HEY KIDS, WHAT TIME IS IT? IT’S FRIDAY FICTIONEERS TIME!
Write a one hundred word story that has a beginning, middle and end. (No one will be ostracized for going over or under the word count.)
Make every word count.
- Copy your URL to the Linkz collection. You’ll find the tab following the photo prompt. It’s the little white box to the left with the blue froggy guy. Click on it and follow directions. This is the best way to get the most reads and comments.
- MAKE SURE YOUR LINK IS SPECIFIC TO YOUR FLASH FICTION. (Should you find that you’ve made an error you can delete by clicking the little red ‘x’ that should appear under your icon. Then re-enter your URL. (If there’s no red x email me at Runtshell@aol.com. I can delete the wrong link for you).Thanks to Blogspot bloggers for disabling their CAPTCHAs.
- Make note in your blog if you’d prefer not to have constructive criticism.
- This page is “FRIDAY FICTIONEERS CENTRAL” and is NOT the place to promote political or religious views. Also, you are responsible for the content of your story and policing comments on your blog. You have the right to delete any you consider offensive.
**Please exercise DISCRETION when commenting on a story! Be RESPECTFUL.**
Should someone have severe or hostile differences of opinion with another person it’s my hope that the involved parties would settle their disputes in private.
My story will follow the prompt for those who might be distracted by reading a story before writing their own . I enjoy your comments.
**Genre: Speculative Fiction**
Word Count: 135
A friend who couldn’t find a use for his 35 extra words generously loaned them to me. Under normal circumstances I wouldn’t allow myself to be coerced into breaking my own rules. No apologies.
“Flight delayed.” Amelia snarled and closed the US Airways website. “Damn business trips!”
Memories of their argument right before Chase left gnawed at her. She regretted her spiteful words.
“I hate your job!”
“You like the money.”
“You’re never home. Your daughters don’t even know their father.”
“Next time, babe, you and the girls are coming with me.”
“‘What if’ never happens.” He gathered her into his arms. “Flying’s safer than driving on the freeway.”
Five hours ago he’d texted from Phoenix. “Just a little turbulence. Nothing to worry about.”
“Mommy?” Four-year-old Katy tiptoed into the room. “Daddy sat on my bed.”
“It was only a dream, Kitten.”
“No it wasn’t. He talked to me!”
“What’d he say?”
“He’s sorry he can’t come home.”
Her phone chimed. Message from Chase.