How to be rid of trash

(100-word flash fictions)

Andrea sat in front of a roaring fire. It was husband-burning day. Or rather the memories of them.

From the open photo album, she pulled out a bunch of faded photos. She had never known that tearing photos to bits could be so pleasurable. “Trash!” she yelled as they flew into the flames, all past associations, consumed and reduced to ash.

By the time she finished with husband no.3, the album was bare and her spirit full.

Tears fell like first-rain on parched soil, cleansing and invigorating. Finally, unbroken again, ready to hope and trust, she danced, like a child.


This didn’t come out as eloquently as I had imagined it, but it will do for a midnight attempt since sleep is trying to flatten me 🙂  Interesting photo you found this week, Rochelle 🙂

PHOTO PROMPT © Roger Bultot

Click to Join! 


(100-word flash fiction)

Her diplomat husband was asleep when Sarah climbed into their bed, his smug smile in place, his body turned away from her.  Sometimes he whispered “Lily” in his sleep.

Every night, the bed became a vast ocean and she a bobbing little boat, lost in the immensity of loneliness.

To save herself from drowning, she conjured up the same image.

A tiny seaside shop called HOPE. And behind the glass door, a bearded man with unkempt hair, but soft brown eyes, selling trinkets. Who she had given up for the diplomat because she had wanted to “travel around the world”.


Made it to another round of Friday Fictioneers (I almost didn’t 🙂 ) Things have been hectic and my brain a bit fried so couldn’t read many of last week’s stories. Thanks Rochelle for this brief interlude of simple, creative fun. 🙂 And congratulations on finishing your novel. How exciting!

Photo prompt-

PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields


Wake up! Wake up!

(100-word flash fiction x 2)

“Wake up! Wake up!” heard William. It sounded like the cuckoo clock back home he had engineered, just to tease Mary. It was machine-gun fire.

When a bomb had exploded in their trench, they had scattered like disturbed, scurrying ants. Wounded, bloodied and dizzy, he had tumbled into another trench.

Something nebulous seemed eager to claim him. Was it Sleep? Or Memories? Floating in was the London bus he had met Mary on. Followed by the beat-up jalopy proclaiming ‘Just Married’.

A shadow fell across the Memories and a gun barrel took its place.

“Wake up! Wake up!” it said.


“Wake up! Wake up!” chimed the cuckoo clock.

Mary was startled awake from her afternoon nap.  She stood up suddenly and moved towards the clock that William, the appliance-tinkerer, had engineered.

Inside her, the baby kicked in protest.

“Settle down, ‘lil one.” She cooed, patting her bump. “The war will be over any day and Daddy should soon be home.” She picked up the telegram, which proclaimed, bold with hope, “COMING HOME FOR THE BIRTH”

“I’m home!” announced the doorbell.

She ran to the door, but it was just the postman with another telegram. It said, “WILLIAM, KILLED IN ACTION”


I wrote the second story first but felt William’s story had to be told too. Hope everyone’s well and keeping safe and away from the Virus. Thanks Rochelle for bringing us together every week 😊

Photo prompt –




(100-word flash fiction)

Grandma turned blind the day Grandpa died. It was a big mystery considering her vision used to be quite good.

She had been alone with him that day.

When we got there, Grandpa was gone and she was sitting beside him, her face bathed in beatific light, her vision completely gone. As though she had been given sight just to watch him live.

On her death-bed, she told us the secret.

“As Grandpa lay dying, he began to burst with the light of a thousand suns. He turned into an angel.  From then on, that’s all I needed to see.”


Had a shot at magic realism. Marquez happens to be one of my favourite authors. Thanks Rochelle for your wonderful captaincy of the Friday Fictioneers ship ♥


Photo prompt –

PHOTO PROMPT © J Hardy Carroll

The house that Jane built

(100-word poem)

I smile and laugh and pretend
I am a welcoming house but lest
you knock be warned, the door
is tightly shut. The windows too are

barred, the fence extra-high. I believe
the curtains keep the light safely
outside. Where the world shimmers
and flashes in and out of chimeras,

a charming but false lover. At least the
darkness inside is unwavering,
a companion constant. Where truths
emerge and shine. A steadfast lover,

just like the razor, always beckoning,
flashing at me the allure, tantalising,
of the release to be found in steel cutting
through skin and vein and sinew.

I am one of the lucky ones to have escaped depression but people in my family do suffer and every once in a while, I try to get into their heads. Overall, it has been a hard week, with NZ back to having Covid cases and I guess we are all getting a bit tired of struggling with the news. So, thank you Rochelle for this lovely interlude of Friday Fictioneering. It does bring a lot of cheer. 🙂

Photo prompt –



The link

(100-word flash fiction)

“I suppose the link between the spirit world and the human world would be memory.”

Bella says softly, sitting at her mother’s bedside, gazing at her father’s framed photo.

“You know, I never grieved Dad’s passing. His memories are so fresh and always gently loving.”

Bella feels she has to keep talking to her comatose and dying mother, as though the steady march of words would keep that faint pulse going.

“No! it’s not!”

Startled out of reverie, she looks at her mother with sudden hope.

Eyes clear, face radiant, with sudden strength, she utters her last words, “it’s love.”

For some reason, I am remembering my father a lot today.  The first thought that came to mind when I saw the prompt was his hand linked with mine, I in the human carriage and he in the spirit carriage. I never really grieved his passing. To me, he’s with me always, his silent presence a gentle benediction. It must be Friday Fictioneering for my father was an aspiring writer. I guess I’m keeping his little dream alive. Thanks Rochelle for the platform.


PHOTO PROMPT – © Jennifer Pendergast



The dream-catcher

(100-word flash fiction)

Happy as a lark he is, going about his dream-catcher’s job. Capturing dreams that people gave up, and safeguarding them until they wished to rekindle their dream, when he would give it back.

His is the dream job but secretly he sometimes wished people didn’t give up so easily on their dreams.

Today, he almost quit.

This dream had floated up, light-blue and translucent, all dolphin playfulness, gamboling like a frisky puppy, making him give chase until, laughing, he caught it. And then, dream and he, tripped and fell. And it broke.

An orphan’s dream it was, to be adopted.


A little whimsy and a tad sad after a not-too-good day. Thanks Rochelle for keeping us on track with working out our fiction-writing muscles 🙂 Lovely photo, I wonder if Jean made it himself / herself.




(flash fiction)

Eyes almost cobalt, Neil was her blue-eyed boy.  Amber with hair to match and a temper on-the ready to flare . Born yellow with jaundice, Sunny lived on to fill the house with laughter. Petal, dear Petal, with parrot eyes and always rescuing animals. Indigo, her daydreamer child, mostly lost in Piscean waters.

She hears their voices in the deep of night. Sees their faces in vibrant colour behind closed eye-lids.

She remembers how they were taken away,  one by one,  only she can’t remember why.

That must be when the colours started to leave her.  Now she sees the world only in monochrome.

Or, perhaps, grays are the only colours in the psychiatric ward.

Another phone composition in the dead of night. Because I’m addicted? All thanks to Rochelle. I  blame her 😁😆😂🤣
Photo prompt –

PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Click on the frog picture to add your link.

Clean up

(100-word flash fiction)


She surveys the bench-top, disgust billowing within her. All the evidence points to his visit. Mess, filth. Disorder.

She has to find a way of keeping him out. Even if it means killing him.

Poison, she decides. That will be slow and sure. She was never the one for violence.

She plans her next move carefully. How and when. And most importantly, how much. She’s sure there’s some in the cupboard. The same cupboard he has messed up not knowing his death was sitting right there, right where his dirty paws had touched.

“Hunh! You’re dead, you dirty rodent!”


Genre : Frivolous thriller non-fiction 🙂

And so, thanks to Rochelle the eclectic group of Fictioneers fictioneering on Friday meet again 🙂

Photo prompt –

PHOTO PROMPT @ A. Noni Mouse

Click the dancing frog to join the fun. 



(100-word flash fiction)

“Another mocktail?”

“Sure!” she says, laughing. He sidles closer.

GREEN, he thinks.

“I’ve told you my entire life story but all I know is your name.”

“My life’s so boring. Nothing ever happens.”

“To a drop-dead gorgeous girl like you?”

“Truth!” She says, inching closer and dropping her voice. “My father won’t let me do anything. He’s all powerful and all.”


“He can’t be the President!” He does manage a nervous laugh.

“He’s a gang leader, a Godfather or something.” She speaks directly into his ear. “I have 6 disguised bodyguards scattered around, watching us.”


Thanks to the wonderful Rochelle, here we meet again 🙂 I am happy I wrangled another story out of the muse. I must admit it’s hard sometimes because it’s bedtime here and the brain does not always co-operate when all it wants is to do is zone out. 🙂 This this story does not make sense to you, now you know 🙂


PHOTO PROMPT © Na’ama Yehudah