She stopped at the tire shop, a quiet memento of times passed. It was unfortunate they had to sell it. Her husband had enjoyed running the shop for so many years.
Disaster had struck. When the new mechanic got ill, he accused her husband of poisoning him. The police believed the mechanic and arrested her husband. He was in prison now.
She’d found out since that the mechanic was a pawn in a criminal network of car thieves and a notorious swindler. But could the judge be convinced? She just hoped her husband would be acquitted at the next appeal.
When Ella walked past the terrace the next morning, she saw the empty chairs. This is where it’d happened. He’d chosen to do it in public. Probably to avoid a scene. She felt betrayed.
He’d asked her to join him after work for a drink and she’d been looking forward to it. How silly she now felt. She hadn’t seen this coming.
When she saw him on that terrace, Ella knew something was wrong. He started talking almost immediately. He’d met someone. After living with her for fifteen years, he wanted to start a new life with his boyfriend.
Thanks to Rochelle Wisoff, who provides the photo prompts every week for Friday Fictioneers.
She’s seven now. This year, her mam told her she can be whatever she wants to be. They are browsing the sewing magazines. So many costumes, so many choices. Her mother points out the costumes she likes. A nurse, a fairy. “What about a bumble bee, that’s cute!” Her mom adds. And there are so many princess costumes. “Do you want to be the prettiest princess in school?” Maud doesn’t like the costumes. She doesn’t want to be a princess. Maud wants to be the queen.
Inspired by today’s Daily Prompt: Masks Off
Marie Gail from Being MG challenged us to write a 100-word sequel to her Friday Fictioneers contribution. I’m happy to join. The first 100 words are hers, the second 100 mine.
A Child Shall Lead Them
Her entire life, Miranda had lived on the island, the only child in a community of aging castaways. Few islanders ever had children. Infertility was a side effect of the plague.
By Miranda’s tenth birthday, the community’s population had dwindled to a couple dozen. The radio in the meetinghouse squawked news of proposed hydroelectric developments that would flood the island. Most mainland dwellers believed the quarantined colony extinct.
When planes began buzzing over the island, the islanders hid until Miranda’s papa had an idea. Surely when the mainlanders saw a girl playing on the shore, they would reconsider the development.
Miranda started running. She gathered all the debris she could find. Her dad was watching from his hiding place. What was she doing? Would she be safe?
A week later, Miranda was interviewed by a reporter. She didn’t like the attention, but needed to tell the world about her community. The island dwellers were so proud of her. They couldn’t have imagined the good outcome of it all. One of the pilots had spotted the text on the beach. Please. A small word, but with the most amazing impact. The island was now a national park.
Photo Prompt – Friday Fictioneers
Dad drives our camper. He’s looking for a place to park. I hope we’ll stay near the pond. I can watch the birds after dinner. I like birds. Sometimes I wish I were a bird, that I could fly anywhere I wanted, stay wherever I liked. Not this, always traveling.
Wouldn’t it be nice to make friends? I like my brother, but he is so small. And mom and dad are always discussing grown-up things I shouldn’t hear. But I know they are afraid, afraid they will find us. And that’s why we move, every day, to another home.
I ‘found’ this story by typing away for ten minutes: the Ready, Set, Done-assignment of today’s Daily Prompt. The editing took much longer than that…
Photo Prompt – Copyright: Douglas M. MacIlroy
Joe lives in a house with a shed. He has sixteen fellow residents. And there’s personnel, most of them in white coats. Joe likes the shed in the garden by the sea. That’s where he makes things. New things from old things. And sometimes he alters things.
Joe changed the alarm clock. He let the numbers fall down, no need for them. He wrote his own name in the middle: Joe Boxer. Now the alarm clock is ready. And tomorrow morning, when the alarm rings, he won’t be confused. He will know that the alarm he hears, is his.
I am very late this week, but still wanted to submit my entry. Tomorrow, there’s a new photo prompt and hope I’ll finish my entry sooner!
His lips trembled when he heard. That was not how he was taught. For if disaster would hit him, his lips should remain utterly stiff. But this was inconceivable; he couldn’t be helped. They weren’t supposed to drink, he knew that. And the fact that the neighbour’s son had to have his stomach emptied, didn’t exactly help. But his father’s decision was out of proportion, the punishment too severe. Father was emptying the band’s shag and selling their equipment. He would never play the keyboard again.
Photo prompt from Friday Fictioneers