Friday Fictioneer: Broken Trail

A very big thanks to Rochelle, our fairy blog-mother for hosting the Friday Fictioneers.

PHOTO PROMPT © Alicia Jamtaas

Broken Trail

Word Count: 99

The traveller stared hopelessly at the broken rails. He walked so long, so deep in the forests, so high up the hills… for this? No, he could not go back to the other said of the rails. His “friends” were waiting. After what he’d said to them… no, that was impossible.

“There must be a way out,” he whispered desperately. A little cobbled path down the side. Could be a ditch or a snake’s den. But it could also be an escape, a trail to somewhere new. Besides, it was a beautiful forest to explore. So, he walked on.

I made a little drawing of the traveller to go with the story.

Note: For me, the story is a metaphor for choices we make in life. Sometimes we go on a path to find a dead-end to our goals. We’re scared to turn back in fear of backlash from others. And perhaps, if we look deeper we may find a little outlet that may lead to something bigger.

String On Road: Friday Fictioneer

Many thanks to our fairy blog-mother Rochelle for hosting this Challenge.

PHOTO PROMPT © CEAyr

String On Road

Copyrights: Den of Dreams. Here’s my drawing of one of the three boys, Zya. (:

Three boys on abandoned streets, under sun,
Deserted streets, nothing on sight, just a string on road, a string alone.
“Must be the string of fate.” Said one,
“Nay, isn’t red.” Said another one,
“Might be a shoelace.” said another one,
They kept up their pace, and soon they were gone
In the deepest, darkest parts of streets— run,
They wanted to. But as they spun,
A dark shadow blocked them. Then begun
A futile fight. The shadow won.
A trace was left by the previous victim who never returned,
Stringed together by a string on road, a string alone.


Thank you for reading,

Warmest regards,

Dragon Warrior

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.

Snatched Away from Home

Thank you so much, Rochelle, for your Friday Fictioneers!

Photo Credits: Sandra Cook

Snatched Away From Town

The train rushed out of the station, dragging me with it. Hands tied, mouth gagged and eyes burning with tears too stubborn to fall.

Outside of the old window, I see my hometown blurring away. The station where I sold newspapers, the roads where I begged and… the cluster of stones where I had awakened the curse.

Another lashing hit my arm.

“How did you do that, scoundrel?”

Master shouted. I kept mum.

Another lash of whip.

 “When will that creature come alive, you urchin?”

I faintly smiled for I was the answer. A creature snatched from his homeland.

A Curse That Became a Blessing

Thank you so much, Rochelle, for this challenge of Friday Fictioneers

PHOTO FROM ROGER BULTOT

A curse that became a blessing

Millenniums ago, I had been cursed to become a statue. And now I think, it’s a blessing.

They had taken parts of my hands, they had forever closed my eyes.

It’s a blessing, I say again. At least I don’t have to see my mother Earth dying. At least I don’t have to see some of my brothers die out of hunger and others feasting on fries. At least, I don’t have to see the pain and disgraceful state of the world which, once was such a gracious place.

Discoveries Underneath

Thank you Rochelle for creating this exciting challenge of Friday Fictioneers!

hydro-dale
Only for Friday Fictioneers. Photo credits: Dale Rogerson

Discoveries Underneath

When I saw it for the first time, I thought it was some sort of stupid building made for show. But it was during a windy summer day when I finally discovered the secrets beneath it.

It was there, in the middle of a uncannily deserted road, burning up in the sun. I was messing up with it, trying to find the “mysteries” behind it. It was then I had found out the swirling stairs hidden beneath this structure leading to the place of highly technological place of giants. And guess what? They had giant phones and came over here at midnight to charge them!

Post Script:

I am really sorry for this stupid little tale. It’s actually a part of a larger series called “Discoveries of Jos, Far and Wide” I’m so gloomy that can’t really use my words well. Thanks for reading!

The Last Show

Thank you, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields, for opening such a great contest @ Friday Fictioneers for this photo prompt.

Image © Ted Strutz. Used with permission for this Friday Fictioneers challenge only. Any other use of this image requires Ted Strutz’s permission

The Last Show

On a long summer day, I had gone to a long-forgotten alley, in a much-remembered building. Phoenix Theatre.

It wasn’t a place where people went just to entertain themselves. No, it was much more.

It was a monument. A reverend, venerable monument. A legacy of past. Immortal, like its name suggests. And magical.

Inside the hall, curtains were drawn. Lights were off. The movie started… And all the scenes came alive.

I just gasped with shock, a pleasant shock. Until, one movie character came and dragged me inside the screen. Like it did, to every watcher.

(99 words)