The Forbidden Cellar – Friday Fiction

PHOTO PROMPT © Roger Bultot

It is not easy to tell a story in 100 words.

If you are up for the challenge, head to Rochelle’s blog and join in. Here is my take on the photo prompt:

The Forbidden Cellar

She thought it was wrong. She blamed her curiosity and the estate lawyer who insisted her father deemed it necessary to return.

Hearing the music had drawn her in. A melody that lingered in her mind. Foggy half-buried memories propelled her down the dark stairs to the forbidden cellar.

The mustiness scalded her nostrils. When her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she understood.

The half-starved musician’s all-too-familiar features and ankle chains revealed the terrible family secrets.

“I knew you’d release me after the master died. Daughter, now we can be free. The Master named you in his will, didn’t he?”

100 words

Street Smart is not Pool smart -Flash Non-Fiction

A True story

A tropical hotel with a pool and a family on holiday.  

Mum’s reliant on seven-year-old Meeva, to watch younger sister, Jenny, as they play.  It’s their custom back home.

With Meeva’s help, two-year-old Jenny takes her soft toys for a swim. As Meeva swims laps, Jenny silently slips to the bottom. A minute passes before Meeva realises, and alerts her parents. Mum runs screaming while Dad drags Jenny’s lifeless body out. After pumping her chest, he gives Jenny mouth-to-mouth. With a choke and a splutter, she is revived.

Drowning – the silent killer.

A NON-FICTION story of 100 words for Rochelle’s Fictioneers photo prompt.

{photo by Rochelle}

Prisoners of the Mind – Flash Fiction

I extended the hand of friendship to a troubled person, but ultimately, it was swatted roughly away. Social anxiety, fears and social reclusiveness/exlusion are incredibly resistant social problems. Mental ill-health disorders are on the rise.

Care for your mental health with as much tenderness and attention as your physical self.

A Fictional Story from Rochelle’s photo prompt:

I’ve been this way so long, it’s hard to remember when it started.

A pathological withdrawal from events, people and society. The line between mental health and mental ill-health remains razor-thin.

The fog outside, like my heart, holds little joy or interest – emotionless, but safe. I’ve not worked for years. I no longer know routine as functional people do. Like the waves or the wind, I respond biomechanically, when the body demands it.

We are flourishing now. Recluses. Depressives. Gamers. Detached prisoners of the mind. Stress, drugs, hatred and technology feeding the dis-ease.

We fear not death. We’re halfway there.

100 words written for Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers photo prompt.

Friday Fictioneers – A home at last

Credit: Sandra-crook

A Home, At Last

They had devised the floor plan to take advantage of the sweeping views out front. Crumbling the old castle may be, but it caught the eye tantalizingly, when seen through the two picture windows placed either side of the chimney.  Oddly, the fireplace, so necessary in the cold climate, had also been placed on the house’s front wall. It too could be the focal point when it was too dark or foggy to see outside.

With the fire lit, the house resembled an elderly gentleman smoking his pipe.

A cosy home, at last.

93 words

Written for Friday Fictioneers – rochellewisoff.com/2022/08/03/5-august-2022/

It is great practice for making every word count!

Friday Fictioneers

Buying a Farm

Photo Prompt Bill Reynolds

It was our chance to farm.

A bargain.

The work repairing the rundown greenhouse coops was exhausting. Using all our savings, it was operational in four months.  

2am starts broke our resolve. Picking and packing herbs under floodlight; driving to market; the rush to set-up by 5am.

Tired.

Unwitting customers pulling faces at $2 for fresh basil, mint, comfrey or dill. No mind for the effort in producing it ready for sale. Herbs an extravagant extra they could easily do without.

Was this our future, our retirement dream?

The farm sold in three days for double the price we paid.

100 words

Written for Friday Fictioneers. Join in: rochellewisoff.com/2022/07/27/29-july-2022/

It is great practice for making every word count!

Friday Fictioneers

Friday Fictioneers

PHOTO PROMPT © Fleur Lind

Write a fiction story in 100 words or less based on the photo prompt. Trigger warning- this short story is dark.

Explaining Why

Bad day? Rindango asked, his open palm offering another refill.

I nod, saying nothing.

How could I explain, without opening the floodgates?

Suppressing the steel ball of anxiety wedged in my breastbone way preferable to divulging the wretched hurt and misunderstanding.  It’s safer staying distant. Numb. Protected behind a wall.

I dropped my guard once. The do-gooder’s sympathetic response well-intentioned, albeit transient. Too confronting and they walk. Excuses made. Resetting their unremarkable life.

I left normal behind years ago.

So why change now? It’s my problem, my ownership, my solution.

I signal to Rindango. One more for the road, thanks.

100 Words

Friday Fictioneers

Nearly Wasn’t

Phoebe feeling lazy, frowned.

“I did it yesterday. Ask Darren.”

Mum was insistent.

“It’s your job. She’s desperate for a walk in the park.”

Petra’s tail wagged, effusively. The guilt trip worked. 

Phoebe and Petra were almost at the road, when Mum called from the doorway, holding out Phoebe’s coat,  

“Come back. You’ll need this.” They reluctantly complied.

Amidst a screech of tyres and a metallic thud, a car mounted the kerb, flattening the stop sign completely.

Crazy drivers, Phoebe thought. They’ll kill someone one day.

Her mother, white as a sheet and crossing her chest, handed Phoebe her coat.

100 words

For Friday Fictioneers

Photo by Dale Rogerson

The Falls and Josie – a Short Story

Friday Fictioneers is a challenge wherein you write a Story in 100 Words based on a photo prompt:

PHOTO PROMPT © David Stewart

Just one more step, she surmised, until she reached the edge. 
Still lucid, she considered the horrendous pain she'd feel before the blackness enveloped her. It couldn’t be worse than the cumulative anguish she'd already experienced. Those seven years of wretched, alcoholic despair had degraded her ability to function and think clearly. 
She shivered. 
Was her cheek wet from overspray or tears? 
The breathtaking Bridal Falls the only witness to the chaos in her mind.
“C’mon Josie,” Mother called. “Enough of those murder mysteries, you’ll be late for school.” 
Josie bolted downstairs marking the page as she closed the book.

Word Count: 100

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