Happy Friday Readers! I am sorry for missing the last couple weeks and leaving you hanging, but things got a little crazy. Exciting things are happening behind the scenes in Nick and Emmeline’s story however, so I’ll give you a sneak peek in this week’s Friday Fictioneers. I was so excited to see this prompt, because it fits just perfectly with what I envisioned happening next!
Thanks as always to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for providing the prompt, and to Dale Rogerson for this week’s photo!
A Delicate Arrangement
“Are you with me?” The words echoed in Nick’s head as he helped Emmeline to her apartment door. She was still pale but a grim determination had replaced the fear on her face. She paused, her keys stuck in the lock.
“Do you need help?” Nick reached forward to turn the key but Emmeline snatched at his hand.
“No! We have to be careful.”
“Em, you’re not making any sense. What are you worried about?” He shook off her hand and opened the door.
Emmeline braced herself, then gasped. Her entire apartment was filled with flowers.
Hello, dear Readers! Is it really Friday already? This week has flown by! Time again for Friday Fictioneers, picking up Nick and Emmeline’s story where we left off last week with mysterious messages, someone named Constantine, and chatty receptionists.
Happy Friday, Readers! As promised, I am back (on time) with Friday Fictioneers! This week we have an interesting photo prompt, courtesy of Claire Sheldon. (Who saves staples like that?)
We are still following our interesting couple, Emmeline and Nick, who are now home from the hospital after Emmeline’s accident. Their trials are far from over…
Thank you to Rochelle for always providing our Friday prompts!
“Bless my soul, Emmeline Price, what happened to you?” cried Mary Ann in her thick Boston accent. “Who’s your man?” She leaned over the desk. In a faux whisper, she said, “He’s a fine piece of real estate!”
Emmeline sighed covered her eyes with her hand while Nick hastily turned his laugh into a cough. “I was in an accident, and this is Nicholas Ramsey. Do I have any messages?”
“Hmm?” Mary Ann tore her gaze from Nick and popped her gum bubble. “Oh yeah, loads. All from a guy named Constantine. Weird name.”
Happy Friday, Readers! Can you believe it’s here already? As promised in last week’s Friday Fictioneers, I will be continuing the story about the characters I introduced – Nicholas Ramsey and Emmeline Price. If you missed their first story, check it out here.
Thank you to Rochelle for providing us with a prompt week after week. And special thanks to Shaktiki Sharma for providing this week’s photo.
It’s The Little Things
Nick came running when a sudden shriek tore the air. He rounded the corner, certain Miss Price was being mugged or worse. What he found was Emmeline desperately swatting the air with her pamphlets. Then in the most dignified manner she could manage, she smoothed her dress and patted her hair.
“What happened?” asked Nick, breathless.
Emmeline cleared her throat. “It was a bug.”
Nick stared at her, dumbfounded. Here was a woman who walked unafraid in the slums of Chicago and faced business tycoons on a daily basis, but shrieked at the sight of a bug. He burst out laughing.
Happy Friday, my dear Readers! Can you believe that I’ve posted something every day this week? I can’t. And to think, it all started with one late Friday Fictioneers post. To those of you who have been enjoying Stella and Griffin’s adventure, thank you for sticking with me! Today’s Friday Fictioneers will not be part of their story, but never fear, I will continue it.
Today we have a photo from C. E. Ayr. As always, I give special thanks to Rochelle for providing us with our weekly prompt. Enjoy the story!
Off The Record
Joseph Decker had worked at the train yard all his life. Over the years he’d seen countless trains and cargo pass through the yard, from dirty coal to silk parasols. It was all the same to him, just another shipment that needed to be recorded.
All except the dark car, which never came on the same train twice. When it did come, Joseph knew to turn a blind eye. The men that came for it were strange. They gave Joseph the creeps. He had glimpsed their “merchandise” once, and never wanted to look again.
What a week it has been, losing two wonderful, talented men to cancer, both only 69 years old. So young. May Alan Rickman and David Bowie rest in peace. My thoughts and prayer are with their families.
Yet somehow, even in the wake of these sad events, as always, the world keeps turning and time keeps passing, though for some, I’m sure it feels as though it is standing still. Still, it’s time again for Friday Fictioneers, hosted by our lovely Rochelle. This week’s lonely looking photo is provided by Amy Reese. Enjoy.
What No One Could See
Violet was convinced she was the only one who could see them.
Whenever she walked past the overgrown, dark steps, no one but her seemed to spare a glance at them.
“What’s down there, do you reckon?” she had asked Bella and Em as they walked past them for the hundredth time.
“Down where?” the girls chorused. Violet frowned.
“Those old stairs.”
Both girls looked alarmed. “There aren’t any stairs, Vi.”
So Violet stopped asking.
One day, she decided to look for herself.
When the missing reports for Violet circulated in the following weeks, not one person checked the stairs.
Happy Friday, Readers! It’s time again for Friday Fictioneers, my favorite time of the week! As usual, Rochelle has provided us with an intriguing photo prompt, inspiring me and bloggers all over the world to write one hundred words and make it a story. Here we go. Enjoy!
Welcome To The After
Darla Marie Maxwell had been staring at that infernal light fixture for over an hour. She was stuck on the floor and couldn’t remember how she got there.
“Will someone help me?” she shouted. Where was that useless maid of hers?
“Shout all ye like, Missy, but tain’t gonna do you no good.”
Darla bolted upright. She was so shocked she didn’t realize she’d finally moved. “Who are you? Where did you come from? How dare you speak to me like that!”
A translucent man in ragged clothing gave her a toothy grin. “Name’s Tuck. And you is dead, Missy.”