Farewell Fireworks

Debbie carefully packed her desk items into a box. She paused at the cup overflowing with bent paperclips, one deposited every day she worked in this dreadful office.

She wasn’t necessarily ready for retirement, but the company had pushed her toward a settlement. Out with the old, in with the new.

Good luck with that. There was more drama than work with her younger counterparts. They also had loose lips. Yes, Debbie had all the dirt. Affairs. Embezzlement. Stealing.

The secrets flowed through her fingertips as she typed her final email to her boss.

She was going out with a bang.

 

PHOTO PROMPT © Claire Sheldon

Happy Friday! This is written for the weekly flash fiction challenge, Friday Fictioneers. Check out the other 100-word gems of flash fiction here. Many thanks to our lovely host, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.

Fugitive

Outrunning the police was not easy, but finding the hidden stash was just as difficult.

Sore feet and aching legs carried her through the never-ending maze of streets. She checked the photo one more time. This had to be it. Everything seemed to match… the archway, the wires, the cracks in the bricks.

She knelt at the manhole cover and pried it open with shaky fingers. Reaching into the darkness, she felt the bag that Paolo had secured under the street. The cash and fake ID were there, just as he promised. Tears of relief hit her cheeks.

Time to disappear.

 

Photo credit: Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Happy weekend! This is written for the weekly flash fiction challenge, Friday Fictioneers. Check out the other 100-word gems of flash fiction here. Many thanks to our lovely host, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.

Welcome to Paradise

 

Chelsea awoke with a massive headache, courtesy of the free-flowing booze at the all-inclusive resort.

Welcome to Paradise.

‘Where is John? Why is our room so messy?! Maybe he went down to the beach. Fresh air sounds good.’

She stumbled along the boardwalk and froze at the sand’s edge, confused. It was 2:00 pm but the sky was as black as midnight. Crumpled towels, umbrellas, and flip-flops were carelessly strewn about. But not a single person in sight.

A bright light suddenly shone down on her like a spotlight. Caught between fear and hope, she looked up.

It took her swiftly.

 

PHOTO PROMPT © Dale Rogerson

Happy Friday! This is written for the weekly flash fiction challenge, Friday Fictioneers. Check out the other 100-word gems of flash fiction here. Many thanks to our lovely host, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.

First Date

 

Maeve surreptitiously checked her watch again. This was the worst date ever.

It’s not his fault,’ she thought, excusing herself to the restroom.

With shaky exhale, she studied her tired features in the mirror. Her grief was still messy like an overgrown vine, tangled and disruptive, unrelenting in its devouring grip.

Well-meaning friends aside, she was obviously not ready for this. She still wanted the only man she could no longer have. Pretending otherwise was pointless.

When her unsuspecting date opened the note delivered by the waiter, Maeve was long gone.

“I’m sorry” was all she could manage to write.

 

Photo by Sarah Potter

 

Yes, I know I’m late for Friday Fictioneers! Better late than never? I didn’t want to skip out again, though. This photo screamed isolation and desperation to me. You can find the other entries for this photo prompt here.

 

 

Room 215

There was a reason the Hotel Souriant staff avoided room 215.

It was cold and uncomfortable but it also buzzed with negative energy. It seemed watchful, knowing. Like a fat, greedy spider waiting for prey to get caught in the web.

Five people had disappeared from that room in as many years.

The traveling businessman checked in on Monday. Almost imperceptible, a low groan rumbled through the bones of the old building. Darkness stirred.

By checkout Tuesday, he had vanished… though his belongings still littered the floor of room 215.

The staff swore they heard a satisfied sigh echoing through the hall.

 

PHOTO PROMPT © Sandra Crook

Happy weekend! This is written for the weekly flash fiction challenge, Friday Fictioneers. Check out the other 100-word gems of flash fiction here. Many thanks to our lovely host, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.

Harold

I started hearing them when I was two.

Mama called it a gift. I always considered it a curse. The dead are noisy and sometimes intrusive. I never had privacy, even in my head.

Harold was the pushiest, most irritating spirit. An attention seeker, he invaded my thoughts regularly. A real pain in my ass.

Until today.

I awoke to his relentless voice, heavy with urgency. “STAY!”

His anxiety flooded my body, making me dizzy.

“Fine, Harold!” Change of plans. Back to bed.

When my 8:15 train slid off the icy tracks, killing fifty…I wasn’t on it. Thanks to Harold.

PHOTO PROMPT © Liz Young

Happy Friday! This is written for the weekly flash fiction challenge, Friday Fictioneers. Check out the other 100-word gems of flash fiction here. Many thanks to our lovely host, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.

Femme Fatale

shoes-and-books-by-magaly-guerrero

Roger couldn’t believe it was ending like this.

The night had been going perfectly. When the leggy redhead came on to him at the bar, he was dumbfounded by his good fortune. Drinks flowed and she draped on him like a cheap suit.

When she led him somewhere private, he went willingly.

So how did he end up flat on the ground looking up into the barrel of her pistol, her lace-up high-heel boot grinding into his chest?

He knew there was a price on his head. He just never thought his hit-man would be the woman of his dreams.

 

 

PHOTO PROMPT © Magaly Guerrero

Happy weekend! This is written for the weekly flash fiction challenge, Friday Fictioneers. Check out the other 100-word gems of flash fiction here. Many thanks to our lovely host, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.

Pizza For One

dale-rogerson-pizza

“Come on, it’s just pizza.”

“I just want to talk.”

“I miss you so much.”

Ella knew that meeting him was not just about pizza. He would try to worm his way back into her life. John would beg for forgiveness. Again.

Yet here she was, standing outside of the cafe deciding whether or not to grant his request.

Maybe I should forgive him. I mean, we had some good times. Before.

Then images paraded through her mind like a bad slideshow. Broken promises. Lies. Disappointment. Fear.

Be smart. Don’t fall for it again.

She walked away.

Pizza for one.

 

PHOTO PROMPT © Dale Rogerson

Happy Friday! This is written for the weekly flash fiction challenge, Friday Fictioneers. Check out the other 100-word gems of flash fiction here. Many thanks to our lovely host, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.

Like Riding a Bike

jellico3

 

Dear Diary,

It happened again. I know I said it wouldn’t, but sometimes the shadows stir inside me and I have to feed them.

He had it coming… the lying, cheating bastard. Married men should know better. I did his wife a favor.

I can still see the shocked look on his stupid face as his lifeforce drained out. Swimming in a crimson pool. I cut off his finger – wedding ring and all – and kept it as a souvenir.

It had been so long since the others. I thought it might be difficult. It wasn’t.

Just like riding a bike.

 

PHOTO PROMPT © Jellico’s Stationhouse

A nice little macabre story for a Sunday morning, no? This is written for the weekly flash fiction challenge, Friday Fictioneers. Check out the other 100-word gems of flash fiction here. Many thanks to our lovely host, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.

Adrift

 fatima-fakier-deria1

No man is an island.

Marta’s brain knew this to be true though her heart doubted it.

Things bustled around her, throngs of people coming and going. Her home was an endless parade of mourners trying to buffer her grief with hushed condolences and casseroles. As if “sorry” could soften the blow of unexpectedly losing her love of thirty-two years. She managed robotic hugs and canned responses. Numb.

Maybe she wasn’t an island, but she felt like she was stranded on one. Well, not exactly stranded. Perhaps with a boat, but lacking an oar…the means without the drive.

Adrift.

 

Photo credit: © Fatima Fakier Deria

Do you ever just feel overwhelmed and while the world carries on merrily around you, all you can do is… float? That’s what I’m trying to portray here, not sure if it works. This is written for the weekly flash fiction challenge, Friday Fictioneers. Check out the other authors’ contributions here. Many thanks to our lovely host, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.