In the Week Before Your Wedding

100 words for Friday Fictioneers
Photoprompt © Sandra Crook

Unforgettable, that bittersweet night we spent on the train. The recollection of tears (yours and mine), the repeating circles of hopelessness. And your casual clothes, the hard upholstered seats, the loo door getting stuck. Finally, the lyrical, which the writer in me can never resist. Oyster-coloured half-light before dawn, as if the weather had not yet decided on its course. Then the rain coming, as break of day broke us apart. All we did that night was talk, trying to find a way to cope with what was ahead. There was no way, of course. Duty won out over love.

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And A Voice To Sing With

 

FF picture 260619 copyright Ted Strutz

100 words for Friday Fictioneers
Photoprompt © Ted Strutz

When I asked what’s a box office, Mum shook her head and said “Just a rotten dream dealer.” She still bought our tickets though. Then she chucked her ciggie butt on the ground and trod it to death.

Inside the theatre, a beautiful lady sang to me: Little one, I have dreams to sell.

She was all blonde and sea-blue with sparkly bits. She looked nothing like rotten sounded.

What will your purchase be?

That night I prayed for a sea-blue dress. Not a selfish prayer. In my child’s way, I prayed for a voice to heal my mother’s heart.

The Hireling

This terrific photograph is here courtesy and copyright Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.

 

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I’m trying not to think about the amazing curve of the innocent neck, because it’s a target not a woman. I hope it doesn’t turn around, but actually, if it did, I doubt it would see me. I’m not that kind of bloke and that’s why they chose me. Main thing is, the money’s going to transfer soon and a credit balance is a bit of a new experience for bland, faceless me. If she, sorry – if it does turn around, I won’t make eye contact. The one they call Red Dog told me you should never make eye contact.

These Boots Are Made For Walkin’

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100 words for Friday Fictioneers
Photoprompt © Adam Ickes

I’m just a girl who can’t say no. So my dream lover had me at hello. What’s love got to do with it, you may ask. Well, listen, do you want to know a secret? Love’s a many splendoured thing. And a must to avoid.  But I slipped, I stumbled, I fell. I thought he was my guy until Sally told me he was under the bridge with the other woman. I don’t look back in anger though.  While I did have to become the funny girl when he told me these boots are made for walkin’, I will survive.

From Hand to Hand

copyright Douglas M MacIlroy

FROM HAND TO HAND
100 words for Friday Fictioneers
Photoprompt © Douglas M MacIlroy

I watch you pass the ball from hand to hand, adrenaline spilling from your adorable edges in your excitement at getting on the team. You call it a battle you must win.

In that moment you are gone.

You message me when you land. And once more. Now nothing for three days. All I have left is the knife-blade of scent on your faded old fleece. How I wish I were a hundred years ago, soothed by you beside me on something you touched and folded and kissed. Strange. These days we call that kind of thing a hard copy.

Slow Train

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SLOW TRAIN
100 words for Friday Fictioneers
Photoprompt © Dawn M Miller

A handful of hearts and the time of our lives
There’s something so wasted about it
The high in the sky where you promised we’d fly
and I had no reason to doubt it
But there’s a way and will to waste precious time
You win or you lose and to you that’s just fine
but no matter how many tears you deny,
a promise that’s broken is just a lie
And you made love a tear stain
You made love a closed lane
and you made a love a slow train
that leaves
and won't come back again

Look! Dorothy’s On TV

Dorothy on TV

LOOK! DOROTHY’S ON TV
100 words for Friday Fictioneers
Photoprompt © Nick Allen

I’m supposed to pick one from three hidden behind a screen. Based entirely on their replies to my questions and whatever crumb of a hint the host drops.
Number 1 stammers that his s-s-s-star sign’s Leo then they say he’s run clean away.
Number 2 has a squeaky voice, like he’s a tin can that needs oiling.
Number 3 says he’s known round here for being a right scruff bag.
“Ah,” says the host. “It’s a no brainer.”
I’d rather stay on the shelf. Honestly, the more men I meet, the more I love my dog.

C’mon Toto! We’re going back to Kansas.