Friday Fictioneers : The bubble gum pink coat

PHOTO PROMPT © J Hardy Carroll


 

Mum lifts Danny onto the seat, the Umbrella car giddy under his weight.

‘Will you come?’ He isn’t scared, but Mum’s been sad for so long and fairground rides make everyone smile.

She shakes her head, tells him to hold the bar in front but he’s old enough to know that. The car moves – loud music shakes the air in his ears. Mum has already turned, her bubble gum pink coat a spot of colour growing smaller. When the ride has turned once, the pink has gone.

This is what Danny tells the police lady when she comes.

 


Written for Rochelle Wisoff-Field’s Friday Fictioneers. See the picture and write a tale. Share yours and read others here.

 

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What Pegman Saw : On the fifth day

 

On the fifth day, the first snows of winter fell, deadening Artur’s mood along with the city. The traffic grew muffled and sluggish along with the dark slick of river – even the smoke from the refinery’s chimney grew leaden with the cold, sitting hunched over the rooftops.

He spent the next three days anxiously watching the snow settle and harden, the ploughs turn the roads into grey-walled canyons. Then despite his careful planning, the promises he’d made to himself, the waiting became too much.

Buka darted ahead when he opened the apartment door, the little terrier leading the way, following his nose along the beaten snow path between lines of garages, until they reached the One. At the padlocked door, Buka held back, sniffing, cautious, fuzzy tail drooping.

For a moment, Artur paused, key in hand. Then he heard movement inside followed by wet cough.

Artur smiled.

 


On Saturday, Pegman wandered to Talnakh, in Krasonoyarsk Krai, Russia, where I found this little scene and wondered what was drawing that dog towards the locked hut …

Do join in if the Muse moves you – share a story and read others here.

 

 

 

 

 

Friday Fictioneers : Bonfire

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.

A pair of red-rimmed eyes


 

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.

 

 

Friday Fictioneers : I’ll remember

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 -‘

‘I’ll remember.’

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.

‘How?’

‘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.

Three Line Tales : A simple lie

three line tales week 74: an empty school

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.

 

#tuesdayuseitinasentence : Glamour shot


 

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.