Friday Fictioneer: Drilling In

Many thanks to Rochelle for hosting this challenge. You can read the other amazing entries here.

PHOTO PROMPT © Todd Foltz

Drilling In

“There’s life inside these eggs, brother?”

His brother’s icy eyes stared plainly but he smiled a “yes”.

“Then why’s there a driller in your hand, brother?” Zyan asked.

His brother just smiled in that soft, charming way and brought the sharp tool closer to the eggs. Closer. Still closer. A sharp, rough noise. Broken shells on the table.

“Brother, what the hell are you doing?” a shock had frozen Zyan.

His brother just smiled. One by one all the shells fell. Blood scattered. Feathers scattered. Flesh scattered.

But his brother just smiled, “They’re safe now. Won’t feel pain again.”

Friday Fictioneer: Tune

This challenge is hosted by Rochelle. You can view the other entries here.

Tune

By the old, curtains of the abandoned mansion, the two boy cousins could see the flaming rays of the dying sun kissing the summer mist.

The older boy, smarter and colder of the two, and a former bully, whispered coldly, “Still enemies but, gon’ work together, ‘kay?”

The younger one, timid and bullied, didn’t reply.

 Instead, a soft piano tune played.

“Ain’t …” the older trailed off as his eyes went to the clock. Running backward.

Again the tune. Soft and haunting.

This time, the older gasped at the other, horrified. Whenever the younger talked only a soft tune played.

Friday Fictioneer: The Thing

Friday fictioneers is a weekly challenge set by Rochelle Wisoff Fields to write a 100-word story in response to a photo prompt. You can find other stories here

ronda-pov
Copyrights:© Ronda del Boccio

The Thing

 “Whassup today?” I asked to the Boy Who Lived in the Shack.

“Test drive,” he said, putting forward a “Thing” looking like a hot air balloon.

Together, we carried it to the open where he adjust the engines and together we seated in the large box.

“Now think, boy.” He said.

“Think what, boy?” I asked.

 “Whatever,” he said and so I did. And the more I thought, the higher the Thing flew. Higher, higher, into the air. Past the clouds.

“Hey, when will it stop?” I asked, frantically.

My mind went crazy with worries but even higher we went.

Crimson’s Creative Challenge: The Forgotten Cottage

Thank you so much Crispina, for hosting this challenge.

copyrights: Crispina Kemp

The Forgotten Cottage

‘Twas a forgotten little cottage,

 In forgotten little forest.

A young plump guy, who didn’t know why

He was alone,

Stared at the house overgrown

With weeds.

He’d come following those strange reeds

That grew by the riverside,

Strange things he saw, animal hides,

Colourful pebbles, patterns on the ground,

And soon he was lost, for he didn’t know the way round

The forgotten little forest.

He stared at the forgotten little cottage

With fear-laden eyes.

He looked to the ground, he looked at the skies,

He called his friends loud, he chanted prayers,

But there was no-one, nobody to help him there.

But there was someone in the house who’d heard the boy cry,

And there from the house, out came the most peculiar guy,

“Come he said my dear,” said the man who was not touched by age,

And there went the young guy, right in the cage.


Copyrights: Dragon Warrior

Well, here’s something about the “young boy”. There he is, do you like the way he looks? So, this time, I’m trying to write a story with characters from different parts of Earth and he’s one of them. Thanks so much for reading, have a great day (:

A Shady Inn

Long John’s Showbar, Great Yarmouth, UK

Thank you, K Rawson, for hosting What Pegman Saw ( https://whatpegmansaw.com/2019/07/13/great-yarmouth-uk/ )

It felt great, as always!

A Shady Inn

Luckily, when we entered the dimly-lit inn, it was almost deserted. Just a half-asleep worker behind the counter.

“Good!” said Nathan in a hushed whisper, “So what’s the next plan?”

“Just act as if we are mere tourists,” I said.

“Good inn, mate!” said Nathan to the man in the counter, “Old fashioned, huh?”

The man mumbled something and then asked in a hoarse voice, “What ye want?”  

That was rude, I know but there wasn’t time to complain.

“Bacon, “ I began but was interrupted by a strong tug in the shoulder.

“Look over there, Al,” Nathan pointed to a stranger sitting at the farthest corner, holding a glass with his slender fair fingers.

His long hair was tied in a ponytail and a dark cape hit his shoulder. He was prince, it seemed, pursuing or escaping a dark secret.

Good, then there are darker men than us.