“Have you seen my camera?” Ed asked his wife. “It was on the balcony.”
“Oh,” she said. “The one you use to take pictures of the moon and the stars on the balcony every night?”
Ed was beginning to feel a little anxious. “Um, yeah.”
“It was cloudy last night and I was curious why you spent an hour on the balcony,” she explained. “So I looked at the images in your camera’s memory and found nothing but naked pictures of that woman in the building across the court. So I tossed your camera off the balcony. You understand, right?”
Written for this week’s Friday Fictioneers prompt from Rachel Wisoff-Fields. Photo credit: Ted Strutz.
“Why are all those rocks piled up along the side of the canal?” Jason asked his father.
“I’m not sure, son,” Jason’s father said. “But I’ve heard that stone and rock stacks like those are reflective of awareness and mindfulness because they are often built using unaltered stones, which requires total attention to find the perfect connection to the stone’s center of gravity in order to balance the next layer. They can also serve as a form of meditation and spirituality”
Jason was no longer listening to his father. “Look at all those cool trees over there, Dad,” he said.
Written for this week’s Friday Fictioneers prompt from Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Image credit: Sandra Cook.
The streets were deserted and the whipping winds were biting at their cheeks. Joe and Anita needed to find shelter and the only place open was the old gym.
As soon as they stepped into the warmth of the large room, they knew they had entered someplace strange. “Omigod,” Joe said, pointing to two large men. “That’s Muhammad Ali and Sugar Ray Robinson.”
“Who?” Anita asked.
“And there’s Joe Lewis, Jack Dempsey, Rocky Marciano, and George Foreman,” Joe said. “All the greats.”
“What is this place?” Anita asked.
Mike Tyson approached them. “If you build it, they will come,” he said.
Written for this week’s Friday Fictioneers prompt from Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.
I took this photo outside of our front door. The snow is beautiful, isn’t it? Wish you were here to share it with me and to keep me warm.
Yes, it looks quite picturesque, but shouldn’t you be asking that personal trainer you had an affair with, rather than me, to keep you warm?
I told you that was a mistake and it’s over. I love and miss you. Won’t you please consider coming home?
I’d say when hell freezes over, but it looks like it already has.
Written for this week’s Friday Fictioneers prompt from Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Photo prompt from Dale Rogerson.
“Are you sure, señor, that that is where you want me to take you?” The water taxi driver asked before leaving the dock.
“Yes,” Michael said, squeezing his wife’s hand. “The Hotel Henry Berrisford. Why do you ask?”
“Well, señor,” the driver said, “that place is not in the best part of town.”
“Nonsense,” Michael responded. “The travel agent assured me that that hotel is the place to stay. We’re here on our second honeymoon.”
The driver pulled the water taxi up to the hotel’s pier. It was very clear to Michael that the hotel had seen better days.
Written for this week’s Friday Fictioneers prompt from Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Photo credit: JS Brand