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Empty Store

PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

The store was empty. Why did Marcie feel like she was being watched? 

She heard an even rasp. Shuffling? And heavy breathing? She tried not to panic. A man slunk through the storage room doorway, a gun in hand, a twisted smile on his pocked face. How—? She stumbled backward. The man opened his mouth. “Marcie.”

“Marcie? Hey, Marce. You doze off?” Steve’s face appeared through the fog. “I’m leaving early, remember. You’re okay closing up, right? Big date tonight!”

He rushed for the door. Macie swallowed.

The store was empty. Why did she feel like she was being watched? 

To read more 100 word stories based on this photo prompt, hop over to Friday Fictioneers, hosted by the lovely Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.

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The Rusty Bridge

PHOTO PROMPT © Sandra Crook

The Rusty Bridge

Bridges always make me think of Rusty. 

He sent letters til I was 10, telling of his adventures.  I kept a list back then, updating it every time he wrote. When I turned 18, I would follow in his footsteps. Yellowstone Natural Bridge was the last place he mentioned before we got the life-shattering call. 

I ended my list, put it in a tin can deep in my closet, and decided to take a safe path instead. 

Yesterday, I found the list.

“I lost my life in a different way, Big Brother,” I moaned.

This evening, I bought a backpack.

Many thanks to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for hosting Friday Fictioneers! One photo, 100 words… Why not join us?

Has anyone else been struggling with posting comments lately? Not that you’ll be able to answer if you are :). I’m having the worst luck getting comments to take…

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The Stage

Thanks again to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for hosting Friday Fictioneers! Here’s my take on the photo prompt in 100 words.

PHOTO PROMPT © Dale Rogerson

The Stage

Little Emmie loved to dance, but distrusted the stage. 

She rushed twice a week to the room with mirrors and eagerly mimicked as Ms. Jones moved to the music. But it didn’t seem quite right, like trying to draw a sunset.

“On stage,” Ms. Jones’ words glowed with reverence, “it will be magnificent!”

Emmie wasn’t sure. Her costume looked too ruffly, sequin-y, and bright. 

Mom read Emmie’s thoughts on performance day and smiled. “Just try it once, hun. Experiences are good.”

After the dance, Mom pushed her way backstage. Emmie ran to her.

“Agggghh!” She screamed. “I love the stage!”

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Trash Day

It’s time again for Friday Fictioneers! Thank you Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for hosting! One photo, 100 words…

Trash Day

Stench stabbed her nostrils as Isabel pushed open her apartment door. The trash. Had it been two weeks? Three? Ugh. It had to go. 

She stabbed the elevator button and tapped her toes as the machine yawned to life. Rushing into the tiny space, trash bag in hand, she nearly gagged, then looked up. A neatly-dressed man with his hands primly behind his back looked uncomfortable. Fantastic.

Counting down the floors, Isabel raced to the dumpster, paused, giving the man time to walk by, then turned, nearly crashing into him.

He held up a bag of familiar-smelling trash and winked.