It’s not like I don’t have other stuff to do today. And it’s not my fault that it’s supposed to get colder this week. But does anybody care? My old man just hands me the ax and tells me to go chop some firewood logs.
Fine. I’ll do it, but I’m going to damn well make sure that I chop enough firewood to last us through the whole damn winter. I’ll fill up that entire log rack if I have to. But I won’t block the basement window. Dad got pissed when I did that last time.
Written for Rochelle Wisoff-Fields’ Friday Fictioneers prompt. Photo credit: Dale Rogerson.
It had been a long, tiring day and Madison decided to treat herself to a glass of Pinot Noir before preparing dinner for herself and her six-year-old daughter, Natalie, who was in her room working on an art project for school.
Madison had just sat down on the sofa with her glass of wine when she heard Natalie scream. Madison ran to Natalie’s room to find her daughter hysterically crying. “Sweetie, what’s wrong?” Madison asked.
With tears streaming down her cheeks, Natalie pointed at her art project on the floor and said, “Mister Whiskers just pooped on my art project.”
Written for Rochelle Wisoff-Fields’ Friday Fictioneers prompt. Photo credit: Jennifer Pendergast
“Eureka!” Frank screamed. “I’ve projected a soul, proving that there is more to us than flesh and blood!”
Hearing Frank’s cry, others ran to where he was standing to find out what he was so excited about.
“Look!” Frank shouted, pointing to the white, ghost-like projection next to the wall. “That is the human soul.”
“Actually, Frank,” the chief scientist at the research lab said, “that is a projection, but it’s a spooky owl that was created for the Halloween party. Don’t be disheartened, though,” the chief said. “Someday, the esteemed Dr. Frank N. Stein will make history.”
Written for Rochelle Wisoff-Fields’ Friday Fictioneers prompt. Photo credit: Douglas M. MacIlroy.
When they got to the table, he said to the hostess, “This table hasn’t been cleared or cleaned yet.”
“Take a seat and I’ll send the busboy over to remove these items and set the table up for you,” she assured him.
The man was not happy, but it was the only free table, so he and his family sat down. But after waiting five minutes, no busboy showed up. “Get up. We’re leaving and never coming back here.” He and his family left.
Written for Rochelle Wisoff-Fields’ Friday Fictioneers prompt. Image credit: Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.
“Hey Jerry, are you all right?” Craig called out as he ran over to where Jerry was standing. “That was some blast.” When he got to Jerry, Craig looked down and saw what Jerry was staring at. “Damn,” he said.
Jerry let out a loud sigh. “I’ve been working on the motorcycle engine for three months and was about to put it back on the bike,” he said. “And now look at it. It’s just a pile of twisted parts.”
“Well,” Craig said, “it could have been worse if it had blown up while you were riding the motorcycle.”
Written for the Friday Fictioneers prompt from Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Photo credit: Ted Strutz.