“Get ready, Sundance,” Butch said. “The train’s approaching.”
Sundance put down his binoculars and said, “I see it, but it’s just a bunch of freight cars filled with coal. You said the mining company’s payroll would be on that train.”
“They probably have it in a safe in the caboose,” Butch said.
Sundance picked up his binoculars. “I don’t see a caboose on that train.”
“Gotta be,” Butch said. “All trains have cabooses.”
“Maybe in the States,” Sundance said, “But we’re in goddam Bolivia.”
“Okay, mount up,” Butch said. “There’s a small bank in town we can hit this afternoon.”
Written for this weeks Friday Fictioneers prompt from Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Photo credit: Jennifer Pendergast
Jessica unwrapped the gift from her husband. “What’s this?” she asked.
“It’s a stained glass rendering of a dolphin frolicking in the surf,” Hank said.
“And why did you get me this?” Jessica asked.
“You love dolphins,” Hank said. “You always said that your dream would be to look out of our window and watch dolphins frolicking in the surf.”
“Hank,” Jessica said, mustering as much patience as she could, “you promised me that once you retired we could buy a place near the ocean so we could watch the dolphins frolicking in the surf. This just doesn’t cut it.”
Written for this week’s Friday Fictioneers prompt from Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Photo credit: Jean L. Hays.
“She was an excellent artist,” Arianna said, as she sorted through her deceased lover’s art supplies.
“Yes, I’m quite aware of that,” Richard responded.
“I modeled for her,” Arianna said.
“You must have done a lot more for her than just model,” Richard said in a bitter tone.
“I suppose it was difficult for you when she left you for me,” Arianna said.
“Yes, it was quite painful.”
“I’m sorry, but….”
The bullet to the brain killed Arianna instantly. Richard placed his wife’s paint palette on Arianna’s lifeless body. “Give that to her when you’re together again…in hell,” Richard said.
Written for the Friday Fictioneers prompt from Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Photo credit: Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.
“Dammit, Leo, I keep telling you that we need to remodel this kitchen,” Sylvia said. “The sink is too small, there’s not enough counter space, and the cabinets are falling apart. I’ve had it and I’m not going to put up with this sore excuse for a kitchen.”
“You’re such a drama queen, Sylvia,” Leo said. “You know we can’t afford to redo the kitchen. You’ll just have to make do.”
“Make do?” Sylvia threw the damp dishcloth at Leo and said, “You make do!”
“Fine, Sylvia,” he said. “Just clean up the kitchen tonight. I’ll get an estimate tomorrow.”
Written for today’s Friday Fictioneers prompt from Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Photo credit: A. Noni Mouse.
When asked why he did it, Raymond Mason, a long time resident of the community, explained that the neighborhood was going through some tough times. “A lot of folks here have lost their jobs due to the pandemic. They’re having a difficult time making ends meet. So every morning, just as the sun comes up, I put a carton of hardboiled eggs on my window sill and invite people to take what they need. It’s the least I can do.”
There were no eggs this morning on the window sill. The man they called “The Eggman” passed away last night.
Written for this week’s Friday Fictioneers prompt from Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Photo credit: Todd Foltz