It’s YOUR Face

Photo prompt © Roger Bultot

Time for another Friday Fictioneers tale. This group is hosted by the kindly and ever-smiling Rochelle Wisoff-Fields over at Addicted to Purple. As usual she’s presented us with a picture that should unleash our creative energy — and then it’s cut, cut, cut. A most valuable exercise for learning concision. If you wish to participate, check her blog for details. Everyone is welcome to submit a story.

A special thanks goes to Roger Bultot for supplying us with this photo. Since it’s his photo, lent to the group specifically for this week’s prompt, it must not be “borrowed” by anyone for any other purpose without asking permission.

My mind bounced around on this prompt and finally came up with the following 100-word tale:

It’s Your Face

There she is, conceited, backstabbing brat. Hanging out with my former friends. Probably flirting with that server like she does with all the guys in the office. She makes my blood boil!

I feel a hand on my shoulder. “Too much lemon in the drink today,” Mike from accounts-receivable asks.

I nod toward the giggling trio. “If you only knew!”

“I do know… some at least. Yeah, she’s annoying, but let it go. It’s disfiguring your face.”

I hear her laugh and grit my teeth. “She’s so fake!”

Mike shrugs. “It’s your face,” he says as he turns away.

Winnie and the Genie

Time for another Friday Fictioneers tale. This may be a really off-beat reply to today’s prompt, but I was wanting to write about Winnie again. I kind of like her querulous personality. To read my other tales about Winnie, click here and here.

She and Raylene are home from their Florida trip and Winnie’s finding other interesting things. Today she’s visiting with Ernie Phelps, a retired friend and potential sweetheart.

Thanks for the photo prompt, Liz, and thanks again, Rochelle at Addicted to Purple for being such a patient and encouraging host to this FF group. I have to butter you up today, Rochelle, since my story is five words over the limit. I welcome suggestions from anyone as to how I can knock these five words off.

Photo prompt c. Liz Young

Winnie and the Genie

“Found it under them bushes. Oddest bottle I ever saw! I uncorked it and Poof! This female’s saying she’ll grant my every wish. One look at her and I says, ‘Back in this bottle right now, young lady.’ ”

Ernie’s jaw dropped. “You could’a been rich, Winnie! New house, fancy clothes…”

“Clothes? Ha! You should have seen her skimpy clothes. No…your ol’ ticker might’a stopped.”

“So where’s that bottle now?”

“In the lake. Sure wouldn’t want some man seeing that indecent outfit!”

Next morning Ernie headed for the coast. Entering a shop near the beach he pointed to a sign. “I want them scuba diving lessons.”

The Oddest Strudel

Here’s what I’ve cooked up for the Friday Fictioneers prompt this week. Much thanks goes to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields who patiently hosts this flock of fiction fanatics. (My computer won’t do InLinkz, but you can click the blue frog on her blog to see this week’s smorgasbord.)

Special thanks also to Dale Rogerson for this week’s pizza photo prompt.

Photo © Dale Rogerson

The Odd Little House with the Odd Little Strudel

“Oh, Hansel! The birds ate all our crumbs! Now we’re lost.”

Her brother looked around desperately. “Wait…there’s a house! Maybe they’ll tell us the way home.”

The children ran to the cottage and knocked. “No one’s home.” Gretel sniffed. “But something smells delicious.”

“And I’m starving.” Hansel opened the door. “There it is… Whatever it is.” He hurried to the table, chopped off two chunks with a nearby knife, and handed one to his sister.

Hunger overpowered Gretel’s timidity. She bit into the odd food. “Mmm… But greasy. And this stringy cheese… Funniest strudel I’ve ever eaten.”

They heard someone cackle.

What Next, Grandpa?

Photo  credit : Jellico’s Stationhouse

With thanks to the cheerful and patient Rochelle Wisoff-Fields, for hosting our supposed-to-be-Friday Fictioneers group and inspiring us with a prompt every week. And to Jelli for the © photo.

Archie huffed. “Nursing is no profession for women, especially a youngster like yerself. It’s hard, dirty work, and too…revealing!”

Mary ignored the “Never contradict your elders” protocol. “Well, Grandpa, I’ve talked this over with my parents and they approve. In fact, Dad’s bought me a bicycle so I can attend classes to get the credits I need.”

“A bicycle! What next?”

The pop-up memory tickled Mary as she watched a jet land. Oh, yes, Grandpa. What next? Maybe it’s a good thing you didn’t live to see this, she thought as a young female pilot strolled past wheeling a suitcase.

Written in memory of my dear friend, Mary Strathdee, who braved her grandfather’s displeasure and became a nurse back in the 1930s. (I doubt she got the bike, though. 😉 )