s exercise here

Eyes watering with strain Brother Eadfrith bent over the parchment, retracing in ink the silverpoint outlines. His back ached. Late afternoon light slanting low through the casement cast a shadow, and he shifted the sheet of vellum on the oak desk.

With delicate brush, he applied the ochre border and then crimson for the saint’s robes and animal’s coats.  Finally, he laid gold leaf onto the capitals. The sun touched the page, and beauty clasped the text. Lines of fire connected hidden meaning that sparked from image to sentence, from intricately scribed knot to ornate capital – earth, ladder, heaven.

 

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

Fancy sharpening your skill with writing exercises? The Scrivener’s Forge offers a new exercise every month to hone one aspect of your craft. Take a look at this month’s exercise here

She found him yet again wandering through the station.

At least he looked embarrassed. “A station at night is beautiful,” he said. “Calming. So few people, but the dedication of an empty temple. Victorian railway stations are one of three British contributions to world civilisation.”

Alice followed his gaze to the great glass roof and shared the awe. Her hand crept into his.

“Arrivals and departures. When I was a boy, smoke billowed under that canopy, like mist on the hills.”

Alice squeezed his hand. “You’re good at comings and goings – it’s just the stays that trouble you.”

 

Friday fictioneers is a weekly challenge to write a 100-word story in response to a photo prompt. You can find It here

Fancy sharpening your skill with writing exercises? The Scrivener’s Forge offers a new exercise every month to hone one aspect of your craft. Take a look at this month’s exercise here

Fancy sharpening your skill with writing exercises? The Scrivener’s Forge offers a new exercise every month to hone one aspect of your craft. Take a look at this month’s exercise here

Sound accompanied Yasmin’s days – sails creaking, gears clanking, and grindstones gnashing. Yasmin feared silence. Though the wheels inside her made no sound, sometimes she gritted her teeth.

“I’m not pretty,” she acknowledged to her suitor, “but I won’t sell myself cheap – I know the worth of my inheritance.”

“Silly girl,” said Damasos, and his mirth was like wind in sails. “Mills hold no interest for me. Our fate together lies in palaces far away.”

A Prince! As the soothsayer foretold!

Sitting together beside the hearth, old and content, Damasos laughed his laugh. “Did I actually say I was a Prince?”

 

Friday fictioneers is a weekly challenge to write a 100-word story in response to a photo prompt. You can find It here.

Arms outstretched like a superhero, there was my Doug preparing to bungee jump. Seems it wasn’t all work at that conference. I hit the reply button, and my phone offered “how fun!” as an instant response. Though ungrammatical, I accepted.

Doug’s next message came. “Having a great time apart.”

“Real class,” I typed, “dumping me over the phone. Whatever. I’ve been wanting you out of my life anyhow.”

There followed a long pause. Then “Screw you. That was autocorrect. Meant to type at Pat’s, not apart. I’ll collect my things next week.”

 

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

It was the only diner for fifty miles.

“Patriots’ Diner? No way I’m going in there,” April said as I swung off the highway.

Of course, I understood why.  “C’mon hun, I’m starving.”

Her arms folded, hugged herself, perhaps to hold in the anger. April didn’t like arguments but, once started, the woman could be meaner than a weasel in a trap.

“Why don’t you stay here and I’ll fetch something,” I suggested. “Burger?”

“If you think you can pass the patriotism test.”

The tone was sweet, but I knew she was setting a test of her own.

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