Friday Fictioneers -An Ordinary Teenage Disorder

 

Photo Courtesy of Jean L Hayes

Hi all. This week was a struggle and I nearly gave up, but here is my entry for Friday Fictioneers

Only two days until prom, and decorating is underway.

Molten glue drips onto my finger, welding another button to my skin instead of the heart shaped wire frame.

Alex glances over and I quickly turn my head away, feeling every blood vessel in my cheeks dilate.

God, what is wrong with me? A question all my friends must be asking as they avoid me, like love sickness might be catching.  It’s torture, this guessing game of what’s possible and what’s likely and what I want and what will actually happen.

Nothing is happening, I think, as he steps towards me.

 

 

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Friday Fictioneers -The Consolation Prize

Photo Credit – Dale Rogerson

This is a 100 word story for Friday Fictioneers. Please follow the link to find the rules and to look at other 100 word stories. 

Candy pink sky fades to indigo. You knock on my door at exactly six.

I can’t help but see us, shadow backlit by fairground lights, reflected in the abundant chrome, in the eyes of the vendor who implores you to take one more chance to win me a prize.

No luck for you, and no stuffed creature for me. Consolation comes from following the scent of onions and doughnuts to purveyors of deep-fried delights.

You offer to share.

Lips coated in oily cinnamon-sugar, we kiss for the first time.

At home, I blame red cheeks on chill October air.

A Warlock’s Opinion of Love

Photo: J Hardy Carroll

 

This is an entry to Friday Fictioneers – where we write 100 word stories based on the picture prompt provided.

Most warlocks will tell you that magic cannot interfere with love. However, Arran’s 162 year experience has taught him that love can be far more fragile than many ascribe it to be.

20 minutes ago, he watched with disappointment as his young protégé disappeared into a $200-a-night hotel with his ill chosen minx. From that moment, this private tryst was doomed.

A simple incantation and smoke is billowing from just one window of the hotel. The lovers are probably oblivious to what’s happening outside, but it won’t be long before they have sudden, unexpected company.

Love rarely survives such indignities.

Bad Decisions

“If it wasn’t for the fact it felt so good, I’d never make bad decisions, ever,” Caroline slurred. She was almost lying down on the couch opposite me, as listless on her fourth glass of sauvignon as she’d been energetic on the second.

“I never seem to have the opportunity to make half the bad decisions you do, at least be grateful for that,” I replied.

This seemed to pull Caroline half upright.

“But you are happy, right?” she asked.

Yes, I was happy. I’d lived in that sleepy town for six years, and made some friends that weren’t as dysfunctional as Caroline, and was one year into a relationship which seemed gloriously uncomplicated to any that I’d been in before. Caroline, meanwhile, floated along wherever the winds took her, and if there was any kind of storm, she sheltered here with me for a few days.

Last time it had been regrets about changing her job and working with a new company. This time, it was a broken heart, which had been the likely outcome from the moment she had fallen in love with her boss.

“I would let you know if I wasn’t happy, it’s definitely my turn to sit on your couch and drink your wine until I cheer up.”

Caroline walked over and sat next to me.  She took my glass of beer and put it on the table. Before I could ask why, she kissed me hard on the lips.

“Sure you’re not suffering from the lack of opportunity to make bad decisions?”

Friday Fictioneers – Salty

Waves

Copyright – Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

An 100 word entry for Friday Fictioneers, the writing challenge set weekly by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields, who this week used a photo of her own. Please follow the link to find the rules and also more 100 word stories based on the above photo prompt.

Patrick rolled beads of risotto on his tongue, letting the buttery sauce carry flavours of garlic and white wine around his mouth.  It was good, but not yet perfect enough for his fickle restaurant customers.

“More salt,” he eventually said.

“Are you sure?” Claire asked, brazenly. He narrowed his eyes at the only person in this kitchen who thought she could challenge him.

“Remember when we were in Sicily, and we spent that one evening on the beach?”

A red flush appeared above Claire’s collar. “Yes.”

“I remember the risotto we ate in the restaurant beforehand better. Make yours like that.”

Friday Fictioneers – The Price of Dream Endings

Copyright - Renee Heath

Copyright – Renee Heath

Please head to FF central to submit your own story.

My darling sweetheart, my love, my eternal light and guiding star,

I won’t be honest in this letter. I can’t tell you the truth because I suspect you know more of it than I do.

You are a stream of adjectives that begin with beautiful and end with perfect. You’ve shared so many things with me, but please, I beg you, don’t cast a light on what’s in between those words.

Don’t you see? We’re the Hollywood story come to life and that happy ending could be ours for the taking!

My sight for your silence, it’s up to you.

Friday Fictioneers – Unbelieving Eyes

Featured Image

Copyright – John Nixon

Friday Fictioneers Central is where you can find the instructions for submitting your own 100 words story and the other submissions. A bit rushed this week, but I’m determined to keep on schedule with my blog posts.

The peace I’ve found in these woods for the past two years is sunk in an instant, like a ship dashed on the rocks of its home port. My feet involuntarily step backwards. He turns and sees me.

“Nat?” He smiles, almost politely.

“You’re back.”

“I never thought I’d find you here. You always said these woods were ugly.”

“I guess, after two years, I learned to see the beauty you saw.”

“There was another thing I said was beautiful, and you didn’t agree.”

I stand bashfully behind a dead looking tree trunk.

“I still have trouble believing that.”

Valentine’s Day Quickie: The Tragic Romance of KitKat and Oreo

In the fair land of Sainsbury’s, a foolish KitKat from the house of Nestle did an unspeakable thing. She lost her heart to Oreo of the house of Mondelez. Across the biscuit aisle, she yearned know of the soft centre beneath the dark biscuit. Oreo reciprocated KitKat’s love, and longed to be with her.

Alas, Oreo was betrothed to Dairy Milk. When KitKat saw the promotional materials, it hurt her to her wafery core, and she felt as if she were being snapped in two.

One fateful afternoon, an angel in the form of a determined shopper made their way to biscuit aisle. She had in her hand an eccentric cheesecake recipe that called for the marriage of two very different chocolate biscuits.

As she carelessly tossed them into her basket, KitKat almost exploded with excitement. She lay face down, able to feel Oreo’s curves through the thin foil. She was surprised her chocolate robe wasn’t melting due to the tension.

The moment they were pounded together to form the cheesecake base was ecstatic, and there were a few beautiful hours where they remained as one.

Although they met their tragic end that night, swallowed by dinner party guests, their hearts were satisfied. The diners declared it to be a match made in heaven.

Friday Fictioneers – Next Year

Copyright – Janet M Webb

This week’s Friday Fictioneers entry. Visit the blog of Rochelle Wisoff-Fields to get the rules etc. It’s been a while, unfortunately. So busy! 😦

You pick through the takeaway leaflets like they’re dating profiles. They offer different things and all have different wants. You scrutinize the pictures and garish colours. There’s nothing sexy about the greasy fries. However, they stir a kind of desire that, unlike a lonely heart, can be satisfied with ease.

The indecision alone is pleasurable. So many options. You choose a place that’s cheap and dirty, the way you like it, and then make the call.

Leaning back on the couch, you raise your glass of wine and toast St. Valentine, Cupid and Aphrodite.

You murmur something about next year.

Sunday Photo Fiction – Sharing

Sunrise coming through the clouds. Of course, in your fiction, it could be absolutely anything

Copyright – Al Forbes

Read the rules and submit your own story based on the prompt here. I’ve actually started writing up a new novel. This isn’t an extract, but it’s a short segment based on another character’s point of view.

She never smiled. I only noticed it after a couple of weeks of knowing her. It wasn’t obvious straight away. She didn’t give off this vibe of being completely miserable or anything like that. It was more like there was always a little part of her that was dwelling on something else.

I guess I really wanted to fix her. I was arrogant enough to think I could just talk to her and she’d suddenly open up. I imagined her smiling, and I thought it would be like the clouds suddenly parting and the sun shining through, or a similar cliché.

It never happened. I took every opportunity to be alone with her, and I asked her a million questions. I wanted to know about her home, her family, and why she’d come to the academy. Her answers were always half-hearted and she didn’t look me in the eye. Eventually she began avoiding me altogether.

Years later, when I found out the unremarkable truth, I wondered why she’d been so reluctant.

In another few years, the issue of what truths are better left unshared would almost tear our marriage apart.