Posts Tagged ‘Bristleburg’

PHOTO PROMPT -© Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Thank you to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for all her work and organization. You can visit her site and read through the other Flash Fiction postings at:

https://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/2015/10/07/2-october-2015/

For those who are new, Rochelle shares a photo prompt to which several #FridayFictioneers compose a 100-word flash of fiction.

Come, enjoy a Snickers.

Here’s my contribution:

Super 8

The motel was called Super 8. Charlotte thought how apropos that name as she surveilled the vehicles in the lot below.

Eight.

They were all driverless, quiet, yet she couldn’t shake the eerie feeling of being watched. They had been trapped here a week, no cell service, no wi-fi, a single Snickers remaining.

As Charlotte walked to 306 to check on Billy the Suburban began to purr, gravel crunched softly as the wheels tracked.

Would help come?

Billy and his bag were gone. From below, Charlotte heard crunching again as Billy broke across the lot.

The vehicles roared to life.

jKb

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FRIDAYFictoneerPrompt-FAUCET

Thank you to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for all her work and organization. You can visit her site and read through the other Flash Fiction postings at:

https://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/2015/05/06/8-may-2015/

This prompt was from our MadisonWoods days. How far has this group come, anyway?

For those who are new, Rochelle shares a photo prompt to which several #FridayFictioneers compose a 100-word flash of fiction. Come, make a deal.

Here’s my contribution:

The Salesman

“It’s finished.”

“Will it work?”

“Just like I explained. After the pot’s done bubbling just drain it into this here metal bucket, then start the fire.”

“And the hose for the colder.”

“It’s called the ‘chiller’.”

“And what comes out will be pure shine?”

“Virgin pure.”

“Can’t thank you enough.”

“Sure you can.”

“How much do I owe ya?”

“I don’t want your money. I’ve got money.”

“Then what?”

“Payment due in full. Upon delivery.”

“Yes, I remember.”

“Your daughter. Or, your wife. You choose.”

jKb

FFF Prompt THE WORK BENCH still-life-with-doug

Thank you to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for all her work and organization. You can visit her site and read through the other Flash Fiction postings at:

http://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/2014/10/15/17-october-2014/

For those who are new, Rochelle shares a photo prompt to which several #FridayFictioneers compose a 100-word flash of fiction. Come, it’s gonna be a blast.

Here’s my contribution:

Deep Seeded

Everything has its place, thought Mitch Winkle, precisely arranging the items on his work bench, careful to rotate and align and to not knock into anything. There was no room for clumsiness.

Wouldn’t want a mess, now. Shouldn’t spill. He heard his mother’s voice, chastising.

He was particularly careful of the Semtex filled glass bottle with the sensitive mercury switch.

Nothing is random. Just another random thought which seeped in? “No,” he answered himself. Then, “Yes,” the internal struggle.

Mitch retrieved his map, spread it upon the table, and blindly poked a finger down. “Huh, Bristleburg Farmer’s Market it is.”

jKb

FFF Prompt tree-climbing-poppy

Thank you to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for all her work and organization. You can visit her site and read through the other Flash Fiction Friday postings at:

http://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/2014/01/01/3-january-2014/

For those who are new, Rochelle shares a photo prompt to which several #FridayFictioneers compose a 100-word flash of fiction. Come, we’re having a swingingly good time.

Here’s my contribution:

In Good Company

The grand oak still commands the most prominent position in Bristleburg, not five paces from the courthouse stairs. Murderers, vagabonds, witches and even Union conspirators experienced the unforgiving strength within the limbs, and also beheld the knowledge, some for nearly twenty minutes, that in this town wrongdoers would not have the mercy of a proper Hangman’s Noose. The townsfolk were to blame, ever demanding of more playful public amusement.

These days are more civilized with Main Street parades celebrating seasons and history. During these  events children are hoisted among the great limbs, in good company of the death row ghosts.

jKb

FFF prompt KOI

Thank you to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for all her work and organization. You can visit her site and read through the other Flash Fiction Friday postings at:

http://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com

For those who are new, Rochelle shares a photo prompt to which several #FridayFictioneers compose a 100-word flash of fiction. Come, find peace.

Here’s my contribution:

Absolution

The bad thoughts came and Derick fled in search of a soothing place to rest, to bring comfort, he needed to settle his mind. He shoved through the glass doors of the library glancing about, hoping nobody would notice his disheveled state, and nearly collapsed beside the courtyard fountain outside, a favorite nook for young readers which was fortunately vacant. He rubbed his brow as the gentle burbling eased the bolts behind his eyes. The Koi, accustomed to being fed, began to congregate before him, their mouths stupidly gaping.

That’s when Derick first heard them.

They were praying, to him.

jKb

FLASHFICTIONFRIDAY PROMPT WATERTOWER

Thank you to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for all her work and organization. You can visit her site and read through the other Flash Fiction Friday postings at:

http://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/2013/07/03/5-july-2013/

For those who are new, Rochelle shares a photo prompt to which several #FridayFictioneers compose a 100-word flash of fiction. Come, see the devil in the church.

Much thanks to Mr. Bradbury, I feel like a thief.

Here’s my contribution:

Carnival Of Screams

It was from this vantage, high up where the belly of the water tower only yesterday marked the town of Bristleburg, five teens had climbed to watch the sun dissolve behind the Blue Ridge. The cork pop of the dandelion wine seemed to bring forth a queer gurgling of engines and mechanical music. These children bore witness as the Nightshade Carnival of Screams arrived.

The top hat man who’d called himself James was festooned in ink and knots of scarred tissue. Despite the appearance, his velvety voice soothed and beckoned, aroused and titillated the town-folk.

He’d charmed them all.

Almost.

jKb