Friday Fictioneers – Week # 77 — A Royal Love Story

This week’s Friday Fictioneers prompt is a photo by David Stewart of a statue in his home city in Korea.  My response turned out to be a love story — maybe because my focus this week is on Valentine’s Day.  Here’s David’s photo, followed by my take on the challenge.

The Wrong Tourist

A Royal Love Story

Once upon a time, a starving sculptor fell hopelessly in love with Princess Kameko.

He will have to create a great statue for the courtyard of my palace, and prove himself worthy of you,” the king said to Kameko. “It must exhibit his love for you in such unusual manner that people from many lands will travel to see it.”

The artist thought – agonized – for days, finally presenting himself to the king with tools in hand.

Three days later, the royal city gathered in the courtyard and gasped with pleasure at the unveiling of the oblique statue: Falling In Love.

Artist and princess lived happily ever after.

~ ~ ~

To take part in the fun visit Rochelle Wisoff-Fields’ site.  She is the dynamic host of the challenge:
http://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/2013/02/13/15-february-2013/

Friday Fictioneers – February 8, 2013

This Friday’s challenge is here in the form of a photo from Rich Voza

Frid Fict Plane

BUT NOT ALWAYS

He was Cherokee, she Scottish-American. But the moment they met in the airport coffee shop, they were connected. Waiting out the fog, they talked like old friends. When her plane was called, he carried her bag to her boarding gate.

A question in her eyes, she said, “Wow, Chicago and Dallas – talk about two people going in opposite directions.”

Light flared in his eyes. She didn’t want this to end either. He traced one gentle finger down her cheek.

Opposite today … but not always, I think.”

The light in her eyes leaped to his, just as the boarding line began moving.

His next words a promise: “I will see you again, Joy.”

~~~

To join in the fun, hop over to Rochelle’s site: http://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/2013/02/06/8-february-2013/

Friday Fictioneers — February 1 — As It Was In The Beginning

Well, I am waaaaaaay out in left field on this week’s challenge.  It was fun getting here, but I don’t have enough words to get back.  This piece is definitely “stream of consciousness” writing.

Here’s the photo prompt that Rochelle gave us — courtesy of Claire Fuller, who created the sculpture and took the photo.

/copyright-Claire Fuller

AS IT WAS IN THE BEGINNING

Well, now, let’s have a look at this piece that has you so distressed, Maryann,” said Professor Rousseau, lifting the scarf that covered his student’s newest sculpture. His gasp of pleasure was audible. Then for several minutes, he stood silent. Finally he spoke, never taking his eyes from the work.

Tell me again what you told me on the phone.”

I … I sculpted the man’s head yesterday. I could feel it wasn’t finished, but I couldn’t seem to do anything else with it. So I went to bed. This morning, when I went into the studio to take another look at it … the woman’s head was there as well … and his hand on her head protectively … as you can see.”

The Professor smiled. “Aaahh, yes. I can see that the words of the Original Artist still hold true: “It is not good for man to be alone.”

~~~

To join in the fun visit Rochelle Wisoff-Fields’ site here:
http://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/

Friday Fictioneers — January 25 — A Place That Knew Him

Well, Friday Fictioneers is rapidly becoming a habit.  There are such wonderful writers out there who take part in this challenge. It’s an honor to be able to work with them on the same material each week, and it’s a privilege to see how wide and far-reaching the creativity can be when so many talented people look at the same photograph and set their imaginations free.

Rochelle Wiseoff-Fields is the hostess of this challenge, and if you’d like to join in the fun, you can find out all about it at her site:  http://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/2013/01/23/25-january-2013/

Now on to the challenge for this week:  The photo is the work of Renee Homan Heath and is copyrighted to her.  You will find my story below the photo.

Copyright-Renee Homan Heath

A PLACE THAT KNEW HIM

This weathered boardwalk felt familiar to him. So familiar that his feet tread the boards firmly and deliberately, as if they knew exactly where he was going and what he’d find at the end.

Yes … he definitely felt he was headed for a place he knew – a place that knew him.

He stopped beneath the palm, scanning the white beach, enjoying the way the turquoise waves teasingly caressed it. Yes … familiar ….

Just a dozen more steps now … and he would remember. He knew it. All the memories he’d been futilely chasing since the accident would coalesce at this shoreline.

He would remember!

~ ~ ~

Friday Fictioneers 100-Word Challenge – ‘Love’s Song’

I wanted to join in with the other Friday Fictioneer participants this week, but I have to admit that my contribution is ‘illegal’ — being closer to 180 words. However, since this is the little story that kept nagging at me from the very first moment I saw the picture below, I have written it anyway and edited it down as far as possible in the time I had available.

The challenge is hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. If you’d like to take part, hop over to see her at this link:

http://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/

The prompt is the following picture, which comes to us courtesy of Roger Cohen at http://betarules.blogspot.com.au/

TWO BASS VIOLINS - CELLOS

LOVE’S SONG

They’d met at a rehearsal in this very theater. He, with his polished coat of dark walnut, was instantly captivated by her honey-maple coloring – but even more so by the sweet voice she gave to every note assigned her in the performances. Bravely, he’d professed his love, and she’d responded. They had made exquisite music together for 74 years.

Now, with their respective masters in their graves, the two aging instruments rested against the wall of an old closet behind the stage. His coat was battered and marred significantly. But her luster still had the power to draw music from him every time he looked at her. They sighed quietly. They still had each other – and the music that lived within them. He kissed her gently. She kissed him back. They embraced.

Outside, people slowed their stride as they passed the old theater. “There it is again,” said one. Others nodded in agreement.

“Strange,” said a young woman. “Every night, I’m just sure I hear music coming from inside, but there is never anyone there ….”