Friday Fictioneers – 10/11/13 — ‘Curtain Call’

This Week’s photo prompt is from Sandra Crook:
My story is below:



Since the earthquake, the amphitheater’s rubble. Few seats intact – and the stage – where ….

Worming my way around boulders, over loose rock, I descend to the stage.

Today, the wind mourns through here, but that night it was deadly still – as was the audience – awaiting the climax of the murder scene.  I was afraid – but I had to do it.

I can feel now the weight of the dagger I used to replace the fake one.  I plunged it deep – just as the world around us came apart.  Falling on top of me, his body took the boulder that would have killed me.


Hurry on over to Rochelle Wiseoff-Fields’ site and get into the act.

100-Word Challenge for Grown Ups – Week # 107 – Three For One


I’m especially excited to be taking part in Julia’s challenge this week because I also invited students of my current creative writing class to participate as well. Many of my students are just too busy to write more than what’s required for the class right now, but two of them, Erin Campbell and Lyra McCarty each submitted a 100-word poem for the challenge. I’m very proud to call them my students, and I think you will enjoy their poems.

The fact that they chose poetry for their response to the challenge is especially interesting to me because I had written a poem this time around as well and was awaiting the student submissions so that I could share all of our work in this post. 

For those of you who are not familiar with the challenge, you can find all the details on Julia’s own site at this link:

The prompt this week:  “… as the world turned …”
Now for the poetry:

by Erin Campbell

A rock is my island.
The rock is my throne,
where I sat and watched
as the world turned to dust.
A thousand years of progress
swirls around me like
a cloak around my shoulders.
It caresses my cheek and settles in
my eyes and hair like a crown
as the wind bellows at its loss.
Tides rise and wash the ages onto
sallow shores, leaving broken shell
memories behind in their wake.
I am the only one to keep them close.
The island grows as I grow.
Loved and feared by nothing.
A ruler of ashes, I command ghosts.

© 2013 Erin Campbell


by Lyra McCarty

As the world turns I seek you.
I listen — and you are here?
Not a caress passes between us.
But I know that you are near.

Always a crowd surrounds us
In a whirlpool of noisy things.
Some are always pushing
They think I have no King.

I live in the twilight hours
Lost between night and day.
I know you Dear Lord Jesus
And understand your way.

As the world turns I seek you.
I listen — and you are here?
Not a caress passes between us.
But I know you hold me dear.

© 2013 Lyra McCarty


by Sandra Conner

As the world turned and turned and turned,
So his heart yearned, and churned, and burned.
Day unto day and night unto night
He pondered on ways to satisfy spite.

If he could not have her – his love, his life,
He’d see to it no one else made her his wife.
He thought out his strategy, planned every move,
And finally knew how to deal with his love.

So swiftly he made his way into her room
And there, as she slept, introduced her to doom.
Then, satisfied that a lesson she’d learned,
He joined her in silent death as the world turned.

© 2013 Sandra Conner


Friday Fictioneers – 5/10/13 – ‘Goodbye Snooky’



Photo Copyright: TED STRUTZ

Here we are, folks: the legendary bar where Snooky Adams was gunned down by his partner, Lila Corbell.” The young guide positioned himself to imitate the gangster, dressed in Snooky’s signature red turtle-neck and gray, pinstriped jacket, his hair slicked back in Snooky’s oily-smooth style. The resemblance was disturbing.

He looked into the mirror behind the bar, intending to make eye contact with his group via that reflection, but he suddenly shouted, “Lila!”

His audience jerked heads to look behind them at the same second the shots rang out. But seeing no one, they turned back to their guide. He was on the floor, three bullet holes in his chest.

Lila’s reflection lingered in the mirror, smoking gun in hand.


(I took some license with the mirror. The one in my imagination is bigger than the one in the picture.)

Would you like to share your own story inspired by this photo?  We’d like to read it. Hop over to Rochell Wisoff-Fields’ site and get in on the fun: