Fandango’s Flashback Friday — May 20th

Wouldn’t you like to expose your newer readers to some of your earlier posts that they might never have seen? Or remind your long term followers of posts that they might not remember? Each Friday I will publish a post I wrote on this exact date in a previous year.

How about you? Why don’t you reach back into your own archives and highlight a post that you wrote on this very date in a previous year? You can repost your Friday Flashback post on your blog and pingback to this post. Or you can just write a comment below with a link to the post you selected.

If you’ve been blogging for less than a year, go ahead and choose a post that you previously published on this day (the 20th) of any month within the past year and link to that post in a comment.


This was originally posted on May 20, 2018

Sunday Photo Fiction — The New Earth

img_1400

They did everything they could to make it seem natural. Artificial light shining through the windows along the long hallway provided the illusion of sunlight. The opening at the end of the corridor led into a vast open area with high ceilings, green plants and trees, and a large pond fed by a waterfall. All artificial, but very realistic. It helped to make us all feel as if we were still living on the surface.

It was difficult to remember that people once lived on the surface. I was born here in the catacombs and all I knew of the old world I learned from my parents, who learned from their parents. And from books that had been salvaged, although it was hard to distinguish anymore between fiction and non-fiction.

Fortunately, those with foresight saw what was coming and began to construct these elaborate catacombs deep beneath the surface of the planet. But they could accommodate only about 100,000 of the planet’s nine billion inhabitants. A lottery was devised and my grandfather was one of the lucky winners.

Severe storms and catastrophic floods destroyed those left behind. But we are the lucky ones who must carry on.

Or are we?

(199 words)


Written for today’s Sunday Photo Fiction prompt. Photo credit: Susan Spaulding.

Fandango’s Flashback Friday — February 11th

Wouldn’t you like to expose your newer readers to some of your earlier posts that they might never have seen? Or remind your long term followers of posts that they might not remember? Each Friday I will publish a post I wrote on this exact date in a previous year.

How about you? Why don’t you reach back into your own archives and highlight a post that you wrote on this very date in a previous year? You can repost your Friday Flashback post on your blog and pingback to this post. Or you can just write a comment below with a link to the post you selected.

If you’ve been blogging for less than a year, go ahead and choose a post that you previously published on this day (the 11th) of any month within the past year and link to that post in a comment.


This was originally posted on February 11, 2018.

Sunday Photo Fiction — Room at the End of the Hall

50D0DCDA-9F79-4BCC-85EA-05398454138F

“It’s the door at the end of the hallway on the third floor,” the guy in the glass-enclosed reception station at the rundown boarding house said. He reached through a small opening in the glass partition and handed Eddie the key. “The one with the fire extinguisher on the floor just outside the door,” the guy added.

“What a fuckin’ dump,” Eddie said aloud, even though he was alone, as he opened the door and stepped inside the room. Eddie’s gambling addiction had cost him his job, his marriage, and his home. And so here he was in a small, smelly room at some crummy flop house.

Eddie had paid for the room for a week in advance and couldn’t afford to lose what little money he had left on another bet. So he was happy that the room he had rented didn’t have a TV in it. If it had, he knew he’d be watching the Winter Olympic Games and calling his bookie to bet on Team USA in one or another event.

But then Eddie walked over to the small window, opened it, looked out, and saw the sports bar across the street.

“Fuck me,” he said.

(199 words)


Written for this week’s Sunday Photo Fiction prompt. Photo credit: J Hardy Carroll.

Fandango’s Flashback Friday — December 10th

Wouldn’t you like to expose your newer readers to some of your earlier posts that they might never have seen? Or remind your long term followers of posts that they might not remember? Each Friday I will publish a post I wrote on this exact date in a previous year.

How about you? Why don’t you reach back into your own archives and highlight a post that you wrote on this very date in a previous year? You can repost your Friday Flashback post on your blog and pingback to this post. Or you can just write a comment below with a link to the post you selected.

If you’ve been blogging for less than a year, go ahead and choose a post that you previously published on this day (the 10th) of any month within the past year and link to that post in a comment.


This was originally posted on December 10, 2017.

Sunday Photo Fiction — Mean and Inconsiderate

723932EE-D420-4715-8A6E-0D5A0FA1A04F

It was, perhaps, the meanest act I’d ever committed. Certainly the most inconsiderate. But I was only ten-years-old, so what did I know?

My father loved to build miniature settings. He had constructed an elaborate village around his HO scale train set in our attic. It included a train station, post office, church, store, and a few homes. There were painted roads with small cars and trucks and tiny little people. It was fully landscaped with trees and shrubs, hills, and a creek. A true work of art.

For Christmas one year, he decided to build a little fairy village on our patio for my younger sister. He constructed it from twigs, straw, branches, and stones. He built a tiny church, shed, fire pit, table, and bench. It was exquisite.

He finished it just in time for Christmas and, when Christmas morning arrived, my sister and I eagerly opened our presents. My favorite was a 20-inch tall Godzilla monster doll.

Dad escorted us out to our back patio and unveiled the fairy village. My sister squealed in delight. I, with Godzilla in hand, proceeded to destroy the tiny village by stomping all around, making horrible monster noises, just like the movie.

(202 words)


Written for this week’s Sunday Photo Fiction prompt. Image credit: Eric Wiklund.

Fandango’s Flashback Friday — October 29th

Wouldn’t you like to expose your newer readers to some of your earlier posts that they might never have seen? Or remind your long term followers of posts that they might not remember? Each Friday I will publish a post I wrote on this exact date in a previous year.

How about you? Why don’t you reach back into your own archives and highlight a post that you wrote on this very date in a previous year? You can repost your Friday Flashback post on your blog and pingback to this post. Or you can just write a comment below with a link to the post you selected.

If you’ve been blogging for less than a year, go ahead and choose a post that you previously published on this day (the 29th) of any month within the past year and link to that post in a comment.


This was originally posted on October 29, 2017.

Sunday Photo Fiction — Heads Up

B392A3DD-88D1-4D8F-B284-4561986F50A2

“Why do you do that to your dolls?” Samantha asked her daughter.

Sheri was a shy, quiet girl with few friends. She spent most of her free time alone in her bedroom. “You mean pull their heads off?” she asked.

“Yes. Why do you do that?”

Sheri shrugged her shoulders and simply said, “I dunno. I just do,”

“That’s not an acceptable answer, young lady,” Samantha scolded. “You must have a reason for removing the heads from your dolls.”

Sheri shrugged again.

“Well, Sheri, if you won’t tell me why, I’ll make sure that Santa knows what you do to your dolls and I’m pretty sure he won’t be bringing you any new dolls this Christmas.”

“Fine,” Sheri said, “I’ll tell you.”

“Go ahead,” Samantha said. “I’m waiting.”

“I’m making a shrine and the dolls are my sacrifices.”

Dumbfounded, Samantha said, “A shrine? What kind of shrine? Who gave you that idea?”

“She told me you wouldn’t understand,” Sheri said.

“She? Who is ‘she’?”

Pointing at her own head, Sheri said, “She did.” Then an eerie smile crossed her face and she added, “Mom, did you know that Santa is an anagram for Satan?”


Written for this week’s Sunday Photo Fiction prompt.

Fandango’s Flashback Friday — October 15th

Wouldn’t you like to expose your newer readers to some of your earlier posts that they might never have seen? Or remind your long term followers of posts that they might not remember? Each Friday I will publish a post I wrote on this exact date in a previous year.

How about you? Why don’t you reach back into your own archives and highlight a post that you wrote on this very date in a previous year? You can repost your Friday Flashback post on your blog and pingback to this post. Or you can just write a comment below with a link to the post you selected.

If you’ve been blogging for less than a year, go ahead and choose a post that you previously published on this day (the 15th) of any month within the past year and link to that post in a comment.


This was originally posted on October 15, 2017.

Sunday Photo Fiction — The Cruise

“I can’t believe we’re finally going on a cruise,” Bertha gushed. “I’ve wanted to go on one of these ever since I can remember.”

“There’s nothing too good for my Bertha,” Benny said. He looked around at the five other people sitting at their table. “It’s our fiftieth anniversary.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful,” Mildred said. “My husband got me this cruise for my 65th birthday, which was last month.” She nudged Charles, who was dozing. “Isn’t that right, Charles?”

“This is my second cruise,” said Murray jumped in. “The last time I was with my wife,” he added.

“Is she not with you this time?” Benny asked.

“No. The last time we hit some rough water and she got severely seasick. And then there was some kind of food poisoning or something and nearly everyone on board, passengers and crew alike, got severe diarrhea.”

“Oh my,” said Henrietta. “No wonder she didn’t want to join you this time.”

“Well,” Murray said, “she passed before the cruise ended. But she wasn’t very good company anyway, so I thought I’d give it another go.”

The conversation stopped. The others all got up and left the table.

“Hey, where’s everyone going?” Murray asked.

(199 words)


Written for this week’s Sunday Photo Fiction prompt.