Sunday Photo Fiction — Margaritaville

img_1651Jimmy sat alone at the small table at the dive bar in Key West. He was facing the entrance to the bar, nursing a margarita for the past half hour. He looked at his watch and wondered if his ex-wife, Jane, was going to stand him up again.

The bartender came over to Jimmy’s table and asked him if he wanted another drink, but Jimmy waved him off. The last thing he wanted was for Jane to see him drunk. Assuming, of course, that Jane even showed up.

Jimmy looked at his watch again. “Fuck it,” he said to himself, and signaled the bartender to fix him another margarita. When the bartender brought the drink over, he set it down in front of Jimmy and said, “I hope she’s worth it.”

“She talked about giving it another go,” Jimmy said. “Maybe actually getting back again.” He sighed and took a large sip of his margarita. “But it appears that she’s a no show.”

The bartender looked toward the bar’s entrance when he saw movement through the corner of his eye. “That her?” he asked Jimmy.

Jimmy looked up. “Yeah, that’s her.”

“She’s definitely worth it, mate,” the bartender whispered.

(199 words)


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

Sunday Photo Fiction — Regrets

img_1592Another Father’s Day sitting alone on a bench in the park wondering how I could have done things differently.

Perhaps if I hadn’t been so selfish, so callous, so narcissistic, my children would be here with me today. But you can’t change the past, can you? What’s done is done and it cannot be undone. If I could, I would undo it all.

She warned me when she found about my first indiscretion. She said she would forgive me, but she wasn’t sure that, if the children ever found out, they could forgive me.

I told her that I was sorry, that it was a mistake that happened in a moment of weakness, and that it would never happened again.

But it did happen again. And again. And again.

There was no forgiveness left in her. The kids found out, too, and they showed no willingness to forgive, either. She took the kids and they all left me.

And so here I sit, alone on a park bench on Father’s Day, a picture of loneliness. I’ve lost my wife. I’ve lost my kids. All I have left are my regrets. And the hungry ducks to keep me company.

(198 words)


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

Sunday Photo Fiction — Lawn Ornaments

img_1547

“It’s embarrassing,” Angie told her boyfriend.

“What is?” Neal asked.

“My mother wants to meet you,” she answered, “but I don’t want to take you to her house.”

“Why? Are you ashamed of me, embarrassed by me?”

“Oh no, Neal, not at all. It has nothing to do with you, I swear,” Angie told him.

“Well, what is it, then?” Neal wanted to know. “Why don’t you want me to meet your mother? Maybe it’s time. We’ve been dating for six months. ”

Angie took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. “Again, it’s not you. It’s my mother.”

“What about her?” Neal asked. “Is there something wrong with her?”

“There’s nothing physically or mentally wrong with her,” Angie said. “But she has a somewhat bizarre sense of style.”

“I don’t understand,” Neal said. “What do you mean by bizarre sense of style?”

“Never mind,” Angie said, grabbing Neal’s hand. “This is as good a time as any to introduce you two to one another.

They walked hand in hand towards Angie’s mother’s house for six blocks. As they approached the house, Angie stopped, squeezed Neal’s hand, and said, “See?”

“Yes,” Neal said. “A pair of pink flamingos. That is bizarre.”

(199 Words)


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

Sunday Photo Fiction — Best Laid Plans

img_1513Harry, a contractor, and his wife, Mattie, an interior designer, loved watching HGTV. They decided to flip a house in a pricey area in Southern California and started looking for a fixer-upper to buy. “If those idiots on HGTV can do it, we can too,” Harry told Mattie. Of course, Mattie wholeheartedly agreed.

It didn’t take them long to find a house that might fit the bill. The place was in a serious state of disrepair and could, therefore, be had for a price well below market. Believing that the house had tons of potential, they decided to take the plunge.

Based upon his many hours watching HGTV, Harry estimated that it would cost about a hundred grand to turn the place from a dump to a palace. Given what they paid and neighborhood comps, he was sure they would make a tidy profit.

What Harry and Mattie didn’t know was that the true costs of renovations on HGTV are based upon working with suppliers and contractors who work at deeply discounted rates in exchange for publicity.

Harry and Mattie ran out of cash about halfway through the renovation. And that was when the bank foreclosed on Harry and Mattie.

(200 words)


Written for today’s Sunday Photo Fiction prompt from Susan. Photo credit: C.E. Ayr.

Sunday Photo Fiction — Tacky

img_1427“I think it’s tacky,” Liz said. “Can you imagine?”

“Well, you know how much Aunt Martha loved her dog,” Marion said. “After Oreo died, Martha took him to a taxidermist and had him stuffed and mounted.”

“Yeah, I thought that was really fucked up,” Liz said. “What kind of sicko stuffs her dead dog and displays it by the fireplace?”

“Aunt Martha had her quirks,” admitted Marion.

“This goes way beyond being quirky,” Liz said. “She actually had instructions in her will for them to take that horrid stuffed dog wired for electricity, coated in porcelain, painted, and set in front of her gravestone.”

“It even lights up at night with that broken lantern hanging from its mouth,” Marion said. “It is a bit bizarre.”

“And with the eyes that glow in the dark,” Liz added, “it looks like some weird werewolf, except it’s a dog.”

“I know,” said Marion. “But she put this in her will and as executor, it was my responsibility to carry out her last wishes.”

“It’s so tacky and it’s embarrassing,” Liz said. “I’d steal it and take it to the dump if I didn’t feel it would be like desecrating Aunt Matha’s gravesite.”

“Hmm,” Marion said. “I may know a guy who knows a guy….”


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