Friday Fictioneers–Independence Day

Happy New Year!  It’s a brand-new year of fun and frolic with the Friday Fictioneers, writers from all around the world coming together each week to share handcrafted 100-word stories inspired by one picture.  We’re prompted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields and inspired this week by Lora Mitchell’s gorgeous photo.   I know I’m double-posting this morning.  I hope the story is worth it.

Independence Day

There were fireworks…

…when I was born.  (Quite sure my mother shouted, “Ooooh!  Aaaaah!”)

…when I fell and broke my arm.

…on many glorious Fourth-of-July’s, colors blossoming against the night sky.  ( “Ooooh!  Aaaaah!”)

…the day our eyes met across the room and he smiled.

…when we first kissed.  On our wedding night.  The whole of our honeymoon.

…the day our daughter was born.  (“Ooooh!  Aaaaah!”)

…the first day he hit me.  The day I “fell” down the stairs.  When “I’ broke my other arm.

…the night we lost our house, a husband, and a father.

Fire works.

(“Ooooh!  Aaaaah!”)

To read the rest of the stories:

Friday Fictioneers–Breakfast Special

Merry day-after-Christmas to all the Fictioneers and their reader.!  I hope you have no post-Christmas hangovers of any sort and that your day was wonderful (and if not wonderful, at least as good as it could be.)  Since there’s no rest for the wicked, the Fictioneers are off on another adventure this week, so climb aboard and join the fun by clicking on the little critter at the end of the post to read all the stories.  Happy New Year and may 2013 exceed all your expectations!!

Copyright Jean L. Hays

Breakfast Special

 The aroma of fresh cinnamon rolls and two-eggs-anyway-you-like-ham-or-bacon-toast-hash-browns-and-coffee made him wobbly.  Shoving shaking hands gun-like into his pockets, he summoned his inner James Dean, bad-boy look in place, lacking the dangling cigarette, because he hated them.

The grandmotherly woman smiled as he approached­.  “What can I get you?”

“Whatever’s in your register and no one gets hurt.”  (Crap, how trite.)

“There’s no need…”

Eyes flickering nervously, “Just open the register.”

“Really, you…”

Urgently…“Open it!”

Her hand emerged from the register with a workmanlike gun.   “I won’t give you money, but there’s plenty food and I can use a dishwasher.

Friday Fictioneers–Cottage Industry

It’s almost Thanksgiving, the perfect time for a Friday Fictioneers piece as  I’m thankful Bill introduced me to this wonderful group of writers who are also lovely people.  Of course, I have much, much more for which to be thankful each day, even though tomorrow’s the day I take to especially thank God, literally, for His abundant blessings to me.  Joyce Johnson, thank you for the picture, Rochelle for hosting and the rest of you for helping me improve my writing and for providing a bar for which to strive.  I value each of you immensely, (even if I don’t get all your stories read immediately this vacation week. 🙂

Cottage Industry

In search of baking soda, she dodged rain drops, running to the neighbors’.  The perfectly-coiffed, blue-white-haired Mrs. Ulrich (“Call me Janeen, dear”) invited her in.

Gratefully sipping steaming tea, she noticed the metalwork displayed…a face and hand.  “They’re marvelous!”

“My husband Tom makes them, dear.  Would you like to see the others?”

She readily agreed.  The metalwork was lovely, perfect for the garden.  Perhaps for Christmas?

In the basement workshop, Tom’s smiling face greeted them.  “Choose something that’s you, dear.”

“No, I couldn’t.” But she drew close to take a better look.  “They’re so life-like!  Where do you get the…”