Somewhere in a Bunker

lilies-lora-mitchell

Copyright – Lora Mitchell

“Dimitri!”

“What?”

“Look what I found!”

Dimitri shuffled the clutter and rolled his chair closer to Sasha.  He peered at the monitor.   A long silence followed.

“What do you think it is?”

Dimitri cleared his throat.  “Well, that’s definitely the sky.  We’ve seen countless footage of it.”

“Yes but what’s the other thing in the middle?”

“I…well… Does the recording have a date?”

Sasha pressed a series of buttons and the converter spat out a black, rectangular, plastic object.

“Oh! It’s over a century old.  Dated 2003.”

“Scan the image, see what we get and file it with the artefacts.”

For this week’s Friday Fictioneers I went post-apocalyptic.  I hope you like it.

 

Cat Lady

copyright – Jennifer Pendergast

 

The little old lady sat on the couch.  Two cats slept on her lap. The other snuggled next to her feet.  Three flights of steps separated the old lady and her arthritic legs from the world.  But the little lady did not mind.  Meals came on wheels once a day, cabbage stew and soup, no salt.  All in all the little old lady was quite content, she waited for her son, the last of three.  He would return one day as he had promised and help her cross the gulf that were the three flights of steps.

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Trash

home-made_car

Copyright – Beth Carter

“We’ve built a car!” they had sung.  It must have been years, but the time we passed together made them fly.  We flew together.  Everywhere we went people would look, stare, laugh.  But we never minded, we had each other and we were happy.

I used to flatter myself that I wasn’t just an object to them.  I was loved. I held memories in my possession, beautiful instances in life that I clutched within me, not letting them flash by.  And they loved me for it.

Or so I thought.  But now here I am, forgotten, betrayed, ridiculed and disillusioned.

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The Grass on the Other Side

Untamed Wilderness

Copyright-Janet Webb

 

For years the adjoining gardens were the neighbourhood’s jewels.  For just as long, green rivalry consumed the two neighbours.

Until one morning Seamus did not mow his lawn.

It was with guilty pleasure that Fred first hesitated from enquiring after Seamus.  The trimmed hedges beyond the fence overgrew into shapelessness.  Then it was embarrassment that stopped Fred.  Months turned the adjoining garden into an untamed wilderness.  Fred’s was the only jewel in the street.  However, compliments were hollow as with time Fred realised that he missed his old rival. But by then, it was too late, Seamus was long gone. Continue reading

Mine Father

Reaching out

copyright-David Stewart

Father was a man to lean on; organised and self-assured he would always be there, wearing his horn-rimmed glasses, standing straight.

So it was a pity when the President spotted him while visiting the Foreign Ministry.  After that, father‘s horn-rimmed glasses became a permanent fixture in every newspaper, standing behind the President.

It became a joke though, whispered amid mouthfuls of sake.  And when the President’s death followed father’s, the joke was made permanent.  There is the president now, in the square reaching out for father.  But father’s bespectacled statue is in my garden, standing straight only for me. Continue reading

Vlad’s Love

carving

Copyright-Claire Fuller

For years Vlad had studied her full lips and watched her figure swaying alluring, teasing, arousing him.  But she never saw him there, faithfully pining away, withering, starved of love.  He would have borne it if she remained alone, her heart unattached, untaken. But she hadn’t.  She fell for the other man. Seeing them in love, it broke him so he broke her in turn; her and the other man.  How they had screamed!  But now Vlad was even more desperate. His handiwork, which had seemed ingenious at first, had now sealed their fate to remain encased together eternally and him alone, watching. Continue reading

Closure

Tsunami

Copyright-Renee Homan Heath

‘For seven years, her face haunted me.  Her eyes wide in terror as the wave snatched her away from my arms.  She didn’t cry, just whimpered, like she knew.  I never said a word to her.  No “It’s going to be alright,” or anything. Because there was no time for goodbyes.  One second she was there, her small hands clutched around my neck, the next second she wasn’t.

‘But now standing on this beach again; sunny, peaceful like no disaster – no tsunami – had ever happened, I think it’s a better place than most to lie and rest. ‘ Continue reading

1944

Copyright-Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Copyright-Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

We hid in a convent under beds.  The thing I remember most is the shivering cold fear forcing me to cry out.  I remember feeling the ground vibrating before I heard the loud stomping of boots, step by approaching step. My arms, legs went numb.  I can still see my mother’s eyes, wide, looking at father under the bed across us, and him cupping my brothers’ mouths. Feet appeared in the aisle. I remember scraping on the floor, Adam screaming and never a sound from father or David.  And that was that. I never saw them again.

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At the Dingy Diner

dingy diner

Copyright Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Fifty-four today and I is back to bussin’ tables. Is this better than what I was doin’ the past thirty years? Dun matter! Can’t go back anyhoo.  Ma ankles are bust, can’t walk on them heels no more.  Ma tummy’s saggin’ – can’t pull off them tube tops I liked. Damn teeth are yellowin’.  Past five years ‘ve been hard. Barely ever got picked up. Them truckers know what they’re lookin’ fo’.  Young skinny bitches is what! But this here waitressin’, ain’t all bad.  Old clients tip well, better than they did back in their trucks. So is this better? You tell me.

Seeing that I did not post anything yesterday (busy, busy, busy!) I thought I owed you an extra post today.  I fished this from an old Friday Fictioneers photo challenge. It is from 24th October 2012 to be exact.  I only discovered this website a week ago, and I am really liking it!