What Happened on February 13th – The Fire Bombing of Dresden

Sunday Photo Fiction Challenge – Why Won’t They Assimilate

Submitted for Sunday Photo Fiction

The Assignment: The idea of Photo Fiction is write a story of around 100-200 words (which is also called Flash Fiction) based on a photo as a prompt. In this particular photo fiction, the story must be based on the photo below.

Photo © Sascha Darlington

Why Won’t They Assimilate

Michael’s mother stood in the doorway with her shoulders slumped. She saw that he was watching the outside monitor again.

“Michael you know we don’t like you spending all your time watching that screen.”

“I find it interesting. I don’t get it mom. Why won’t they assimilate?”

“They just haven’t learned that they can trust their government. Moving inside the PODS is the best decision your father and I made for our family. We always know exactly what we’ll be doing every day and we never have to employ our imagination again. It’s a structured life.”

“I see families being admitted each day when I am going to school. Just yesterday a really cute new girl was hooked up to the education probes next to me. We didn’t talk because after all who needs to when there never needs to be anything to say anymore.”

“I am glad you found a new friend. Turn off the monitor and come get hooked up to the dinner probes. Your father will be home soon.”

After his mom left the room, Michael saw what he’d been waiting for. His new friend winked at the camera as she walked by on the outside.

Sunday Photo Fiction Challenge – The Simple Crime By A Simpleton

Submitted for Sunday Photo Fiction

The Assignment: The idea of Photo Fiction is write a story of around 100-200 words (which is also called Flash Fiction) based on a photo as a prompt. In this particular photo fiction, the story must be based on the photo below.

Credit: J Hardy Carroll

“Where is it?”, demanded Bruce.

“The heat was on so I had to stashed it,” said Pauley.

“What?”

“I put it where no one will notice. We can go back and get it.”

Bruce didn’t like to work but picking up odd jobs provided lucrative information.  He had seen the crystal decanter when he helped a friend install carpet last week and heard that more work would be occurring today, Tuesday.  With workmen in and out of the mansion, no one would notice Pauley.

“So where did you stash it?”

“When the old lady looked at me funny, I hid in the crawl space under the stairs.  After a while, I escaped out the backdoor but the police were there. To avoid them, I ran down the alley and stashed it in a junk shop. There was an old case with no front and it was full of bottles. I put it in with them.”

“Let’s go. Show me this junk shop.”

Around the corner from the scene of the crime, Pauley pointed to a shop at the end of a plaza. Bruce frowned when he read the sign above the door.

RECYCLING CENTER

PICK UP EVERY TUESDAY AND THURSDAY MORNING

Sunday Photo Fiction Challenge – Made Up Memories

Submitted for Sunday Photo Fiction

The Assignment: The idea of Photo Fiction is write a story of around 100-200 words (which is also called Flash Fiction) based on a photo as a prompt. In this particular photo fiction, the story must be based on the photo below.

Credit: C.E. Ayr

Tara slowed as she walked along the path. She could almost hear the laughter as her parents counted 1-2-3 and lifted her to swing her on 4. This memory from twenty years ago was the only memory of her parents she remembered in the sessions with her therapist. She knew what had occurred when she was four years old, but she didn’t remember. Always having an active imagination, Tara would often picture that time and form made up memories to block out what really happened. Eventually her imagination became her reality. In her reality, the small family lived on a boat in the middle of a river. They sailed up and down the river and used their little dingy to get off whenever they wanted to go ashore. Her dad was a fisherman and sold his fresh fish in a market on the wharf. Her mom would cook them meals often with fish and she and her parents had fun all the time. Tara stopped and looked out at the water. There was no boat nor its dingy and no family having fun. Alone in the world, this was the place she was left all those years ago.

Sunday Photo Fiction Challenge – The County Hotel – A Shakespearean Sonnet

Submitted for Sunday Photo Fiction

The Assignment: The idea of Photo Fiction is write a story of around 100-200 words (which is also called Flash Fiction) based on a photo as a prompt. In this particular photo fiction, the story must be based on the photo below.

Credit: Al Forbes

The County Hotel – A Shakespearean Sonnet

Once a destination for the elite.
Now a place to shelter the lost.
Long ago the beautiful people would meet.
Today find a room at no cost.

Long ago parties in satin and lace.
Now women and children line up for a meal.
Champagne and caviar served with grace.
Now lost hope is all they feel.

Once plush carpets and satin sheets.
Now folding cots twenty to a room.
Pampered with a massage in the spa.
Now dank, musty and full of gloom.

The County Hotel a place on a map.
Shelters the homeless no longer just for a nap.

 

Sunday Photo Fiction Challenge – Reading Is Fundamental

Submitted for Sunday Photo Fiction

The Assignment: The idea of Photo Fiction is write a story of around 100-200 words (which is also called Flash Fiction) based on a photo as a prompt. In this particular photo fiction, the story must be based on the photo below.

Credit: Al Forbes

Reading is Fundamental

“Where are we, Harry? It’s creepy.”

“Never you never mind Otis. Your job is to bag valuables, not to ask questions. For god sake try not to break anything this time.”

Turning to opposite sides of what looked like a church but not like any church Harry had ever seen before, the brothers began stuffing their sacks with objects. Harry had watched this place for the last week and when he saw a group of oddly dressed people climb into a van including the strange man who he’d seen daily, he decided that tonight was as good as any.

Harry and Otis have been alone in the world for ages having lost their parents at a young age.  Harry always looked out for his younger brother. He knew Otis wasn’t quite right in the head and would always need him. Otis never learned to read or write.

“I think we’re done. Grab your sack and meet me at the van, “ said Harry.

Otis frowned at a weird piece of cloth with writing on it. The goblet with the skull had been on top of it. He shrugged and placed it in his sack too. Harry could read.

Harry would never read these words…

THE MORTAL WHO REMOVES THIS CUP WILL RECEIVE

A VISITED TONIGHT FROM BEELZEBUB

 

Sunday Photo Fiction Challenge – The Question

Submitted for Sunday Photo Fiction

The Assignment: The idea of Photo Fiction is write a story of around 100-200 words (which is also called Flash Fiction) based on a photo as a prompt. In this particular photo fiction, the story must be based on the photo below.

Credit: Al Forbes

“Why am I different?”

Mr. and Mrs. Ursus looked at each other as they cuddled their son.  For months, they’ve discussed how and when to explain adoption to Teddy but thought they had more time. His world us expanding. Every day, Teddy bombards his parents with all kinds of questions.

“Different?” Claude and Sheila had decided to steer the conversation based on their son, not assume what he wanted to know.

“Mommy is white and Daddy light too but I am really brown. At school the brown kids are picked up by brown mommies.”

“Sheila please get the special story book, it is time.”

Sheila retrieved I Don’t Have Your Eyes by Carrie A. Kitze (1) from the bookshelf and return to the sofa.  She showed Teddy the mother and child on the cover than opened the book.

She began, “I Don’t Have Your Eyes… but I have your way of looking at things…” (1)

Through this book, Claude and Sheila explained adoption to Teddy and how they are a family just like the other kids at school.  Teddy learned that they may not be the same on the outside, but in their hearts, they are the same.(1)

(1) The title, direct quote or paraphrased from the book I Don’t Have Your Eyes by Carrie A. Kitze