A touch of colour

Friday Fictioneers

It is Wednesday everywhere,except for FF lovers who enjoy their Friday fare starting on Wednesday.Confused?Don’t be.Hop over to our  beautifully talented host Rochelle Wisoff-Fields page  (http://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/friday-fictioneers-2/) and check out for yourself how over 100 talented writers from all over the world ,flock  to this contest and spin amazing tales of 100 words or so woven around the given photo prompt.Read,enjoy and join the fun:-)

 

This week’s photo prompt( below), has been provided by Danny Bowman and really made me scratch my head.Finally I came up with my 100 words,which follows just after the photo.Hope you all find it enjoyable 😉

 

Copyright - Danny Bowman

                                        Copyright – Danny Bowman

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A touch of colour

 

Stan gazed at the landscape on display.

His critical eye was not pleased.

It lacks boldness, he decided.

A dab of red would make it perfect, he mused.

An art lover, he always carried brushes, but where to get some red paint from?

He scanned the art gallery but it being late, no one was around.

Then Stan saw him.

He beamed.

The guard was immersed in a racy thriller, an empty mug at his feet.

Stan slashed the guard’s throat.

Holding the brush, he looked appreciatively at the red hot lava spilling from the volcano.

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No foul play

well

 the speakeasy at yeah write #151

No foul play

“Life had once been defined by linears and absolutes.”

Gerry stopped writing and shut his diary with force. Anger and sorrow struggled with each other to gain foothold. Sorrow won. He missed her. If only…

He went and stood by the window. Night had decided to wear her star spangled coat and was busy romancing the full moon. He closed the window. Such beauty pained him.

His mind went back to the time when all was orderly, or so it seemed. His Dad was a soldier and was home only on short holidays. He was a good father and a dutiful husband but nothing more. His mother on the other hand, was an artist with a passionate temperament, which she kept well hidden under routine. He was an ordinary boy living an ordinary life.

Then one day, when he was fourteen, it all changed. His Dad came back from Afghanistan sans his right leg. Wallowing in self –pity, his Dad took to the bottle. His mom tried her best to take care of the family by taking up odd jobs but it was not enough. She had been a beautiful woman, but her face stated to lose its glow with the constant worry. Soon, his father started becoming abusive. Initially it was only verbal but then it escalated into physical blows.

Life dragged on, with no respite for the family. The only silver lining on the black cloud called “crisis” was Gerry’s excellent grades at school.

One night, when Gerry was sixteen, he found his mom in the basement painting the walls furiously. He was astonished to see the vibrant colours and bold strokes that she used. He watched silently, as she added a cobalt blue and then contrasted it with a flaming orange. Later he convinced her to let the artist in her take charge.

She surprised everyone by excelling in her chosen field and very soon, many art galleries were showing interest in her work. She had her first independent show, when Gerry turned eighteen. Soon after, he left for college on a full scholarship. Life seemed to have steadied itself.

At college, he made friends and enjoyed studying. He received letters from his Mom which told him about her shows and he was happy that she was tasting success. He was unable to visit home for the next two years as there were some extra courses he had opted for which needed him to stay back during the breaks. So, when he went home, he was a little puzzled to see his mom looking radiant but a little flustered, as if she had a secret.

Two days before he was due to return, he learnt of his mom’s secret. She told him that she had met Bud, another artist-a sculptor- six months back and they had fallen in love. However, as his mom was not free there was no future for them. Gerry was happy for his mom and expressed his wish to meet Bud. A meeting was arranged and he was pleased with his mom’s choice. However, his Dad posed a problem. He was not ready to let his wife go and said”no” to divorce. His drinking and violent behaviour took a turn for the worst. Bidding her a fond farewell, Gerry promised his mom to be back during Christmas to find a solution.

But that was not to be. Six weeks to Christmas, he received news about his Mom’s death and had to rush home. Police officers said that they had found his mother lying with her neck broken at the end of the stairs leading to the basement. Possibly she had slipped .They ruled out any foul play as his Dad was found dead drunk, on the sofa in the hallway. Gerry had his reasons to believe otherwise.

A few days after the funeral, Gerry plied his Dad with drink after drink. He kept egging him on and implying that he was glad his mom was no more. Still, his blood froze when he heard his Dad confess.

“Ah, I hated that bitch! Pushing her that day felt damned good. No one leaves me!!”His Dad growled in a slurred voice.

A week later, Gerry slipped back into the house, unnoticed, and pushed his drunken Dad down the stairs. He was satisfied to hear the squelching sound his Dad’s head made when it struck the corner of the marble slab at the bottom.

Police ruled out any foul play, again.

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This was written for the Speakeasy weekly writing prompt, the speakeasy at yeah write #151 ,which is to write a piece in 750 words or less (mine is 748 words,including the title) (a) using “Life had once been defined by linears and absolutes.” as the first sentence,and (b) include some sort of reference to the photograph posted above, taken by Czintos Ödön.If you are interested in reading all the entries or joining the challenge please click on this url- http://www.yeahwrite.me/speakeasy/151-open/

speakeasy2

 

Sleep Baby,sleep

Friday Fictioneers

Aha,this time it really is Friday-at least for me.Over at FF,our  immensely talented host,the wonderful Rochelle Wisoff-Fields posted the photo prompt some 3 days back,setting the bar high with her amazing story.As I write this,already 81 writers have spun their magic using the photo prompt,provided by one of my favourite writers on FF,the admirable Sandra Crook.Thank you Sandra .:-)

I am late for two reasons-one I was rushing to get too many things done and second,c’cos this prompt had me stumped.However,after untangling my scrambled neurons and soothing my jangled nerves,I came up with my 100 words which follows just after the photo.

In case you are interested in participating or reading what other fantastic story tellers from around the world have come up with in just 100 words,do click on this link and pop over there to check it out http://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/friday-fictioneers-2/

 

Copyright -Sandra Crook

                                             Copyright -Sandra Crook

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Sleep Baby, sleep

 

Maude drove the tractor –trailer out of the farm at an easy pace.

Ricky’s trench coat and boots sat well on her.

She pulled the cap a little lower and adjusted her sunglasses.

Not that anyone was around at this time.

Soon the town was behind her.

Ricky sure had been surprised to see her.

He thought she was dead.

Maude touched the scars on her face.

All through their marriage, Ricky’s constant complaint was,”I am going to pieces woman, let me sleep.”

Maude turned her head.

Between bales of hay, lay Ricky, finally sleeping.

In pieces…

 

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What’s in the belfry?

FRIDAY FICTIONEERS

Our brilliant and lovely hostess Rochelle Wisoff-Fields, at FF, has  challenged us to spin a 100 word tale  based on this photo prompt,provided by David Stewart,this week.Want to read what around 100 writers from around the world are writing in response to this challenge?Or,would you like to participate?Click  on this link http://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/2014/02/19/21-february-2014/

 

Copyright - David Stewart

                                                   Copyright – David Stewart

 So before it gets too late,I decided to post my 100 words(excluding the title)

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What’s in the belfry?

 

 Weird rumours had been floating in the neighbourhood.

Mr. Coots swore he had seen ghosts.

Stella insisted her cat was possessed and even little Tamara piped in about some strange smell.

When Mr.Stanley found a few drops of blood on the church floor this morning, Mrs. Gregory went crazy, ranting about vampire Bats roosting in the belfry!!

So Paul, the caretaker had to climb up to check,

A dark shape shifted in the belfry as Paul stretched his hand…

The bell started clanging.

People ran in and stopped, horrified to see Paul’s bloodless body hanging from the swinging bell.

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Walking away

Image courtesy of Unsplash.

                                                                     Image courtesy of Unsplash.

 

 

Walking away

Sophia looked at the retreating back of her lover and thought, how rigid his stance was-just like him.

Long after he had disappeared into the sandy horizon, she continued sitting there, looking at the Sunset over the dunes and reflected on love and life.

Their love life had been like these undulating dunes-ever changing and harsh on the travellers-him and her.

Her love for him was all encompassing, like the sea, carrying away all that was negative between them like flotsam. At times tidal waves of passion pulled at her heart and at others silent storms raged within. Just like the sea, her moods could change with deceptive ease but it was always he who caused those changes.

His love was beautiful but cold like the moon. No, she decided, it was more like the desert. She travelled through his heart, scorched and dying of thirst. Her life felt bleached of all colours and the oasis of love that she was looking for turned out to be only a mirage.

And finally, today after years of yearning and longing, it had all come to naught. He had walked away, unable to bear the burden of her love. What had he said? Oh, that he was not meant to be a family man- that love was not for him. The world beckoned and he had to leave.

She smiled ruefully, wiping at the tears that threatened to spill over. Well, she thought, time to tame the beast called love that had chained her heart for so many years- time she set herself free too.

She toyed with the sand, holding it in her fist and letting it fall free. She realized that while some grains fell off smoothly, a few still remained stuck to her fingers .She mused that painful memories were just like a fistful of sand –while one could let go of some easily, others would require more effort and time.

With that she smiled, stood up and started walking towards a new beginning…

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This was written for  Write on Edge using either the photo prompt above or the quote,”If you must speak ill of another, do not speak it, write it in the sand near the water’s edge.”~Napoleon Hill. I decided to go with the photo.Word count  337,including the title.For more details on the challenge,please click on this link-http://writeonedge.com/

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Writing Prompt: 2014, Week 6

Post Valentine

FRIDAY FICTIONEERS

Time again to have some fun at FF where our wonderful host Rochelle Wisoff-Fields manages to attract more than 100 writers from all over the world every week. These talented writers respond to a photo prompt and come up with 100 or so words of fiction or poetry.This week the photo below is provided by Janet Webb.

Copyright - Janet Webb

                                             Copyright – Janet Webb

This cool photo immediately stirred dark,murderous ideas in my wicked brain but strangely,my story decided to go its own way.So here it comes-101 words including the title :-)By the way,my heartfelt thanks to all those who came by to read my submission last week and my apologies if I haven’t been around to read their’s or respond with a thanks. Have been a little busy as my daughter’s 18th Birthday is coming up this Saturday and I have been running around trying to get the invitations out and shopping and stuff.However,I promise to read  this week’s submission without fail by next Monday.

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Post Valentine

Hi Camellia! How was Valentine’s Day?

Oh Kara, don’t even ask!

Why what happened?

I think I need some strong coffee first.

The aroma of fresh coffee perked them up.

Well Kara, I was shocked to see that Kevin had ordered red wine. Eww! You know how I hate red wine!”

Awful!

And imagine, there were no chocolates or flowers!

OMG! Such a cheapskate! Did he give a gift?

My portrait painted by him! So ugly!

Bah! Kick him out of your life.

Oh, I already did.

Fantastic! His loss sweetie! Let’s go shopping.

Let’s! I need retail therapy.

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Red Herring

FRIDAY FICTIONEERS

This week I am really running late for Rochelle’s 100 words flash fiction contest and when I just checked,already 104 writers from across the globe have  made it to the arena.The lamps must be aglow with happiness and all these  energetic writers must have had some really bright ideas ,looking at the cool photo prompt for this week,supplied by Down M.Miller.Well,the bulb in my mind must be  on a holiday and thus,,if you find my 100 words a little “dim”,blame it on the absence of illumination,lol!

For those of you who want to check out what the bright ones have posted or those who would love to write  for this amazing site ,do check  Rochelle Wisoff- Fields amazing site by clicking on this link-http://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/friday-fictioneers-2/

Here is the photo-prompt for this week and my story follows it:-)

Copyright - Dawn M. Miller

                                                Copyright – Dawn M. Miller

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Red herring

When it made contact with the target, the resulting crunch sounded very satisfying.

Sharon looked at the broken shards of the lamp -poetic justice, huh?

Now, all that remained was to tidy up the place and remove all evidence.

Then she had a brainwave. Why not implicate the other?

She so hated Simon.

Sharon laid the body on the carpet

Later in the evening, she returned to the crime scene.

Aunt Amy lay in bed, moaning.

“I hate you Simon! How could you break my favourite Tiffany lamp- just for a mouse!”

The cat sat outside, looking miffed.

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55 words

 

55 Word Challenge: Week Four 2014

 

The 55 Word Challenge is a contest to write a story in 55 words or less. The challenge begins at noon Eastern time every Wednesday and ends at noon Thursday. The story is based on one of three photo prompts.

 

This prompt was for last week and though I had submitted it on the blog as per requirement,had not posted it on my blog-so here goes..If any of you is interested in participating just check out the blog at http://www.lisamccourthollar.com/2014/01/55-word-challenge-week-four-2014.html

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55 words

 Laura shivered. The hospital really looked dead! Even the staff seemed sinister. But she needed the story for her magazine “Haunted Ohio”. She followed the Doctor inside and felt herself choking.. As her abandoned mortal body turned blue on the cold floor, her spirit floated in that dilapidated, dank corridor along with other ghostly apparitions.

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Legacy

Trifextra: Week 101

On to this week’s Trifextra challenge.  This week Trifecta is asking for 33 of our own words inspired by the following picture.

 

 http://www.trifectawritingchallenge.com/#sthash.13nzebT0.dpuf

                       Thomas Leuthard / Foter.com / CC BY(Photo credit)

                         \(http://photos.foter.com/68/or_l.jpg)

Here are my 33 words.

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Legacy

Oh why did Grandpa do this?

Her dream was to write, not inherit a cafe!

The customers did give her ideas for characters and plots, she conceded.

Sighing, she went back to work.

 

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Bang on

FRIDAY FICTIONEERS

Its time to  pick up the pen to spin a 100 word story based on the photo prompt below, provided by Claire fuller,over at Rochelle Fields-Wisoff’s FF site. For more information  and to read what amazing writers from all over the world are writing over there, click on the following link – http://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/friday-fictioneers-2/

 

Copyright -Claire Fuller

                                                  Copyright -Claire Fuller

Here are my 100 words:-)

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Bang on!

He watched them tear his old work shed down, brick by brick.

Then the bulldozers razed the rest to the ground.

No one paid him any attention.

The big construction company made short work of the project and the Mall came up within two months.

Tomorrow the big names in the town along with the financiers would be present at the gala inauguration.

Poor sods! Little did they know what awaited them.

He would see to it that the event made headlines on every news channel.

He double checked the wires and tried it on. A perfect fit!

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