Friday Fictioneers is here. The opportunity and challenge presented by our esteemed host Rochelle Wisoff-Fields to be as innovative and creative with the photo prompt provided. Of course with the added challenge of staying within the 100 word maximum limit set.
As she writes:
Write a one hundred word story that has a beginning, middle and end. (No one will be ostracized for going a few words over the count.)- Wait what? I might. I’m a stickler.
Make every word count.
When I left home gravel flung pitting the window panes. The creek bed lay barren. I never looked back, eyes firmly fixed on him.
Over the years stubbornness well-set, concrete sneakers to my heart. I moved further and further away. In kind he left.
Afraid to proceed I stand full circle at her gate; the fertile road ahead. In a rush the skinned knees, walks and talks, secrets shared –our first kiss on the rope swing, our midnight skinnies. Swiping away my tears I head towards the house. Now all that’s left is to bury Mum and ask for forgiveness.
Word Count: 100
P.S. Please make sure to read the others.
I also have a friend who’s constantly urging me to write humor. On rare occasions, when the muse is in the mood, I do. However, the dark side, tends to draw and speak to me. As my cousin, Kent, and I are fond of saying, “I don’t write ‘Village of the Happy People.’
Your story is touching.
Weightier subjects are my balliwick also. Must be the Danish in my blood that makes me prone to romantic melancholy. Thanks Rochelle.
I’m taking my sweet time getting around to reading this week (in the midst of writing a longish short story) but HERE I AM! There’s a bit of confusion to me as to who the HIM is in the story. At first I thought the father, but then there were talks of first kisses and skinnies, and, well, I’m not THAT close with MY dad, so….
I think the biggest part of this story is what you DIDN’T write, which is so often the case with these little stories — the successful ones, that is — and I count this one among them. The stories that speak of a bigger world and yet feel complete as they are — not all secrets need to be revealed, the mystique of their existence is enough to intrigue the reader.
Yikes! No Daddy love here. She ran off with a boy, stubborn and head strong. Against her mother’s urging and out of pride she returned home too late to patch things up, to say goodbye and I’m sorry.
Yes that’s about what I thought
Sad story but interesting read. Thanks! Nan
Thanks Nan.I have a friend constantly trying to convince me to write a funny short. Hell a funny anything.
Creatively written a sad story.
Yes my friend has dubbed me the master of depressing shorts.