Outside of the World

Happy Friday Readers! Another week has come and gone already! I’m sorry for skipping last week, but I’m back again with another Friday Fictioneers adventure with Emmeline and Nicholas. And since I missed last week…I made this story 200 words instead of the usual 100. I hope you’ll enjoy it!

Special thanks to Rochelle for always providing a prompt (even when some of us skip a week) and to Liz Young for this week’s photo!

Copyright: Liz Young

Outside of the World

The frost tipped grass crunched under Nick’s oxford shoes as he made his way through the tiny cemetery. Most of the stones were crumbling, their names and dates faded or illegible.

Suddenly he saw her. She was sitting on a stone bench, hands folded in her lap. For a second Nick hesitated, unwilling to disturb her, but she shifted and looked up, catching sight of him immediately.

“Nicholas? what are you doing here? Is anything wrong?”

“Your office told me I could find you here,” Nick said. “I-I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come, it’s nothing important…” He turned to leave.

“Wait,”said Emmeline, rising to her feet. Nick stopped. “I come here to think sometimes.” She reached out and took his hand, pulling him back towards the bench.

“Why here?” The cemetery was old. No one had probably been buried there for over 50 years.

Emmeline shrugged. “It’s peaceful. Quiet. I feel outside of the world here.”

Nick looked around. His eye caught on the tombstone directly in front of them. His eyes widened. “That’s your name!” he cried, jumping up to look closer at the faded letters. He touched the stone. “How strange!”

“Stranger than you think,” she whispered.


Tick Tock

Happy Friday, Readers! Welcome to the last Friday Fictioneers of 2016. Can you believe it? Thank you so much to Rochelle for continuing to host this weekly prompt, and to the many people who contribute photos, particularly Shaktiki Sharma, who submitted this week’s photo!

Enjoy! (even if it is a little dark)

Copyright: Shaktiki Sharma
Copyright: Shaktiki Sharma

Tick Tock

Time is a funny thing. Everyone was always running out of it, and no one knew this better than Muerta, whose curse was to see everyone’s time run out. Everyone’s except her own. Tick tock, tick tock.

“Hola, niña.”

Muerta stopped mid-step and slowly turned towards a man peeling himself from the shadows of the wall. Tick tock, tick tock. She said nothing as he stepped closer. “What are you looking for, niña bonita?”

The ticking slowed. “I look for nothing,” she said. A vision of a gun shot to his chest flashed before her eyes. “But I see everything.”

Now Lay Me Down To Sleep

Happy Friday, dear Readers! It’s time again for Friday Fictioneers, led by our host, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Today’s photo is provided by Madison Woods. My story this time is a bit on the sad side. I hope you won’t mind.

Copyright: Madison Woods.
Copyright: Madison Woods.


Now Lay Me Down To Sleep

May 6th, 1995. Six years old. 11:08 p.m.
His mother yanked the illuminated bed sheet over his head. “Quentin? What are you doing up this late?”

July 14th, 2003. Fourteen years old. 12:44 a.m.
His mother threw open the window. “Quentin! Where do you think you’re going?”

November 19th, 2011. Twenty-two years old. 3:52 a.m.
She watched him stagger into the kitchen. “Quentin, where have you been?”

April 26th, 2014. Twenty-four years old. 2:33 a.m.
The police officer at the door said, “I’m sorry, ma’am…”
His mother cried.

“Quentin, where are you?”

The Forever Journey

Happy Friday, Readers! What a crazy one it’s been (for me anyway.) So glad the weekend is finally here!

Now it is time for Friday Fictioneers (best part of the week!), hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. This week’s photo prompt is provided by Jennifer Pendergast. Enjoy my story!

Copyright: Jennifer Pendergast.
Copyright: Jennifer Pendergast.
The Forever Journey

I wake up to the sound of the train’s whistle. It’s the same sound I wake up to everyday.

I’ve started everyday the same way for the past 150 years. Everyday is the same. I wake up on a train headed East. Mama and I are going to live with her parents, the grandparents I barely remember. Mama is happy for the first time since Papa died.

I’m not. I wander on around the train. That’s when I hear it. I barely have time to feel it before we crash-

I wake up to the sound of the train’s whistle.

Where Death Plays

Hello there, readers! I must apologize. I have been neglecting you, and my Friday Fictioneers story for last week is terribly late! But here it is, at long last. Thank you to Rochelle for providing the prompt and to B. W. Beacham  for the photograph! Enjoy my belated story.

Copyright: B. W. Beacham
Copyright: B. W. Beacham

Where Death Plays

Mama always told us to stay away from the marshes.

Every time my brother and I went out to play, Mama’s warning followed us. “Stay away from the marshes. Only Death plays there.”

It used to scare me. I was convinced Death would come after me at night.

I’m not a child anymore. Death is no longer a nightmare, but an intriguing stranger.

Tonight the heat is intense and the marsh waters are the balm I’ve been seeking. Mama’s warning fades away like a whisper in the wind as I wade in deeper, following the dim lights across the marsh.


Death Wears Cheap Leather

It’s Friday! It’s finally here! And that means it is once again time for Friday Fictioneers. Today’s photo prompt is provided by our very own Rochelle Wisoff-Fields, who is the leader of our merry band of writers.

Interested in reading some other Fictioneer entries? Check them out here.

Enjoy today’s story!

Copyright: Rochelle Wisoff-Fields
Copyright: Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Death Wears Cheap Leather

If there were worse places to bleed to death, Lilah couldn’t think of any.

She lay on the dirty floor of an elevator, her hand pressed against the oozing bullet wound in her stomach.

I should have waited for backup, she thought dully. Black spots floated across her vision.

At least I took him with me. Lilah strained to see the body across from hers in the elevator. Sylvester Witherson wouldn’t be trafficking anymore women. She sighed and waited for the end.

When Death’s form finally appeared in the elevator, Lilah laughed. Death looked an awful lot like a prostitute.