Freak

Her arms slithered around my waist, slowly; seductively caressing down, down my legs and up again. Continue reading

Advertisements

A Moonlit Dance

window-dressing-janet-webb

Copyright – Janet Webb

Mrs Pry tsked to herself; that dress had been up there all week.  She had assumed at first that it must be some sort of Halloween decoration, but that apartment was still uninhabited.  Mrs Pry curled her lips and let the curtain fall, mumbling and grumbling to herself all the way to bed.

Mrs Pry was deep asleep when clouds parted and revealed the full circular moon.  And she was snoring loudly when the dress shifted, and floated up, making a bee-line across the city to where a pair of trousers and a shirt waited, ready for a dance.

For Friday Fictioneers; I loved the picture this week, so enthralling, but I keep thinking I’ve seen it somewhere, maybe on TV.  Oh well! Hope you liked the story.

Statistics

I watched him as his hardened eyes focused on the screen; men in camo covered in dust, a mike shoved under their unwilling mouths, replying to questions in a rehearsed monotone.  Colour abandoned his face, shriveled out of him like water from a sponge forgotten in the sun.  A hundred condolences rushed to my tongue, none adequate.  I stepped forward instead, and placed my hand on his shoulder. But his eyes, now red, never left the TV, his mind wondering only of the son he’d lost; the one standing next to him a mere presence trespassing on his grief.

This is in response to Trifecta’s challenge:

Color: complexion tint:

  a : the tint characteristic of good health

  b : blush

I changed it to the British version, but the word is still there, up for your critique.  Thanks for reading.

The Troll Invasions

lamps

Copyright – Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

We used to sit around the table, all five of us, every Sunday at lunch.  Until the trolls invaded and all my boys left; called up and conscripted.

I harvested the land with the women, and waited at the gate every sundown.  Those who returned were unrecognizable.  A guilty thought chafed at me; if this is what they came back as, did I want my boys to return?

But the choice was never mine.

Three of us sit at the table now in haunted silence, staring into the fires of the two lit lamps; a tribute to our dead.

For this episode of Friday Fictioneers, I went with fantasy.  I hope you like it.