“I’m sick and tired of this, Steve,” Donna said.
“What now?” Steve asked.
“Look at this,” Donna said, pointing to the kitchen sink. “You made yourself a sandwich or whatever you ate, and you left a mess. You left the jars on the counter and a sink full of dirty dishes. And I’ve had it, Steve. You’re such an inconsiderate slob and I’m not going to clean up your messes anymore.”
“You’re right, Donna. Let me make it up to you. I’ll fix you a peach jelly and olive sandwich.”
Donna shook her head and stormed out of the kitchen.
Written for this week’s Friday Fictioneers prompt from Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Photo credit: Ronda Del Boccio.
It was very late and Jason was exhausted. He went to his home office, put his satchel down on his desk, noticed two empty Tupperware containers, a small, clean glass, and a large manila envelope.
He opened the envelope and read the letter.(100 words)
Written for this week’s Friday Fictioneers prompt from Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.Photo credit: Fatima Fakier Deria.
All that remains of you is a crate filled with faded photographs. Mostly black and white snapshots of you, dad, and us kids. I’m going to sort through them and put them all in an album.
Looking at all of those pictures of you and us, though, got me thinking. I’ve taken thousands of pictures, but they’re all digital, all stored on a hard drive on my password-protected laptop. When I die, what will become of them? Will anyone ever see them, sort through them, and put them in an album? Or will they cease to exist, just like me?
Written for this week’s Friday Fictioneers prompt from Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Photo credit: Ted Strutz.
“I can’t believe that it’s raining today, of all days,” Lucy said.
“Tell me about it,” Shirley said. “And it’s not just a rainy day, it’s a cold rainy day.”
“And look how long this damn line is,” Cindy lamented. “I’m definitely going to sign up to vote by mail for the next election. This is bullshit.”
”Zip it, Cindy,” Lucy said. “You only do this once every few years and it’s your civic duty. You ain’t the Wicked Witch of the West. You ain’t gonna melt.”
“She actually does resemble the Wicked Witch of the West,” Shirley quipped.
Written for this week’s Friday Fictioneers prompt from Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Photo prompt: Na’ama Yehuda.
I was always nearsighted, which required me to wear glasses so that I could see distant things clearly. But as I aged, I found I was having trouble reading things like books and newspapers. My eyes just couldn’t focus.
I went to see my ophthalmologist and he said I needed bifocals. That would enable me to see things both far away and close up.
But bifocals? Fuhgeddaboudit. Bifocals are for old people. So I went to see my pharmacist buddy, Doctor Marx, at the Highgate Pharmacy, and he fixed me up with a pair of “cheaters” for just twenty bucks.
Written for this week’s Friday Fictioneers prompt from Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Photo credit: CEAyr.
“Cheaters,” by the way, is a colloquialism for reading glasses in my neck of the woods. Also, for what it’s worth, the tomb of Karl Marx is located at the Highgate Cemetery in London. But I chose to ignore that piece of evidence sticking to a page in the book for this piece.