Scotch-taped

Time for another entry in Friday Fictioneers challenge, courtesy of Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. If you want to give it a try, check the info on her blog. 100 words more or less, inspired by a photo, here we go….

 Copyright –   Ted Strutz

When another tragedy sneaked its way into her already fractured world, she tried to pick up all the pieces and hold them together with a scotch tape. It held remarkably well for the longest time.

World moved on at its usual pace and she fell behind. With time she mastered the smiles of reassurement, avoiding those awkward moments when people ask you how you feel, hoping you wont break down in front of them.

Although the scotch tape still holds her together, few little pieces are irreversibly lost and she wonders when will it all fall apart.

For Irena…always and forever.

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Voiceless

Time for another entry in Friday Fictioneers challenge, courtesy of Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. If you want to give it a try, check the info on her blog. 100 words more or less, inspired by a photo, here we go….

 Copyright –  Liz Young

By nature, I am a quiet person. It always felt almost absurd to yell or scream.

That changed when the nurse told me you died. Later I would find out the words of consolement were a lie, that you suffered and they failed to do everything they could.

Lying on a hospital bed, you looked like you fell asleep and that gave me a quantum of solace. But my strength is tested every day, in thousand insignificant ways.

Truthfully, it is not the loss I feel that is unbearable, but all the years that were stolen from you.

There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream,
The earth, and every common sight,
To me did seem
Apparelled in celestial light,
The glory and the freshness of a dream.
It is not now as it hath been of yore;—
Turn wheresoe’er I may,
By night or day.
The things which I have seen I now can see no more.

—But there’s a Tree, of many, one,
A single field which I have looked upon,
Both of them speak of something that is gone;
The Pansy at my feet
Doth the same tale repeat:
Whither is fled the visionary gleam?
Where is it now, the glory and the dream?

                                             – William Wordsworth

I know you will always be by my side, because I will forever keep you in my heart.

Loré de Orne

Time for another entry in Friday Fictioneers challenge, courtesy of Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. If you want to give it a try, check the info on her blog. 100 words more or less, inspired by a photo, here we go….

 Copyright –  Sandra Crook

“You’ve never been to France? Then why did you give her that name? Loré…it is such a strange name.”

My mother was rarely fazed by unkind questions.

It was a special talent of hers, a secret weapon that she passed down to me, this ability to ignore rudeness and shush people with just a smile.

“Because she is a ray of light and a splash of color in the murkiness of my life.”

Years later she held me close and whispered in my ear: “You saved me, my little sunshine.”

I wish I could have done more.

Pairs

Time for another entry in Friday Fictioneers challenge, courtesy of Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. If you want to give it a try, check the info on her blog. 100 words more or less, inspired by a photo, here we go….

 Copyright –  Claire Fuller

“What is this?” she asked her father.

“A memory game.”

She looked confused, head tilted to one side. “But there are no two same objects here. How are we supposed to play it?”

“This is not an ordinary memory game, darling. You see, these are pairs of things we collected together on our travels.”

“But there are things that have no pairs.” Rowena giggled when her father suddenly picked her up.

“Ah that’s the beauty of it!” he swirled them around, making her shriek with laughter . “We need to look for their pairs on our future travels.”

“Best game ever!”

Tumbleweeds

Time for another entry in Friday Fictioneers challenge, courtesy of Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. If you want to give it a try, check the info on her blog. 100 words more or less, inspired by a photo, here we go….

 Copyright - Janet Webb

You are young, you can try again.

Everyone rushed to offer an unsolicited advice…and yet they never heard my screams.

But you heard me…and you held me…and you let me melt into you, patiently waiting for your time. So, when you eventually stumbled, I was there to hold your hand…and we continued to fall, pursuing the shadows of our fractured lives.

Every morning, when quietude covers us like a soft blanket, a memory rushes in…I see you holding her in your arms, talking about the world full of wonders outside our windows, kissing her soft, rosy cheeks.

Can we survive this?

Inception

 Time for another entry in Friday Fictioneers challenge, courtesy of Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. If you want to give it a try, check the info on her blog. 100 words more or less, inspired by a photo, here we go….

 Copyright –  J Hardy Carroll

This was my home. Never really liked it.

It was a splendid house, filled with gorgeous people surrounded by beautiful things…With shadows lurking in dark corners.

Unwanted hands grabbing whatever they could get, sinister whispers wrapping around innocent souls, heads turning to the other side, pretending not to see what should never be unseen.

It seemed I never really left, towing all that baggage half across the world, with ghosts flying out of my suitcases. In the end, it was not the inheritance that dragged me back, but those persistent ghosts.

This was my home. I set it on fire.

Timshel

Time for another entry in Friday Fictioneers challenge, courtesy of Rochelle Wissof-Fields. If you want to give it a try, check the info on her blog. 100 words more or less, inspired by a photo, here we go….

 Copyright –  Al Forbes

“These are the last ones…” Marius whispered to his son, pressing him close to his chest.

“They are so beautiful!” Louis exclaimed, waving skinny little arms in the air.

Crushed into a wired fence by a mass of desperate bodies, they watched cars disappear into the ship’s hold. On an upper deck, a child ran into his well-dressed mother’s arms, carelessly letting go of the red balloon he was holding.

“Is it our turn now? Am I going to get a balloon, too?”

Marius tightened his hold on Louis, kissing the top of his head.

“No, baby. Not yet.”