Tradition Inherited – Friday Fictioneers

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

six-gold-tipped-roses-in-a-vase-on-a-table

PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Anna didn’t remember ever hearing the story of how it started. As a child, she thought it a silly tradition. They insisted they attend every family gathering. But the years passed, and she now found herself installed as the de facto caretaker.

She sat and stared at the six gold-rimmed glass roses. One for each child. The white rose, the diamond, represented the oldest child, her mother.

After grandma passed the bouquet became mother’s inheritance, her duty to keep them together.

Anna’s finger traced the gold outline of a white petal and feared she would never fill her mother’s shoes.

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

Disillusioned – Friday Fictioneers

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

PHOTO PROMPT © J Hardy Carroll

At first, Jordan loved her. The brownstone’s façade was gorgeous, and her history touched Jordan’s heart. The building was solid, the foundations strong, an easy flip they said.

Now Jordan hated her. She resented her deceit, her secrets, and the countless imperfections. Cracks in the foundation and water seeping into the basement cost money to fix. They had butchered the support beams to retro-fitted electrical and plumbing installations, rendering the beams useless.  The engineer marveled that she still stood.

Today the contractor discovered a hornet’s nest and Jordan watched her money slip away along with any hope of breaking even.

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

The Darkness Before Dawn — Friday Fictioneers

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

PHOTO PROMPT © Anshu Bhojnagarwala

Jimmy stared into the fire pulling the old wool army blanket tighter.  The cold night promised to get colder.

He needed to decide, but he hated his choices. The most logical choice, he hated the most. It meant saying he was wrong when he wasn’t. He could make it to morning.

The embers faded, and freezing drizzle pelted him, soaking his blanket.

Digging the phone from his pocket, he let the screen fill with crystalline drops before he finally hit send.

A sleepy voice answered. He paused, still uncertain when he heard his own voice crackle.

“Mom? It’s me, Jimmy.”

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

Relying on Promises — Friday Fictioneers

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

PHOTO PROMPT © Renee Heath

“This is better,” Wyome proclaimed, watching the sunset.

“The ancestors’ prayers, answered,” Noshi said raising the firewater bottle to his lips. He drank and passed it to Tatonga, who lifted the bottle, saluting the sun and the ancestors in a single gesture.

“Here’s to Wakan Tanka and no White Man interference,” Tatonga toasted, before drinking from the bottle.

“To Gitche Manitou,” Wyome and Noshi said in unison.

“You think they’ll stay locked inside?” Wyome asked.

“Has the White Man ever keep his word?” Tatnonga countered.

“We’ll enjoy it while it lasts,” Wyome said taking the bottle as the others nodded.

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

Earning Trust — Friday Fictioneers

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

ff-teds-car-in-the-woods

PHOTO PROMPT © Ted Strutz

Avielle walked a path they didn’t see. She didn’t understand their blindness, but she was thankful for their ignorance and their dependence on her. She couldn’t harm them when they needed her protection from the odd things happening in her woods.

No birds sang, and the woods held its breath as it waited. Nothing seemed right. Avielle stopped at the edge of the clearing.

Deep in the hollow engine compartment of the long abandon car, green eyes glowed. The eyes bore into her heart, searching, begging for mercy and protection.

Hand outstretched, she moved forward, hoping it wasn’t a trap.

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

The Tiburtine — Friday Fictioneers

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

PHOTO PROMPT © Priya Bajpal

Something wasn’t right. The feeling gestated in the pit of my stomach, seeking form, yet defying description.

Sitting in Sibyl’s vacant apartment did little to settle me. On the coffee table sat a mason jar filled with brightly colored and folded slips of paper. Countless time I had tried to open it, to no avail.

The door slammed, and I jumped as Sibyl appeared. She easily opened the jar and deposited two slips of folded paper before replacing the lid.

“Have you figured it out?” she asked.

The truth hit me.

“You record the words of the gods.”

Sibyl smiled.

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

Was Blind — Friday Fictioneers

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

PHOTO PROMPT © Russell Gayer

Rosie lived inside a Wall she couldn’t see until the stranger sat in her booth.

“How do you do it?” he asked.

“Do what?” Rosie tucked the pencil behind her ear and stuffed the order pad in her pocket.

“Live with the Wall,” he said, as he turned to look outside. “Aren’t you claustrophobic?”

Rosie followed his gaze.

“Coffee?” he prodded.

She remembered nothing else about him. The Wall followed her now, lurking outside windows, looming over buildings, creeping forward to clutch her throat with knobby fingers.

Rosie planned, engineered her freedom, fearing what would happen if she didn’t escape.

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

Undying Love — Friday Fictioneers

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

goats_and_graves

PHOTO PROMPT © Randy Mazie

Javier sat on the cemetery wall, checking his list, and tried to ignore the bleating goat.  He promised Alma he would follow her instructions tonight and he couldn’t disappoint her. Long ago, he had pledged his love and swore to protect her with his life. She said it would never come to that.

That night the cemetery lay shrouded in eerie silence. The full moon illuminated the goat and voodoo relics swimming in a pool of blood on the discarded marble slab.

Javier knelt, marveling at Alma’s pale skin sparkling in the wan light and raised her from her slumber.

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

Countdown — Friday Fictioneers

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

Copyright –Douglas M. MacIlroy

During the previous window, there was a moment, when it almost connected. Since then, the sisters had been working ceaselessly. They consulted the ancient texts, checked the schematics and reread the prophecy.

Sister Minette insisted they were close. She felt the equipment only needed minor tweaking. Sister Prudence demanded they pull it apart, dissect and question everything they believed.

They had been pursuing the answer for centuries, and in recent years, technological advances had given them new hope. It was hope they needed.

Sister Minette was giddy when they loaded the equipment into their cars and headed for the rendezvous.

 

***Note: Read about The Rendezvous here.

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

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