The horse flew ahead, eyes half-blinded by the fog. The exhausted soldier was in no position to command, though he led the horse with a weak hand. They had travelled for days, braving heat, storm and hunger. “Just an hour more” pleaded the soldier to a God he did not believe in. They reached the land of exile, at last. The horse slowed down at the sight of a boy. “Our country is free”, shouted the soldier with a last burst of energy, as he fell down, fatigued.
Thank you, Rochelle, for hosting Friday Fictioneers and thanks to Erin for the photo.
“This is our gift to the crown prince.” the sage told the king, beckoning to the men who carried three boxes. The king signalled to the prince to open the red box. It revealed a beautiful woman with reddish blond hair and gentle blue eyes. The prince’s eyes shone as he walked over to the blue one. It opened to a svelte Eastern beauty with raven hair and wild dark eyes.
The smitten prince strolled to the white box, his eyes shining with greed. Upon finding the box empty, he went inside. He was calm when he emerged two minutes later. He removed his crown and handed them to his father, “I renounce everything.” he said as he walked barefoot to the forest.
This was written for Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers. Thanks to Rich Voza for the photo.
Johnson peered inside, ‘Mary, are you done?
“No, dear. I just saw a beautiful silk gown. I will be back.”
She disappeared. Johnson looked inside, but Mary was nowhere to be found. He looked forlorn.
“Who is that?” a surprised customer asked the saleswoman, Joan.
“Oh! He is old Mr Johnson. His spendthrift wife died while shopping here and left him with a credit card debt of $50,000. He has been that way ever since.”
The customer looked dumb-struck while another salesgirl suppressed her giggle. Joan was so good at telling stories.
Meanwhile, Mary, alive and well, was shopping in the other part of the store.
Thanks to Rochelle for hosting Friday Fictioneers and John Nixon for the photo.
Edwin sat in the dining hall of the cruise ship, Philomena. The waiter tossed a plate of food on his table, spilling some contents. “What next?” he asked angrily.
“Strawberry ice cream” stammered Edwin
The waiter scowled at him. Edwin returned to his room to find his clothes back from the laundry. They were still dirty and his room was not swept well.
He described the events to his friend in the next cabin.
“Philomena employs only cockpit crew and engineers. The other ‘employees’ are those who sneak in without paying their fares.”
Edwin shuddered. “Where can I hide?”
Thank you, Rochelle, for hosting Friday Fictioneers and thanks to Jan Wayne Fields for the lovely photo.
Phil was shocked. He had not expected this response from Jessica. She had always treated him with scorn. But, just now, when he proposed, she leapt up in the air, jumped on the table and danced with some waiters before running outside. Phil wiped his spectacles and slowly walked to the streets.
Jessica was now dancing on the streets. Amused bystanders stared at her. Phil smiled. He had not known that that he was so irresistible. Meanwhile, Jessica thought of what she had heard a while ago, about Phil’s family and their millions.
This was written for Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers. Thanks to Renee for the photo. To be continued in the next post.
Copyright – David Stewart
“Where are Tom and Nancy?” asked Philip
“They have been missing since we had a small fight this morning.” said his wife, May
“What was that about?”
“They wanted chocolates and fries..”
“Why don’t you give them what they want?”
“You know it is not good for them. Besides, they can’t stay away from the TV. I am just not able to handle them.”
Philip searched the neighbourhood and also the new construction site. Ah! Tom and Nancy were seated petulantly on the top of a building.
Philip waved to them. “Dad! Mom! We are sorry. Please come home.”
Written for Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle. Thanks to David Stewart for the photo.
Copyright Indira, by way of Scott Vanatter
Rita looked out from her favourite window seat at the group of men on the top of an old truck. They shouted and whistled. Rita made a face and frowned at them. Her bus gathered momentum and Rita began to doze. She was awakened by screams and was conscious of feeling giddy and nauseated. Her bus toppled and her head hit the ground. Rita’s right hand felt paralysed and she was unable to move. She heard bikes, cars and buses pass by, but no one stopped. Then she heard noises and someone tried to help her up. She stood up with difficulty. Other passengers were also being helped by a group of men. They were slowly led towards the old truck.
Written for Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers
Dave’s wife walked away, fervently taking pictures of a parade in the vicinity. He had seen too many parades in his life. As he strolled around, his legs stopped in front of a gallery, eyes glued to the statue of a security man. It was an exact replica of a youthful Dave, even the uniform. Some passers-by looked curiously at the statue and Dave, recognising the identical features, despite his wrinkles.
Dave sat down, stunned, in front of the gallery. Was this just a coincidence? He had retired after 40 years of service with no pension and unappreciative employers. Now he felt strangely vindicated.
Written for Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers. Thanks to Pirate for the photo.
“This old piano belongs to my first wife. Would you play for me?” asked Charles to Ruby, his girlfriend.
Ruby sat in front of the piano and removed a disfigured doll. Slowly, she started tuning the piano.
Just as she was finding music, she heard a scream.
“How dare you throw my grandson’s toy to the floor? Who are you?”
Ruby saw an old woman with dishevelled hair and wrinkled dress in the foot of the stairs.
“This is my mother-in-law.” said Charles, embarrassed and resigned. He waited for her to leave.
But, Ruby picked the toy from the floor, dusted it and walked to the old lady. “I am so sorry. Tell me about your grandson.” she said, softly.
This was written for Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle. Thanks to John Nixon for the photo.
When Navin visited Sameer after a long time, he did not expect to see ladies’ stuff strewn all around.
“I thought you writers needed cleanliness.”
“My wife just throws them everywhere. Anyway, it suits me. A ‘tidy’ house stifles my imagination.” said Sameer.
The balcony was comparatively empty, with a lone red dress in the drying stand.
As Navin took his leave and walked out, he met his friend, Chand.
“Returning from Sameer’s place? How is he? asked Chand, anxiously.
“His wife passed away last month. Did you notice a prominent red dress? That was what she was wearing.”
Written for Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers. Thanks to Janet for the photo.