Sunday Photo Fiction — The Bus Stop

img_0971“Excuse me,” Edgar said to a man passing in front of him. “Do you have the time?”

The passerby sized up the man wearing what looked like those bright orange Home Depot vests and answered, “Sure, I got the time, if you got the beer.” The man laughed and continued to walk past Edgar.

“Asshole,” Edgar said under his breath, remembering the old commercial for Miller High Life beer.

When an older woman walked in front of him, he asked her if she knew what time it was. She stopped, looked at her watch, and answered, “It’s two-twenty.”

Edgar reached into his pocket and pulled out the printed bus schedule. The next bus was scheduled to arrive at 2:45, so he had another 25 minutes of waiting in the cold drizzle at the uncovered bus stop.

He put the schedule back in his pocket and went back to reading his newspaper when a young girl approached him and offered him an umbrella. “My father wanted me to give this to you,” she said, handing it to him before running back to the limousine where her father was waiting for her.

(200 words)


Written for today’s Sunday Photo Fiction prompt. Photo credit: A Mixed Bag.

Sunday Photo Fiction — Parking Problem

6A8DFE2D-AEC8-4C2B-9178-8F92653694E8“We’ve been on every floor,” Amanda complained, “and our car is not here. Please, George, the the kids and I are exhausted.”

“Amanda, I think our car has been stolen,” George said with alarm in his voice.

“Stolen? Who’d bother stealing a 2005 Corolla with a dented fender and bald tires.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that car,” George said defensively.

“Yeah,” said Amanda. “It’s really in demand in the jacked car market.” After a short, pregnant pause, Amanda asked George, “So what do we do now?”

“I’ll go find the parking attendant,” George said.

“We’ll go with you,” Amanda said. “This place creeps me out.”

George, Amanda, and the kids went to the attendant’s booth to find it unmanned. “I swear there’s always a ticket-taker guy here,” George said. Then he noticed the emergency call button next to the booth and pressed it.

“Yeah,” a voice said.

“Our car has been stolen,” George said into the speaker.

“You sure?” The voice asked.

“Yes, I’m sure,” George answered.

“Be right there,” the voice said.

When the attendant arrived he asked to see George’s parking ticket. “Wrong garage, Mate,” the guy said. “Your garage is two blocks north.

Amanda did a slow burn.

(201 words)


Written for today’s Sunday Photo Fiction prompt. Image credit: A Mixed Bag.

Sunday Photo Fiction — He’s Not Frosty

10C1BD9C-7935-448E-8A5B-98BF973C5FE4“What do you think?” Alicia asked her brother.

“I think it’s creepy,” Donny said.

“Creepy?” Alicia exclaimed. “How can you say that? He’s my best snowman ever.”

“Snowmen don’t have aluminum foil eyes, noses, or mouths,” Donny said. Their eyes and mouth should be made of pieces of coal and the nose should be a carrot. And where’s his corncob pipe?”

“Who says a snowman’s eyes and mouth must be made of coal and his nose out of a carrot?” Alicia asked.

They do,” Donny said. “Just like Frosty.”

“Okay, smarty, where am I supposed to get pieces of coal, much less a corncob pipe?” Alicia asked. “A true artist uses the materials she has available to her. I think my snowman is very creative.”

“I’m gonna tell Mom that you used her aluminum foil for your creepy snowman,” Donny said.

“Mom knows, smarty,” Alicia said. “It was her suggestion to use the foil for his eyes, nose, and mouth. And it was my idea to make his bow tie.”

An angry Danny ran toward Alicia’s snowman and tackled it. Unfortunately, his momentum caused him to crash head first into the chain-link fence that was behind the now destroyed snowman.

(200 words)


Written for today’s Sunday Photo Fiction prompt. Image credit: Jade Wong.

Sunday Photo Fiction — Into the Woods

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The wood planks snaked their way over the natural forest trail that led the way to the neighborhood where eleven-year-old twin brothers Greg and Jeff Conroy lived. It was a peaceful, quiet, and exclusive neighborhood of expenses homes that backed up onto the expansive city park. A very desirable enclave for a handful of wealthy city dwellers.

Greg and Jeff were forbidden from playing in the woods behind their home anymore. They could venture into the park now only when accompanied by one or both of their parents. It was too dangerous, they were told.

The whole city had been shaken to the core by the discovery in the park of the mutilated bodies of two young children from the same neighborhood in which Greg and Jeff lived.

Since then, with the police still unable to solve the heinous crimes, a number of the expensive homes in their neighborhood had been sold, almost all well below market value. The twins were relieved when their parents told them that they would be staying put.

In hindsight, the twins’ parents made a poor decision. They should have known that their somewhat rebellious twins would follow the path into the woods by themselves.

(200 words)


Written for today’s Sunday Photo Fiction prompt. Image credit: Mike Vor.

Sunday Photo Fiction — The Aftermath

179D041D-4CCD-4B3F-931C-1EA4DDB03F37“They closed the school after the second mass shooting of the year last year,” Maggie told her cousin, Erica. The two girls were standing outside of the fence that blocked the school’s now empty parking lot. “I was supposed to go here, but because of the carnage, they shut the place down.

“I’m one of the lucky ones,” Maggie continued. “My parents can afford to send me to private school. Some parents have chosen to homeschool their kids. But a lot of parents — those who can’t afford private schools or who work and don’t have time to homeschool their kids — have given up. So a lot of kids are just hanging around instead of going to school.”

“That’s awful,” Erica said. “Can’t something be done to stop the gun violence so kids can get an education instead of just aimlessly hanging out and getting into trouble?”

“Not really,” responded Maggie. “The NRA is too rich and powerful. They literally bought and own the Republicans in Congress. The White House, too.”

Tears started streaming down Erica’s cheeks. “Maggie, I wish you could come live with us in Ottawa. You could go to school there and not be afraid of being shot.”

(200 words)


Written for today’s Sunday Photo Fiction prompt. Photo credit: Sascha Darlington.