She lay there motionless on the cold, bare kitchen floor, staring up at the utensils. The morning light was just starting to make it’s way through the grim covered skylight. She had found this small place for herself and made it her own. But these little quarters that she had considered her sanctuary for so many months, had changed overnight.Continue reading
They had stopped along the first strip of shops that came into view. They had been driving for hours along a small deserted road and being confined like that was suffocating for her.
They walked past the small piano. Though dilapidated, he was sure it had seen better days. She wandered into the store. He knelt and started to play; striking each key with precision and softness.
She rushed out when she heard the music. There were many things she didn’t know about him, having married him just a few days ago. She dried her tears.
Sarah quickened her pace along 5th Avenue. Breathless, she entered The Met, and rushed to the ‘guided tours’ meeting point.
She scanned the crowds nervously. He wasn’t there. Disheartened, she led her group to the first exhibit.
There was a chill in the air that evening, as Clara closed the doors to her flower shop and walked down the cobbled street, avoiding the puddles, as she made her way home
Slowing down, by one of the dimly lit lamp posts, she reminisced about a night like this many years ago. The delicate flowers, soft music and a moonlit sky. A perfect marriage proposal.
Shaking that thought, she rushed home. The lasagna had to be put in the oven. Her husband and children would be waiting for her.
But would things have been different had she said yes?
Word Count: 100
This is pure fiction and not based or inspired by true events.
This post was written as part of the Friday Fictioneers Challenge hosted by the wonderful Rochelle. The idea is to write a short story (100 words), based on the photo prompt provided.
To read more interesting stories, hop on over to froggy island.
The day John finished his 15 year sentence, he made his way to the old neighborhood. His eyes paused at the run down building. With its corrugated iron roof, frayed walls and intact windows – it tug at his heart-strings.
As Carl drove up the rugged path in his Ford-150, Cecelia eye’s drifted up ahead. The sun was dipping below the horizon and the sky showcased hues of orange and blue. Cecilia’s arms were covered in goosebumps. It must be the chill in the air, she thought.
From the waiting room, I calmly make my way through the double doors into the hallway. The distinctive smell of antiseptics is hard to digest. Why are hospitals so cold? The surroundings austere. This is nauseating.
Saturday afternoons for Edward meant taking his boat out to the island. He had bought this small piece of land as a wedding present for his wife 15 years ago.
Catherine had wanted to get away for a while. Her life had become an endless succession of disappointments, making it a breeding ground for anxiety, anguish and uncertainty.
She managed to book a quaint rustic cottage in rural Spain for the summer. As she arrived and made her way down the cobbled steps towards the shed, she felt a sense of calm prevail.
The antiquated desk was pushed back against the window. Catherine hesitantly opened the top right drawer to find an incomplete handwritten manuscript. She pulled up the chair, and sat to complete the story. It was her story.
Word Count: 100
This post was written as part of the Friday Fictioneers Challenge hosted by Rochelle. The idea is to write a short story (100 words), based on the photo prompt provided.
I really struggle with trying to capture the essence of the story in 100 words, but quite enjoy the challenge.
To read more interesting stories, click on the blue frog.
The meteorologist had issued a winter weather advisory in effect for the town of Canton. She stood by the window sill, warm coffee mug in hand, and admired the dense foliage that had frosted over last night. There was a sense of calmness and tranquility outside that she wished would flow over into her life.