PHOTO PROMPT © J Hardy Carroll
The detective cradles the mug of tea in both hands. His fingers are red, sore at the tips where’s he’s gnawed the skin. The smell of bonfires that followed him in now fills the room.
‘Was your daughter at home all night?’ he says.
I hold his gaze. ‘She went upstairs after school and didn’t come down until dinner.’
He takes in my dishevelled hair, my own bitten nails that I sudden want to hide.
He nods. ‘We’ll need to talk to her.’
‘Of course,’ I say, knowing her suitcase is gone along with half her clothes.
Run, my love.
Written for Rochelle Wisoff-Field’s Friday Fictioneers. See here to join in the best prompt I know and to read the other stories.
All she could remember was the stink – that’s what she told the WPC with the baggy face and the red-rimmed eyes.
Urine – sharp enough to prickle her nose. And paint fumes – aerosol paint. How did she know it was aerosol paint? She shrugged. She just knew.
She wanted to get clean, to wash the smell from her sticky skin, but the WPC said no, not yet sweet. So she sat in the paper suit that crinkled when she breathed and thought of her rabbit Snickers. Of how his eyes had been rimmed with red before he went to the vet and never came home.
PHOTO PROMPT © Kent Bonham
‘The registration number?’
A gloved hand took the slip of paper from her fingers. Glove and paper vanished inside the open car window for a moment before reappearing.
‘Take it,’ said the voice.
‘Won’t you need it?’ she stammered. ‘To remind you -‘
She tried to fix in her head the timbre of the voice, pin down the gender, but there was nothing to identify the speaker, nothing distinctive.
She might have been talking into a void.
‘You’ll know when it’s done,’ said the voice.
‘The world will shift.’
Then the car was gone and she was alone.
Here’s my cheerful little entry to this week’s Friday Fictioneers. Run by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields, this is the best writing prompt online and I’m glad to be back after a two week enforced hiatus. But now we have wifi back and I’m in a killing mood … See here to join in the fun and to read the other tales.
Photo by Daniel von Appen on Unsplash
It was a simple lie. I didn’t even have to form the thought into words, Weber saw to that.
‘A yes is all we need. A yes and all of this can be over for you.’ His shirt was dark with sweat and even from the other side of the desk, I could smell last night’s schnapps on his breath, the sharp fug of raw onions.
One ‘yes’ and Professor Greenspan’s room became a store cupboard, his class taken by the oily Professor Marlin.
I walked past Greenspan’s apartment today. The windows were boarded up, misspelt obscenities scrawled across the warped wood. With a pen, I wrote in shaky text, I’m Sorry.
Written for Sonya at Only 100 Words’ Three Line Tales. See the pic and write a story. Go here to join in and to read the other tales.
‘The Sands of Love.’ Sy pulled on one glove then the other, his fingers resembling over-stuffed sausages, straining against the latex.
‘What was that?’
‘Her first film role. Nineteen fifty three. Blink and you’d miss her.’
Francie looked down at her paperwork. ‘Never seen it.’
‘Not missing much. Gangster B movie. But she had glamour. Stood out, you know?’
Francie scribbled her signature at the bottom of the form before looking up.
Soap scum floated on the bath water, strands of long grey hair looped on the enamel. A crumpled square if tin foil – grubby brown shining at its centre – lay by the taps. One of the officers had found a teaspoon and a lighter in the bottom of the bath wedged under the body. She must have wriggled some as she died.
‘Doesn’t look too glamorous now. Okay, Sy. You can move her.’
Written for Stephanie at Word Adventures’ #tuesdayuseitinasentence. See here to join in and to read the other stories.
PHOTO PROMPT © Ted Strutz
The skin twitched at Jeanne’s throat, her pulse beating hard. ‘What if they search the car?’
‘They won’t search the car if you look normal.’
Panic grabbed her. What did ‘normal’ look like? She wasn’t sure she knew anymore.
He sighed, forced a smile, squeezed her hand a little too tightly. ‘It’s okay. We haven’t done anything wrong.’
The rain was easing, the wipers juddering over the drying windscreen.
The sight of a uniform made her heart jump. But the official waved them through, his eyes fixed on the far horizon.
From the boot, the knocking started again …
Written for Rochelle Wisoff-Field’s Friday Fictioneers. Tell a tale based on the pic in 100 words or fewer. To join in and to read the other stories, take a look here.
photo by Joel Filipe via Unsplash
‘Jelly sting,’ he’d said. ‘Swimming in the Gulf of Mexico with Nico. You met Nico, right?’
I’d kissed his scars – welts like bronze earthworms pushing from the surface of his back – he’d turned, pinned me to the bed as I wriggled and laughed, another afternoon lost to each other.
It was only after he went missing I searched his things, found the case, the money, the filmy packets and their dense white powder. All those scars.
Written for Sonya at Only 100 Words’ Three Line Tales. See the pic and write a tale. To join in and to read the other stories this week, see here.
And seeing as I seem to be making a habit of quoting from songs at the moment and it’s a lovely, sunny Saturday here in the UK, let’s throw in a little Red Hot Chilli Peppers.