Friday Fictioneers — Fifth Birthday Party

188221BB-54D0-41ED-88D1-AA1B1BCA5FA9It was a perfect day to have all of her friends from her kindergarten class over to celebrate Cheryl’s fifth birthday. Her mother planned all kinds of games to keep the fifteen or so kids occupied. Games like musical chairs, duck-duck-goose, a sack race, an egg and spoon race. She even rented one of those inflatable bounce houses and hired a clown to juggle and make balloon animals. She also set up a piñata filled with candy for the kids.

All of the kids were running around having a great time. But all Cheryl wanted to do was play pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey.

(100 words)


Written for this week’s Friday Fictioneers prompt from Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Photo credit: J Hardy Carroll.

#writephoto — The Escape

32822C61-0B6C-44EF-ADA0-A0B9485F960EArthur had lost track of time. He couldn’t remember how long he’d been held captive in the castle’s dungeon. It could have been months, it could have been years. He was thin and weak, but he was determined, somehow, to escape from his confinement. Or to die trying. He planned and schemed and had finally devised an approach that might actually enable him to break out.

He knew he didn’t have the strength to directly challenge the single guard who delivered the one meal he was served each day. But Arthur had managed to painstakingly remove one of the thick, wooden slats from his bed frame beneath the thin mattress. He figured that when the guard came into his cell and set down the tray of food, he would summon up all the strength his frail body could muster and would hit the guard in the head with the heavy wooden slat.

The day to execute his escape plan arrived, and when the guard turned his back on Arthur in order to set the food tray on the table on the other side of the small cell, Arthur pulled the slat out from under the mattress and, with adrenaline coursing through his veins, he swung the slat into the air and smashed it down on top of the guard’s head. Arthur stared at the lifeless body on the stone floor, stepped over it, and for the first time in, well, months or possibly years, he stood outside of his cell.

With his heart pounding heavily inside his chest, Arthur made his way to the stone steps that led up to the ground floor of the castle. He spotted a narrow archway that led to the outside, but Arthur hesitated. He crouched in the dark hall just inside the archway to calm his breathing and to allow his eyes adjust to the brightness of the daylight that he hadn’t seen in a long, long time.

As his heart rate returned to normal and his eyes began to adjust, Arthur saw a stone outbuilding across a manicured lawn and garden. He saw a large, wooden door in the outbuilding, which he assumed was locked. But he also noticed a rectangular window to the left of the door that he felt sure his now emaciated body could fit through.

Arthur took a deep breath, left the confines of the castle, and stepped out onto the path toward the outbuilding. He slowly and stealthily made his way to the outbuilding and began to crawl through the window opening in the building’s thick, stone wall.

As he reached the inside of the outbuilding and stepped down from the window, Arthur saw a table to the right of the large wooden door. Seated around the table were three guards, all now staring at the intruder. They jumped up out of their chairs and surrounded Arthur.

Arthur had nothing left. He fell into a heap on the floor, crying. One of the guards lifted Arthur up, carried him over to the table, sat him down in a chair, and offered him some water and some food. The guard who had helped Arthur to the table said, “You’re the prisoner in the cell in the castle’s dungeon, are you not?”

Arthur acknowledged that the guard was correct. “How did you get out?” he asked Arthur, and Arthur told the guard the details of his escape.

“It’s a shame,” the guard said. “The Duke of the realm, the man responsible for your imprisonment, died yesterday and you were to be freed tomorrow. But now that you’ve murdered one of our fellow guards, we have no choice but to take you back to your cell, where you will likely spend the rest of your life.”


Written for this week’s Thursday Photo Prompt from Sue Vincent.

FOWC with Fandango — Jeopardy

FOWCWelcome to May 24, 2019 and to Fandango’s One-Word Challenge (aka, FOWC). It’s designed to fill the void after WordPress bailed on its daily one-word prompt.

I will be posting each day’s word just after midnight Pacific Time (US).

Today’s word is “jeopardy.”

Write a post using that word. It can be prose, poetry, fiction, non-fiction. It can be any length. It can be just a picture or a drawing if you want. No holds barred, so to speak.

Once you are done, tag your post with #FOWC and create a pingback to this post if you are on WordPress. Or you can simply include a link to your post in the comments.

The issue with pingbacks not showing up seems to have been resolved, but you might check to confirm that your pingback is there. If not, please manually add your link in the comments.

And be sure to read the posts of other bloggers who respond to this prompt. You will marvel at their creativity.

Bathroom Humor

F5369ECA-4BEC-4FEC-B6E6-54785845B2A2“Hey Dave, you still in here?” Stan called out as he entered the men’s room. “Did you fall in or something, buddy? We’re gonna be late for the staff meeting.”

“Um, yeah, I’ll be right out,” Dave responded. “Give me a sec.”

“You okay, man? You’ve been in here for at least ten minutes.”

“Yeah, Yeah, I’m fine,” Dave said. Then the toilet flushed, the stall door opened up, and Dave walked up to the sink and started washing his hands.

“Damn, buddy, you look like the cat that just ate the canary,” Stan said. “What went on in there?”

“Okay, fine,” Dave said, “My wife texted me some some sexy pictures on my phone and, well, you know, I got a bit….”

“Say no more, buddy, been there, done that.” Stan said.

“Listen, Stan, you gotta promise not to tell anyone, understand?” Dave said.

“Don’t worry, buddy,” Stan said, “what happens in the men’s room, stays in the men’s room.”

“Ha! I would hope so,” Dave said, laughing.


Written for The Haunted Wordsmith Daily Prompt, where the setting is, “bathroom/washroom,” and the sentence starter is, “Did you fall in?”

Size Matters

D848FABA-DB45-4783-9C0E-80498B3C6983“You really made a mess of things, Igor,” Dr. Frankenstein said.

“Hey, it’s not my fault, dammit,” Igor objected. “Your instructions were too vague. You didn’t specify the size or age of the organ.”

“Oh my God, Igor, you always come up with some sort of scapegoat for your own mistakes,” Dr. Frankenstein said. “For once in your life, you need to take responsibility for your actions.”

“Listen, it’s not too late to make this right,” Igor said. “I’ll just go back to the morgue in the basement of the sanctuary and get another one. And this one will be even larger and better.”

“Good,” said Dr. Frankenstein, “because when I regenerate this corpse, I want to make sure his schlong is proportional to his eight-foot tall frame.”


Written for these daily prompts: The Daily Spur (mess), Your Daily Word Prompt (vague), Fandango’s One-Word Challenge (scapegoat), Word of the Day Challenge (sanctuary), and Ragtag Daily Prompt (regenerate).

 

 

 

 

scapegoat vague regenerate sanctuary mess