One More Step — Friday Fictioneers

Title: One More Step
Source:  Friday Fictioneers sponsored by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields-Addicted to Purple
Word count: 100 words

rr-tracks-at-harpers-ferry

PHOTO PROMPT © Dawn M. Miller

I step past the tangled tree limbs encroaching on the railroad bridge, stopping at the edge.

“Do you dare step onto the bridge?” the voice asked. “One more step and no one can save you.”

I crossed hundreds, thousands of bridges, in my traveling years. I had never heard this voice.

“One. More. Step.”

I glanced around. I was alone.

Fast-moving water churned thirty feet below, the chill wind tugged my threadbare coat, my pack dug into my shoulders the weight a ton of bricks.

I stood.

Minutes? Hours? A lifetime?

Time to go home. It was one more step.

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

Sentinels — Friday Fictioneers

Title: Sentinels
Source:  Friday Fictioneers sponsored by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields-Addicted to Purple
Word count: 100 words

old-oil-cans-on-a-shelf

PHOTO PROMPT © Nick Allen

I will never forget the day the fire consumed everything. Dad’s business, his life’s work, reduced to ashes. Dad, in typical Dad fashion, found hope. He saw charred foundations that refused to succumb. Sentinels of fortitude.

Dad smiled, “It could have been worse,” he said, and I wondered what he thought might be worse than what lay before us.

“You are young, there is much you haven’t seen. No lives were lost, only things. It’s a minor setback, a test to determine our character, to measure our resolve.”

Today, I mourn my father. His words echoing in my broken heart.

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

Catch of the Day — Friday Fictioneers

Title: Catch of the Day
Source:  Friday Fictioneers sponsored by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields-Addicted to Purple
Word count: 100 words

PHOTO PROMPT © Dale Rogerson

I waded into the freezing water.

Ma fished upstream where I had fought my sister for the salmon Ma caught. Tired, I headed downstream, searching for my spot. Water gushed over a rock ledge and hidden beneath it sat a salmon.

I waded deeper. The salmon rested in a channel, facing the rock wall. I cut off his exit, grabbed hold with both paws, claws sinking into fish flesh.

I clamped my jaws around him as he flopped, spraying water everywhere. Gripping him in my mouth, I ran for the grassy bank. This salmon was mine, and I wasn’t sharing.

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

The Watched — Friday Fictioneers

Title: The Watched
Source:  Friday Fictioneers sponsored by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields-Addicted to Purple
Word count: 100 words

under-bridge

PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Josh scanned the area, ever vigilant. It was quiet. He saw no one. Still, they could be watching. They watched, long distance, and the Borg people made it easy. He tossed his pack watching it land. It thumped on solid ground. A final scan. Satisfied he climbed the railing, feet dangling he let go.

Under the bridge was everything he needed, clean water, a rock chair, and a place to sleep. The waterline said the flooding wouldn’t reach him. Content, he unpacked supplies from his pack and prepared his camp. In the daylight, he could sleep. Tonight, he would run.

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

Altered Potential — Friday Fictioneers

Title: Altered Potential
Source:  Friday Fictioneers sponsored by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields-Addicted to Purple
Word count: 100 words

PHOTO PROMPT © J.S. Brand

Takoda drove his truck on the wide ribbon of black asphalted four-lane highway. Power lines echoed the roads curves, slashing black streaks across the brilliant blue sky.

He wondered at the trees planted beneath power lines. He cried at the misshapen forms they adapted to grow in a world where men prevented them from reaching their true potential.  He didn’t understand the lack of logic.

They planted trees knowing they would grow, knowing their branches would  intertwine with the lines and require cutting. Five feet of distance and trees and power lines could coexist. It would have changed the world.

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

Endgame — Friday Fictioneers

Title: Endgame
Source: Friday Fictioneers sponsored by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields-Addicted to Purple
Word count: 100 words

PHOTO PROMPT © Jeff Arnold

The tables sit in a straight line. Twelve tables, twelve chess boards, twenty-four opponents each with sixteen pieces, all three hundred and eighty-four pieces engaged in battle to decide the crowning of Grand Master.

The arbiters circled like vultures waiting for the dead, held in check by the tick-tock of the game clock. The opponents fall and regroup striving for the prize.

I am the endgame, unseen, observing, manipulating. My eyes level with the boards, I influence each move.

Achieving the 8th rank, passed pawn promoted queen I look to my twin, we push the king to check and victory.

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

The Installation — Friday Fictioneers

Title: The Installation
Source:  Friday Fictioneers sponsored by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields-Addicted to Purple
Word count: 100 words

rogers-skylight.

I counted on Grandad. He was always in my corner. My sole goal was to hear him utter four words, “Ya done good, Peanut.”

Grandad played with colored glass, gave it life and breath. He manipulated light and shadow, casting stories onto floors and walls. I wanted to follow where his light led.

“They consider the window above his masterwork.”

The docent paused, turning her gaze upward for the required moments of contemplation before leading them to the next attraction.

As the crowd filtered after her, I moved to the bronze plaque and touched his name.

“Ya done good, Grandad.”

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

Wind Gypsy — Friday Fictioneers

Title:  Wind Gypsy
Source:  Friday Fictioneers sponsored by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields-Addicted to Purple
Word count: 100 words

Emirates-Spinnaker-Tower

PHOTO PROMPT © Jilly Funell

The tower caught Coraline’s eye, and the breeze transported her. She was aboard the Wind Gypsy once again flying for the finish line.

Thirty-three boats started, but as they reached the windward mark three had distinguished themselves as contenders. The spinnaker launched with a satisfying snap. They dropped and secured the genoa as the bow blasting through a swell. Wind Gypsy trailed Lady Zoom and Wave Bye Bye in a fight that was theirs to win. Coraline loved this crew. Joyous laughter skipped across the waves as they sat folded over the port rail. Winning was only half the fun.

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

Stanley Hall — Friday Fictioneers

Title:  Stanley Hall
Source:  Friday Fictioneers sponsored by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields-Addicted to Purple
Word count: 100 words

PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Strange things happened at Stanley Hall. Jessie had always heard stories of eerie noises, glowing lights, and disappearing people.

Today was her first time at the hall. She didn’t know why. The wind moaned in the trees and she thought she heard words. She walked closer, listening. Goosebumps raced across her skin. Without thinking, she leaned against the heavy oak door and entered.

Cobwebs and dust motes waved a silent greeting, inviting Jessie to explored. The building revealed more cobwebs and dust. Disappointed, Jessie returned to Stanley Hall’s one door, heaved it open and walked into a whole new world.

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

Sirocco Seduction — Friday Fictioneers

Title:  Sirocco Seduction
Source:  Friday Fictioneers sponsored by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields-Addicted to Purple
Word count: 100 words

PHOTO PROMPT © Sandra Crook

Aderyn drew mindless patterns in the sand. She sat where wave dampened sand met mounds blown dry by the Sirocco. She searched the spot where the sky kissed the sea. The spot his ship disappeared.

The Sirocco blew hair across her face. Strands she tucked behind her ear. The sun beat on her, teased her memory of a long-forgotten heat. The Sirocco caressed her, whispering long-forgotten words. Her body arched, longing for a long-forgotten feeling.

A lone gull’s feather drifted to her. Aderyn clutched it to her breast as she returned home, adding it to her collection of daily reminders.

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer