I was just about to go to the glass shop to get an estimate to replace the glass in the door when my wife stopped me.
“No, I don’t want you to fix it,” she said. “Leave the tape on the glass.”
“Why would you want to leave it that way?” I asked. “It looks terrible.”
“I want you to leave it that way,” she said, “so you will be reminded every time you enter our house the damage you do when you come home drunk. This time it was the glass you broke. Last time it was my nose.”
Written for the Friday Fictioneers prompt from Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Photo credit: Dale Rogerson.
The cemetery was in a sad state of disrepair. The grounds had fallen victim in recent years to neglect and vandalism. Most of the headstones had been overturned or broken and the once manicured lawns that surrounded the graves were now relegated to weeds, dirt, and litter.
The city had taken steps to try to maintain the place, but nothing, not even bringing in a few goats to eat the weeds, worked.
But the strangest thing about that cemetery was the one headstone that remained upright. No one could explain why that one was preserved when the others were not.
Written for Rochelle Wisoff-Fields’ Friday Fictioneers prompt: Photo credit: Randy Mazie.
Written for Rochelle Wisoff-Fields’ Friday Fictioneers
photo prompt. Photo credit: Adam Ickes.
David was happy with the progress he was making on the homemade globe for his science class project. He’d applied a layer of papier-mâché all over a round balloon to give it shape. Once dry, he used a layer of chicken wire to provide structural integrity before applying the next layer of papier-mâché.
David’s mistake happened when he decided to take a short break. He opened his laptop and logged on to Facebook. Six hours later he realized that his “short break” meant he’d have to pull an all-nighter to have his globe ready in time for class the next day.
Written for Rochelle Wisoff-Fields’ Friday Fictioneers prompt. Photo credit: Douglas M. MacIlroy.
“They’re oil squirt cans, Kenny,” Sam said. “I worked as a machinist back in the day and I had to keep those machines well lubricated by squirting oil from cans just like these into the moving parts on the equipment.”
“But why do you have them on the shelf?” the boy asked.
“I just started to collect them, is all,” Sam said.
“Everyone has something they collect, Kenny,” Sam said. “When I was a kid I collected baseball cards and comic books. Don’t you have anything you collect?”
“Money,” Kenny said. “Got a dollar for my collection?”
Written for the Friday Fictioneers prompt from Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Photo credit: Nick Allen.