The Second Helping

Copyright -Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

“They say that old man on the top floor eats children.”

“Bah! That’s to scare us from going to the top.  I bet we can get inside his house if we knock.”

“You can go I am staying out here.”

When he didn’t come back I had go and fetch him.  That seemed to be my duty in life.  Waiting for that lift to descend, opening the rusted doors, gagging in the stench and the whirring sound of the lift slowly cranking it’s way upwards.

“I am looking for my friend.”

“Ah yes, do come in. It’s time for seconds.”

**

Written for Friday Fictioneers. Word Count : 100

Burning Bridges

Copyright – Adam Ickes

There were clouds on the horizon when my sister-in-law called to say that she was leaving.  My brother came back a hero, but found a different world from the one he had left behind.   He had served combat tours surrounded by deaths, witnessed injuries to multiple internal organs, bone fractures, burns and then some more.

Her?  She wept on a soldier's death or suicide; mourned at funerals and memorials.  Then he came back, still adoring her but hitting and screaming intensified. 

“We stand on the opposite sides”, she said, “with no other option than to burn the bridge and run.”

**

Written for Friday Fictioneers. Word Count : 100

Chasing Volcanos

Copyright – Danny Bowman

You stand in silent reverence while rumblings deep inside the Earth find expression in explosive eruptions. 

Ol Doinyo Lengai, the Mountain of God, where lava fountains harden in mid-air then shatter like glass.  My Maasai guides tell me that the creator of the world, Ngai, has resided there since time immemorial. 

The red Ngai Na-nyokie burns with anger and must be placated.   A benevolent aftermath is the black Ngai Narok. 

Like my mother, I think, with her outbursts of anger, loud denouncements and accusations.  The loving making up which followed each explosion. Is this why I am a volcano chaser?

**

Written for Friday Fictioneers. Word Count : 100

Made for Each Other

Copyright -Sandra Crook

She cast a jaded eye outside as the silver Mercedes came to a stop in the tiny hamlet.  A farmer’s tractor laden with freshly scythed hay was slowly making its way along the local road.   He was smiling and laughing with his passengers – a young woman and a child.

He was still the same, those powerful shoulders, the strong jawline and that aquiline look.  He adored her but she had still left him.  Now beside her sat her lying and philandering husband.  Buying a French chateau to make up for last year peccadillos. 

A bastard but we deserve each other. 

**

Written for Friday Fictioneers. Word Count : 100

In Our Hearts Forever

Copyright – David Stewart

It’s the fragrance of the flowers that reminds you of him.  The masses of pink, red and orange swaying in the afternoon breeze against the backdrop of the blue sky framed by the mountains he loved. 

‘I am planting them now, so that they will be blooming when you visit’, he said.

Drawn by the red blooms next to the bell that hangs in the complex you move in for a closer inspection.  It is the red corn poppy - the flower of remembrance –a symbol of eternal sleep.  It’s bursting with life while he remains in our hearts forever.

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Written for Friday Fictioneers. Word Count : 100

I struggled to write this week as we grappled with what life had to offer.  In the end this was written in memory of my wife's brother Rahul who passed away this week on Thursday, an hour after he had talked about the flowers he had planted for our impending visit in December.

A Toast To Remember

Copyright: janet-webb

Here’s to us sweetheart a toast to remember those years.  All I have left are the memories, the digital photos and the portrait that he made of you.  An act of intimacy that made you forsake our staid life together.

The suspicious Inspector visited again yesterday.  I offered him the Sangria I had made.  My version has red wine, fruit juices, soda water, fruit and sometimes brandy.  I leave it to chill overnight letting the flavours blend into the drink. Stored in a large pitcher and served over ice.  A discerning man he commented on its rich full-bodied taste.

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Written for Friday Fictioneers. Word Count : 99

You Light Up My Life

Copyright – Dawn M. Miller

I hear them whispering behind my back, slyly casting innuendos while I breathe in the maliced air.

“That Alice, she is a strange one”, they say, “No time for people but babbles to her collection of lamps instead”.

The art of conversation is dead these days.  No one talks anymore, they just send inane texts. So I make these lamps myself.  Jane over there, she is pink and curvaceous.  A veritable Marilyn Monroe of lamps.

Aaron is smooth, muscular and radiating power.

Betty struggled when I threw her in the kiln yesterday. Look at her now, all soft and feminine. 

**

Written for Friday Fictioneers. Word Count : 100