Sunday Photo Fiction — The Airport

9920E886-C8B2-47FD-9056-720A7154C504There was a lot of pushing and shoving. Tempers were flaring. People were angry and frustrated. Outbound flights were indefinitely delayed. Inbound flights were diverted to nearby airports. And there was no official word from anyone.

“What a freakin’ zoo this is,” Mark said to the guy, a stranger, standing next to him. “I have to be in Cincinnati for a meeting. No way I’ll be able to make it now.”

“My wife just went into labor and she’s heading to the hospital,” the guy said. “I’m going to miss the birth of our first child.”

“Excuse me, excuse me,” a large man said as he pushed and shoved his way to the ticket counter. “Can you tell me what the hell is going on?” he shouted.

“I’m sorry, sir,” the woman said. “I don’t have anything to share with you.”

The man leaned in and said, “Don’t bullshit a bullshitter, sweetheart. I know you know something.”

She leaned forward and in a low voice said, “Air Force One is on the tarmac for an unscheduled visit. As long as it’s here, the airport is on a ground hold.”

“There’s nothing that man can’t screw up.” the man said.

(200 words)

Written for today’s Sunday Photo Fiction prompt from Donna McNicol. Photo credit: Barb Crews.

Sunday Photo Fiction — The Catastrophe

9C22FBEE-4567-460D-B33E-76F8813222F4“Your desire to indiscriminately cut costs and to stay under budget is what led to this catastrophe,” the mayor said. “The time to talk is over. We must take action in order to ensure that nothing like this happens again in the future.

“We’ve has this conversation before,” objected a city council member from the other party. “No one could possibly have anticipated that the scaffolding, which had been erected for additional seating at the music festival, would collapse when that sudden, violent thunderstorm blew through the fairgrounds.”

“Nonsense!” the mayor shouted. “Your council awarded the contract to the low bidder. You knew they had to cut corners in order to get the contract. Ladies and gentlemen, there’s no middle ground here. You need to take responsibility for this totally avoidable disaster.”

The mayor picked up a large blowup of a photograph that had been mounted on poster board and set it on a tripod. “Look at this devastation,” he said. “It’s a miracle that no one was killed from the collapse. Our role, as the city’s leaders, is to deal with this and I suggest that if you can’t stand the heat, you need to get out of the kitchen.”

(199 words)

Written for today’s Sunday Photo Fiction prompt from Donna McNicol. Photo credit: Pixabay. Also for these daily prompts: Ragtag Daily Prompt (talk), Your Daily Word Prompt (future), The Daily Spur (conversation), Fandango’s One-Word Challenge (middle), and Daily Addictions (kitchen). Sorry Word of the Day Challenge, but I couldn’t fit “sensual” into this post and still keep it to no more than 200 words.

Sunday Photo Fiction — Where’s the Murder?

21888A13-762B-4E7D-B67E-9F04E5B56C7D“Look at that big crow, Dad,” Brian said, pointing to the large black bird on the sidewalk.

Daniel looked around. “I wonder where the murder is,” he said.

Brian gave his father a quizzical look. “Did you say ‘murder,’ Dad?”

“Crows, Brian, usually hang out in groups and a group of crows is called a ‘murder.’”

“Why? Are crows dangerous?” Brian asked.

“Not at all. Back in the day, son, groupings of many animals had colorful and poetic names. A lot of them were based on old folklore and superstitions,” Daniel explained. “For example, one folktale says that crows would rgather to decide the fate of another crow.”

“Wow, like a jury of its peers,” Brian said. “That’s so cool.”

“Yes, and in the past,” Daniel added, “many viewed the appearance of crows as an omen of death because they are scavengers and are generally associated with dead bodies, battlefields, and cemeteries. They are thought to circle in large numbers above sites where animals or people are expected to soon die.”

“Is anyone going to die around here, Dad?”

“Don’t worry, Brian,” Daniel smiled. “Even if a murder of crows show up, no one is going to actually be murdered.”

(200 words)

Written for today’s Sunday Photo Fiction prompt from Donna McNicol. Photo credit: dbmcnicol at Pixabay.

Sunday Photo Fiction — The Sketch Artist

66E1AEE7-452F-42C3-B236-6816900B7C42“You are beautiful,” he said. “Would you allow me to sketch your portrait?”

Doris was sitting on a park bench and looked up at a young man standing in front of her. She put down her iPhone and said, “That’s your best pickup line?”

Encouraged by the smile on the girl’s face, Brian said, “I do portrait sketches as a hobby.” He held up a sketch pad to show her some of his charcoal drawings. “I’d be honored if you would let me do one of you. I promise it won’t take long.” He pointed to an outdoor café. “We can sit over there while I do the sketch.”

He seemed to have kind eyes, so Doris agreed to accompany him to the café. She put her camera on the table, opened up a notebook and started to doodle, while Brian began to sketch her face.

Thirty minutes later, Brian picked up his tablet and showed her his sketch. “That’s really good,” she said.

“Thanks,” Brian said, blushing.

It took several weeks, but the charcoal sketches taped on a wall in Brian’s apartment, including Doris’, were all the police needed to convict him for the brutal murders of half a dozen young women in the city that summer.

Written for the Sunday Photo Fiction prompt from Donna McNichol. Photo credit: Morguefile.

Sorry, Donna, I went over the 200 word limit. My word count is 208.

Sunday Photo Fiction — Photobomber

32C83F50-7ABB-4BE2-8000-68BB9220FEC3“What the hell?” Alex said as he reviewed the pictures he took that day through the viewfinder on his digital camera.

“What’s the matter, hon?” Alicia asked.

“Look at this picture I took today at the cathedral of Santiago de Compostela,” Alex said.

“Who is that guy in the picture?” Alicia asked.

“Exactly!” Alex said. “Some shadowy jokester jumped in front of the cathedral just as I was taking the picture and photobombed it.”

“You didn’t see him step in front of the camera?” Anita asked? “He ruined an otherwise great shot of the cathedral.”

“Tell me about it,” Alex said. He then went to the next picture and the next picture and the one after that. “Holy shit!” he exclaimed. “This same guy photobombed every one of my pictures.”

“You’re kidding,” Alicia said. “Every picture?”

“Every goddam picture,” Alex admitted. “And we’re leaving Galicia tomorrow morning. This really pisses me off.”

Alicia opened her laptop and did a google search. “Hon, come look at this,” she said. “This guy is a local legend. He is a supposedly a spirit who tries to protect the historic and religious sites of Galicia. He’s referred to as the Ghost Photobomber of Galicia.”

(200 words)

Written for Donna McNichol’s Sunday Photo Fiction prompt. Photo credit: Alexis Ortiz.9D556121-5A3F-4C86-9803-C16CFD8FDEDF