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.

Fandango’s Flashback Friday — August 6th

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 6th) of any month within the past year and link to that post in a comment.


This was originally posted on August 6, 2017. I worry that when I wrote this three years ago I was being prescient. I hope, four years later, it doesn’t come to this.

The Aftermath

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Muttering under his breath, Charley shook his head as he and Jeff surveyed the damage. “Two more bodies about 20 yards down that closed sidewalk,” he told Jeff, pointing to their left.

“Them’s the sixth and seventh so far today,” Jeff said, updating the tally on the page on his clipboard.

“We gotta check these buildings next, just in case there are more in the rubble.” Charley said, looking toward the concrete shells where housing units once stood. “Look out for snipers.”

A year had passed since the generals declared martial law after the military takeover of the federal government. The president, his family, and most members of his administration had been jailed for treason against the state. The insurrection by the president’s loyalists began almost immediately. Riots and mayhem around the country ensued.

The generals cracked down hard in an effort to restore order. There were thousands of fatalities in the fighting and countless arrests.

Most of the rebellion had been quelled, but bands of Trumpanistas, as they called themselves, continued to roam the cities and cause havoc. The generals assured the public that things were under control and peace would soon be restored.

But Charley and Jeff knew better.

(200 words, exactly.)


Written for Sunday Photo Fiction. Photo credit: J. Hardy Carroll.

Sunday Photo Fiction — Taking Flight

0475DD26-7B1F-41AF-BA6D-AADD51A743BFI rubbed my eyes hard, but she was still sitting there, staring off into the distance, seemingly unaware of my presence.

I slowly and silently moved closer and saw what looked like feathers on her shoulders and back. Surely she wasn’t a winged creature. The feathered wings must have been part of a costume that she was wearing.

I positioned myself standing directly in front of her, but she appeared not to see me. “Excuse me,” I said. “Are you okay?”

At first she was unresponsive, but then she finally looked up at me, as if emerging from a deep trance. She stood up to face me, a look of curiosity on her face, but she said nothing.

“Do you speak English?” I asked. She nodded affirmatively. “Why are you wearing those feathers on your back? Are you Native American or something?”

She put her forefinger in front of her lips and, without saying a word, slowly began to float just above the ground. Spreading her wings wide, she began flapping them, lifting her further into the air, and then, like a bird, she took flight and disappeared over the trees.

Was she real or was she just a daydream?

(200 words)


Written for this week’s Sunday Photo Fiction prompt from Donna McNicol. Photo credit: Pixabay. Also for Fandango’s One-Word Challenge (daydream).

Sunday Photo Fiction — Shelter From the Storm

Fortune teller tentGeorge stepped inside the makeshift tent and took a seat opposite the old woman. In a heavy Eastern European accent, she said, “I see you have some secrets that you have been zealously guarding. But don’t worry, I won’t divulge them to anyone.”

“Good, because if you did, I’d have to kill you,” George said, a broad smile on his face. The woman was not amused.

“I have a proposal for you,” she said. “Stop trying to be funny and I’ll continue telling you what’s in store for you. I see a date on a calendar. There’s going to be a big event coming up next week.”

“Yes, that’s when my girl and I are getting married,” George said excitedly. “Tell me, are we going to have a long and happy marriage?”

Just as he asked the question, the skies darkened, the winds picked up, and it started to sleet. The curtains of the structure they were sitting in started flapping wildly in the wind and both George and the woman stood up and began to run out of the tent, looking for shelter from the storm.

But once outside of the tent, a powerful gust of wind lifted up the heavy, wooden chalkboard that advertised “Readings,” and it came crashing down hard upon George’s head, killing him instantly.

The woman looked down on George’s body and said, “The event I saw on your calendar wasn’t your wedding, George. It was your funeral.”


Written for Donna McNicol’s Sunday Photo Fiction prompt. Photo credit: Wendy Van Hove. Also for these daily prompts: Your Daily Word Prompt (zealous), Fandango’s One-Word Challenge (divulge), The Daily Spur (kill), Word of the Day Challenge (proposal), Ragtag Daily Prompt (calendar), and Daily Addictions (sleet).