The Sinking House of Usher

jacked-up
Photo by Sandra Crook

 

“We have to jack up our house–the sinking House of Usher!” she yelled into the phone.

She paused.

“I know.”

She listened to her mother lambaste Jim, her husband.  So flaky. Can’t even buy a decent house. She’d heard it all before.  Usually she added her own complaints.  Hasn’t mowed the lawn in weeks.

She was about to complain about Jim’s cooking.  Then she remembered last night, how hard he had made her laugh. His imitation of Trump!

“Oh, by the way–I saw dad yesterday at Al’s Bar.  Has he told you yet that he lost his job?”


This is the Jan 6 edition of the Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle. This week’s photo courtesy the  Sandra Crook. To read more flash fiction inspired by the prompt, or to submit your own, click the blue froggy button:

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Friday Fictioneers: Into the Night

 

She stopped to take a breath.  Where was she?  It was dark.  The rectangles of light leered at her.  She smelled urine.  A shadow started moving towards her, and she bolted. After running for six more blocks, she stopped again.  Her heart was pounding.  What should she do now?  Did anybody see her leave?  She had not meant to kill him.  She just wanted him to leave her alone.  How could she get out of it this time?  She started walking again and breathed.  She knew what she had to do.  She pulled out her phone and began to dial.

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This 100-word story is my contribution to this week’s  Friday Fictioneers flash fiction challenge,  hosted by Rochelle at Addicted to Purple.  The story must be 100 words or fewer and it should be inspired by the photo provided.  This week’s photo was taken by Shaktiki Sharma

night-prompt

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At the Patriots’ Diner

 

This is my entry in Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers Flash Fiction Challenge.  The story has to be 100 words or fewer, based on this photo prompt by Roger Bultot.  Give it a try yourself!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

These pancakes are soggy.  The eggs are cold.  There is something on this fork!  Get me another cup of coffee, would you, sweetheart?  What?  You don’t have avocado to go with the hamburger?  We have been waiting here for hours!  Is everyone here incompetent?  Give us a smile, honey.  You’d be pretty if you smiled.  This burger is overcooked.  Nice ass on that one.  I asked you for coffee an hour ago. Come on, honey.  Smile.  I meant it as a compliment.  Look, Kath!  That man just fell flat on his face.  How did that happen?

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My Bracelet

-The Friday Fictioneers is a flash fiction challenge hosted by Rochelle at Addicted to Purple.

friday-fictioneers

This week’s Friday Fictioneers prompt is this photo taken by Jean L. Hays:

trading-post

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This is my story in response to the prompt.  (It is exactly 100 words.)

My Bracelet

The young women giggled as they browsed through the shop where I worked as a cashier.  Much of the stuff was junk, but the jewelry section featured handmade originals.  One of them, a bead bracelet, was mine.

This was the first piece of jewelry I had ever tried to sell. I used crescent and honeycomb turquoise beads. I was proud of the results.

Blondie picked up my bracelet and wrapped it around her wrist.  “Do I look like Pocahontas?”

“John Smith would go wild!”  They laughed.

I felt my cheeks burning.

“Do you two plan on buying anything?” I asked.

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P.S. I just realized the prompt I used is way out of date.  It was from November.  I’m not sure how I managed to make that mistake!  Oops. Better luck next time.