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).

Sunday Photo Fiction — Henpecked

Cat and hen“I told you we needed more red wine,”Hennie squawked, “but no, you said one bottle was enough.”

“I didn’t expect you to finish off the whole bottle practically all by yourself,” Felix said.

“You never listen to me, Felix,” Hennie said. “You either ignore me or you do the opposite of what I want. I should have known that the two of us were incompatible.”

“Stop getting your feathers in a fluff, Hennie,” Felix said. “I’m tired of you strutting around here like queen of the yard with your constant henpecking.”

“Oh meow,” Hennie mocked. “And I’m tired of your wandering around the neighborhood at all hours, hanging out with your ne’er do well ally cat friends doing who knows what.”

“Do you want to know why I get out of this yard every night?” Felix asked. “Well, it’s because I’m sick of your cluck-clucking day in and day out.”

“Okay,” Hennie said. “I’ll try to stop ruffling my feathers at every little thing that you do. And you’re right, I have had too much wine.”

“Thank you, Hennie,” he said. “I will curtail my nighttime wandering and spend more time with you, my little chickadee.”

“I love you, Felix.”

“I love you more, Hennie,” Felix purred.


Written for Donna McNicol’s Sunday Photo Fiction prompt. Photo credit: DeAnna Gossman.

Sunday Photo Fiction — Beware of the Owl

A7B1A86D-47B4-4324-BF07-17A798363651“Jeez, what happened to your shirt, dude?” Eddie asked.

“It was freaky, man,” Steve said. “I was jogging along Telegraph Road when I saw this really weird sign warning about owls in the road. I thought it was so odd that I took a picture of it.” Steve whipped out his iPhone and showed the picture to Eddie.

“Yeah, that is strange,” Eddie said, “but it doesn’t answer my question about how you ripped your shirt.”

“So after I took the picture, I started jogging again when I heard a screeching sound above me and an owl swooped down and started chasing me,” Steve said. “I fell down, the owl landed on me, and it started tearing at my shirt with its talons. I tell you, Eddie, I feared for my life. I’m going to steer clear of jogging on Telegraph Road from now on.”

“Dude, I think you were having a bad trip,” Eddie said. “What kind of acid did you drop?”

Steve held up his right hand. “Nothing man, I swear!” he said.

Eddie just shook his head. “Listen, dude,” he said, “if you don’t want to tell me about how you really tore your shirt, that’s your business, but to go with some random tale about being attacked by a freakin’ owl? Seriously, Steve, you need to elevate your storytelling game.”


Written for Donna McNicol’s Sunday Photo Fiction prompt and for these daily prompts: The Daily Spur (shirt), Fandango’s One-Word Challenge (trip), Daily Addictions (steer), Word of the Day Challenge (random), and Your Daily Word Prompt (elevate). Photo credit: Morguefile.

The Interrogation

DB9380F7-F0D3-4829-A5CB-F35A31CE1BC0 “We’ve got you dead to rights,” the first detective said.

“So you might as well confess because we’ve got the goods on you, pal,” the second detective added.

“What are you talking about?” I asked. “Why am I here? What are you accusing me of.”

“Oh, playing it coy, are you?” detective one said. “We got a search warrant and found the body in your basement.”

“The body?” I asked. “What body? And what’s the deal with a search warrant?”

“We got a call from your neighbor and she said she saw you drag a body into your house last night,” detective two said.

“You mean old Mrs. Higgenbotham?” I asked. “First of all, she’s blind as a bat. Second of all….”

“We saw the damn body, pal,” detective one interrupted.

“The guy’s face was a mess and you put a plastic bag over his head,” detective two said. “Probably death by asphyxiation.”

I couldn’t help myself. I started laughing. “Listen, my job is to design window displays for the local department store. What I dragged into my house last night was a plaster mannequin that I need to repair. 7F070DE8-E3F2-42C5-BE08-B5C3D0E8E8DBDetective one’s cellphone rang. “It’s the medical examiner,” he said to detective two. Then, talking into the phone, he said, “Yes, Doc, I see. Yes, I’m sorry for wasting your time, Doc.”

Then he looked at me and said, “You’re free to go.”


Written for today’s Sunday Photo Fiction prompt from Donna McNicol (photo credit: MicheleBlanche) and for Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie’s Sunday Writing Prompt.

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.