The Prisoners

“This can’t be happening?!” Froggy John cried.

“I can’t believe she hung us out to dry like this! Where’s God? Where’s my agent?” Baby Ducky moaned.

“I feel an existential threat like I’ve never felt before,” Buffy Kitty mewed

Momma Ducky remained quiet.

Fearing the worst, Baby Ducky quacked, “You okay back there, Momma D.?”

“Sure! Once we’re nice and dry, why we’ll be back with little Abe in his playpen again!”

After a long silence, Froggy John croaked, “Nice not having my eyeballs chewed.”

“Peaceful,” Baby D. said.

Buffy Kitty whispered, “I have a plan . . . .”


PHOTO PROMPT © Lisa Fox
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The False Counselor

PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Word Count: 100
Genre: Fiction

The False Counselor

“What should I do?” she whined.

I met her vacuous eyes, pleased she always gave precedence to my words over others’.

“Forget her! Leave! She’s made her choices, now let her wallow in them!”

“Her children, my grandchildren. They’re still babies . . . .”

“Listen, dear, what’s she ever done to deserve your love?!” I asked, choking back my philosophical angst: can love be love if it’s only deserved?

Maybe she’d have abandoned them without my uttering a word.

But I did.

Now I walk as one divided, my head shorn, then healed, then shorn repeatedly by Hell’s demons.¹


1The judgment described is taken from Dante’s Divine Comedy, Inferno, Canto 28, in which the poet describes the ninth ring of the Malebolge where makers of discord are condemned.

So also the tongue is a small member, yet it boasts of great things. How great a forest is set ablaze by such a small fire! And the tongue is a fire, a world of unrighteousness. The tongue is set among our members, staining the whole body, setting on fire the entire course of life, and set on fire by hell. For every kind of beast and bird, of reptile and sea creature, can be tamed and has been tamed by mankind, but no human being can tame the tongue. It is a restless evil, full of deadly poison. With it we bless our Lord and Father, and with it we curse people who are made in the likeness of God.” (James 3:5-9, bold italics mine)

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The Disappearing Man (story)

Genre: Fiction
Word Count: 100

The Disappearing Man

For the hundredth time, he recognizes this as the moment he loses her.

She looks out the window at the restless pecking of a wren, relaxes into its movements.

He sees the colors drain from his world, like an old timey flick on a spool ticking the moments until the screen fades into flecks of black and then, THE END.

It’s the moment to bow out, without fuss. It’s just a social experiment, marriage, though it’s lasted five years.

“Let’s skip the play and stay home,” she says, turning, and he, seeing the colors return, says, “I’m not going anywhere.”


Continue reading “The Disappearing Man (story)”

Love Stronger than Death

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Click on the frog to read more stories.Word count: 100

Everyone had left for home. Vikram remained standing by the freshly turned earth until high above the stars lit one by one.

He could no more make his legs stir than make the stars fall with his tears.

“A wedding for a first miracle. Ever wonder why?”

Aanya’s voice. Vikram closed his eyes. “No.”

“That day! That wine! Imagine! Rich, savory, fiery with a love stronger than death. You believe that?”

“I do.” His voice shook. “But ….”

“I’m not where you’re standing. The God that turns water into wine, turns mourning into dancing. Vikram, our dance has barely begun.”


Psalm 30: 11-12
You have turned for me my mourning into dancing;
you have loosed my sackcloth
and clothed me with gladness,
that my glory may sing your praise and not be silent.
O Lord my God, I will give thanks to you forever!

Song of Songs 8:6
Set me as a seal upon your heart,
as a seal upon your arm,
for love is strong as death,
jealousy is fierce as the grave.
Its flashes are flashes of fire,
the very flame of the LORD.

John 2:1-11
On the third day there was a wedding at Cana in Galilee, and the mother of Jesus was there.
Jesus also was invited to the wedding with his disciples.
When the wine ran out, the mother of Jesus said to him, “They have no wine.”
And Jesus said to her, “Woman, what does this have to do with me? My hour has not yet come.”
His mother said to the servants, “Do whatever he tells you.”
Now there were six stone water jars there for the Jewish rites of purification, each holding twenty or thirty gallons.
Jesus said to the servants, “Fill the jars with water.” And they filled them up to the brim.
And he said to them, “Now draw some out and take it to the master of the feast.” So they took it.
When the master of the feast tasted the water now become wine, and did not know where it came from (though the servants who had drawn the water knew), the master of the feast called the bridegroom and said to him, “Everyone serves the good wine first, and when people have drunk freely, then the poor wine. But you have kept the good wine until now.”
This, the first of his signs, Jesus did at Cana in Galilee, and manifested his glory. And his disciples believed in him.

The Smuggler of Rainbows

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Click on the frog to read more stories.Word count: 100

The Smuggler of Rainbows

“It’s just a tire shop, Dad! This can’t be where we’re meeting the rainbow-smuggler!”
Inside, a cheerful woman in a colorful sari stood out of the rain, waiting.
“I’d like a rainbow,” Retnam said from her wheelchair. “Where are they?”
“They’re hiding in plain sight, my dear!” the rainbow-smuggler said, shrugging. “Just reach into a tire.”
Retnam did, pulling out a huge rainbow-colored taffy.
She laughed, then frowned.
“But it’s not REAL!” she cried.
“Look up, Retnam!” the woman said, pointing to the rain-cleared sky. “There will always be a rainbow over your head, even when you can’t see it.”


Continue reading “The Smuggler of Rainbows”

Dante Bill and Mark Twain Take A Walk

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Note on the players: Dante Bill is an allusion to his namesake from the Inferno; Mark Twain acts as Virgil, his writer-guide through hell. Neither has been consigned there.

Genre: Partial Epic
Word Count: 99

Dante Bill (colorful rapper): Dude, where’s the fire and brimstone? It’s freezing cold here.

Mark Twain (dead white male): Hell’s different from place to place.

What’s with the shrines there?

Shrines? Oh, toilets. That’s for . . . .

Yeah, why the big deal?

They’re the only ones in this area.

That stinks, man! Crowds of woke politicians and their virtue-signaling kool-aid drinkers jumping up and down like yo-yo’s. They could just go in the woods.

Problem is, it’s against the rules. Their punishment is that they have to follow the sign.

Where does it point?

To Satan’s toilet.

A Venn Diagram Play

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Genre: Realism
Word Count: 100

A Venn Diagram Play

Mommy plays Lego with me
I’m four and she’s thirty-three
But I make up the games we play
And she does exactly what I say.

We share the firetruck and the fireman
He’s my Daddy and he’s her husband
I get Santa for a party favor on my birthday
She gets a candy for baking a cake so gay.

I get a funny-shaped red Lego piece
And save two for Daddy when he says, “Please.”
The red truck is outside my diagram
It’s for the children killed in Afghanistan
By an unmanned drone, they’re in no one’s Venn.

Don’t cry.


The Pentagon confirmed on November 3, 2021, that after the disastrously chaotic withdrawal of American troops which resulted in billions of dollars of military weaponry, hardware, and aircraft left behind as well as the suicide bombing of thirteen young American soldiers, three days later, it carried out a deadly drone strike that mistakenly killed ten innocent civilians on August 29: three Afghan adults and seven children.

The Adviser

Rochelle, Happy 9th Anniversary of hosting FFs!

Genre: Science Fiction 
Word count: 100
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Rochelle asks that we use the photo prompt (© Brenda Cox)
and limit our words to 100 or less. 
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Photo prompt © Douglas M. MacIlroy

The violent shuddering of masonry and the collapse of the great cathedral had left a thick cloud of dust like a shroud over the city. It settled like particles of mist coating every moving creature, turning everything a sinister gray. Here, the dead had numbered 750,000.

We eyed them from the Adviser, the multi-dimensional-intergalactic space lab, Commander Fauci. His otherwise pristine white lab coat was covered with beagle hair as he emerged from his I-CNN studio. He looked unconcerned. The interview had gone well.

Had we made the right choices? Only time would tell. Meanwhile, we needed to cover our tracks.

The Bus – Friday Fictioneers

Genre: Realism 
Word count: 99
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Rochelle asks that we use the photo prompt (© Brenda Cox)
and limit our words to 100 or less. 
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The Bus

Honey Humberg had waited for this day all her life.

She’d worked and saved to build the “Humberg Bus” from scratch, designing, commissioning and assembling it, part by part. She painted it in homage to the DIY hippies that were her inspiration, free thinkers and dreamers all. She would tour Europe showcasing her singing talent and the world would fall at her feet.

In the square, the crowd cheered when the Humberg Bus arrived.

They left when she began singing.

“How much you want for the bus?” a man asked.

“One billion pounds,” she said bitterly, turning away.

“Done.”

The Load

Genre: Fiction; Word count: 100
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Rochelle asks that we use the photo prompt (© Sandra Crook) 
and limit our words to 100 or less.

I counted them too, you know: every turn, every curve, every meter. Every pothole, aggravation, near disaster.

For what it’s worth, the load was never the point.

It was where I was going.

My only regret is you were stuck with me for every millimeter of it, and you hated it.

Life was too slow for you.

It was too fast for me.

I had a load to carry: responsibility to those who depended on me.

You were looking for an escape.

I was looking at the journey’s end.

I wish you could know now it was worth it.