Friday Fictioneers: Being Claustrophobic
I’m not a drama-queen but I honestly can’t breathe right now. Why can’t people just move? Why do they have to stand here loitering?
Friday Fictioneers: Swearing Man
“There ain’t no reason to swear and never will.” He’d tell anyone who’d listen.
Friday Fictioneers: Believers
“Do you believe in ghosts?
Friday Fictioneers: Earth Day
I don’t recall what happened. All I remember is walking alongside the river with my fiancee, Mark, on Earth Day when several loud pop, pop, pop rang in the air. Next thing I knew, I was falling backwards into Mark’s arms, “Leila, what do I do?” He said frantically.
Friday Fictioneers: The World Beneath
I watch as the water drains from the pipe above into the well below. It must be still raining up above, I think. Most of the city must be underwater by now.
Friday Fictioneers: Trouble Abroad
I should’ve known, Savannah thought as she sat in the cold metal chair of a police interrogation room. She’s thirteen but appears mature for her age.
Friday Fictioneers: Prepping for Christmas
“What’s with all the gingerbread cookies?” May’s jaw dropped at the sight of the trays of badly decorated gingerbread cookies on the kitchen counter.
Friday Fictioneers: Too Many Deaths
Alright, let’s see… Winter’s night, ground full of snow, she meets him, keels over and dies. Oh wait, he meets her, faints in her arms and dies??? Ah, what’s wrong with me and death? I dream about death… I write about death… Wait, have I been experiencing bouts of existential crises? Have I? No!!! Let’s…
Friday Fictioneers: Imprisoned
Approaching the Mystical Tree, she whispered, “Grandfather?” Slowly, a white, bony hand emerges. “You’ve come, child.” “Yes and I brought nourishment.” She handed him the bags of blood. Thirstily, he devoured bag upon bag. “I wish I brought more.” “You did good, child. I will be satiated for days. Besides, it isn’t as though I…
Friday Fictioneers: Soulmates
I am the epitome of true love. For almost 25 years, he had dominated my dreams. Whenever I closed my eyes, I could see him in my dreams. Whenever I looked up at the stars, his face would be the only one I saw.
Friday Fictioneers: Lost and Found
With her picture in hand, he gave the red building before him a disapproving gaze. After a year of waiting, he finally received the great news his PI has located his MIA daughter.
Friday Fictioneers: Not this Year
March 2020
Friday Fictioneers: My Sister’s Final Wish
Re-reading my sister, Bethany’s Will, I sighed, “My dear sister, you shall be the death of me.”
Friday Fictioneers: Stuck in the Future
“Crap, we’re stuck.” Em said as she dusted off her dress. A few minutes before, she and her husband, George, leapt from her granddad’s beloved train aka time machine as it hurdled 88-miles-per-hour toward what used to be a ravine.
Friday Fictioneers: Who’s to Blame?
“Honey!” I shout and immediately, I can hear a pair of big feet padding down the corridor to outside the bathroom door.
Friday Fictioneers: Thoughts of an Egotist
Come on, announce the winner already!
Friday Fictioneers: Behind the Scenes
Sometimes, I think there’re more interesting things happening behind the camera than in front.
Friday Fictioneers: Showtime
“Re…lax,” I inhale and exhale, dragging the word, doing everything to calm the tension in my body. I shouldn’t be this nervous. Come on, I’m performing to a crowd on Zoom, not some important figure.
Friday Fictioneers: Untitled
I stood there, staring at my husband’s desk. I should’ve known it’d be too good to be true. Neat-freaks and scatterbrains aren’t opposites. They don’t attract. They repel.
Friday Fictioneers: Just Another Day
“What cha doin’?” George asks.
Friday Fictioneers: The Stranded Mr. C
Mr. C stares at the sign and sighs. Still gone as it has been for 50 years. He’s stranded in this desolate place as his brain kept wandering back to that fateful night. What went wrong? “I triple-checked that spirit-meter, didn’t I?” He muttered.
Friday Fictioneers: Christmas Bedtime Story
“They call this the “Scrooge Farm”. Instead of Christmas decoration each year, around Christmas, there would be scarecrows dressed in rags and sandbags for heads popping up in random places ’round the farm. Now, no one has ever seen the owner as there’s no house on the hundred-acre property. “
Friday Fictioneers: Another Pandemic
Tossing his jacket onto the table, he sat down and sighed. He couldn’t believe it. Another pandemic. I’m 109, how many more events do I need to go through?
