Friday Fictioneers: Favorite Spot

Copyright - C. Hase

Copyright – Douglas M. MacIlroy

Tails flicked back and forth, causing underwater eddies that swirled the surface. Uriah flipped a pebble into the water, watching the koi scatter and twirl, their bright colors flashing in the sunlight.

Officer Kennedy called out to him. “Uriah, I’m here.”

Uriah looked up at the man who had comforted him, eyes dead. “I can’t leave them.”

Officer Kennedy shook his head. “They wouldn’t want this, Uriah.”

“We’ll never know.” He looked at the fish, their red and white colors reminding him of when he found his family. “This was my parents favorite spot.”

“Please, don’t!”

“Goodbye, Officer Kennedy.” The gunshot tore through the quiet of the pond.

Word Count: 108

Friday Fictioneers time again. Every Wed. we receive a prompt from Rochelle for that Friday. The challenge is to create a story in 100 words or less (although a few extra words won’t be held against you 🙂 ). Follow the link and read some great stories. Nearly 100 people take part every week, so you’re sure to find something to tickle your fancy. It is open to everyone, so feel free to write your own and join in the fun! This weeks prompt is the picture above, donated to the cause by Douglas M. MacIlroy.

Happy Reading and Writing!

J. Milburn

Trifecta #101-The Horror…The…Horror

“You don’t really expect me to sit through all of this, do you?”

My mom grins and waggles her eyebrows. “No, Mr. Bond. I expect you to die.”

Lord, save me from moms who think they’re funny. On stage, six-year-old girls prance about, make-up caked on like I imagine a low-rent hooker would have hers and dressed much the same. I lean over closer to Mom; Dad’s giving me the stink-eye for talking so loud. “You know pedophiles are all over this like a fat kid on cake, right?”

“Jared, just sit and watch. Your sister likes doing these pageants.”

I look around. Most of the auditorium chairs sit empty, except for helicopter moms living vicariously through their little girls and a few suspicious guys in trench-coats. “I’m going to boo.”

Dad grabs my arm and squeezes. Hard. “Do, and learn a brand-new definition of pain. Quit being selfish and support your sister.”

I sit back and pout through the rest of the disgusting display. Some living doll, replete with plastic skin and Vaseline smile, wins. Sis comes in fifth. I hope the loss means no more of these “beauty” pageants, but I know it means Mom will just go crazier.

Sis and I sit in the car, quiet as Mom critiques her performance. I try to tune out, but the words “a little more butt when you dance” pierce the veil. I try not to gag.

We get home and Sis goes upstairs. Dad heads into the kitchen and Mom looks at me. “You know, I don’t think she can win.”

“Wonderful, we can stop this crap then.”

Mom’s eyes take on a manic gleam. “Oh, no.” She grabs my chin. “You have such fine bone structure. You could win.”

Dad comes out with a butcher knife in his hand. “Now you just need to be a girl.” Mom grabs me and the knife descends.

I bolt upright, sweating hard. No more burritos smothered in cheese and ranch during Toddlers & Tiaras.

Word Count: 333

Trifecta time! This weeks prompt: 33 to 333 words and only one them of needs to be-


1 (interjection)
used to express contempt or disapproval or to startle or frighten2 (noun)
a sound that people make to show they do not like or approve of someone or something

3 (verb) to show dislike or disapproval of someone or something by shouting “Boo” slowly

– See more at:

Use the third definition, which is the verb form of boo. Head on over to read some interesting stories by some great writers. Enter your own and join the fun!

Happy Reading and Writing!

J. Milburn

Speakeasy #133-Deja Vu

The windshield wipers swished back and forth, pushing rain and ice into a wall along the windshield. Frankie leaned over the steering wheel, squinting to try to see through the downpour. Rachel fiddled with the radio as she stared out the window at the  unbroken line of bare trees zipping past. Static crackled through the car, competing with tinkling of sleet against the windows and the whoosh of heat blasting out of vents.

Frankie cut his eyes over to Rachel. A few bars of music floated from the speakers before fading back to static. He thought it might have been “This is Halloween” from The Nightmare Before Christmas. “I can’t believe you didn’t write down the directions.”

Rachel stirred and turned away further, her reflection in the window showing the anger in her eyes. “It wasn’t my idea to go to some stupid party. wanted to stay in and watch scary movies.”

“Funny. ‘I want to stay in and watch movies’ sounded a lot like ‘okay, sounds like fun’ when you said it.”

“Shut-up, Franklin.” He turned his gaze back to the blurred road, knuckles whitening on the wheel.

They drove in silence for a few miles. The car felt sluggish, but picked back up when he pressed the accelerator. Frankie heard a bang and the engine started knocking; the check engine light glowed in the darkness. “Damn it all!”

“What now?”

He gestured at the dashboard. “Something’s wrong with the damn engine!”

“There’s no reason to yell at me.” She leaned forward and peered through the deluge. “Do you see a light up there?”

He squinted harder. “Yeah. Maybe we can find a phone there…if we make it.”

The car sputtered and jerked, but managed to get them into town before dying. Main street was like a ghost town, except for one lit storefront. “Stay here. I’ll go see if they have a phone.” Frankie pulled his jacket over his head and bailed out of the car, running through the rain.

He reached the door of the lit building and burst through it, shaking the water from his hair and body. “Whew! Sucks out there.”

He paused as dozens of faces stared at him. He saw women dressed as flappers sitting with men dressed like extras from Saturday Night Fever. Men in zoot-suits played cards with cowboys, while women in 15th-century dresses served them drinks from large metal pitchers. Frankie’s eyes lit up. “Hey! You guys having a Halloween party?”

“GET OUT!” A man dressed like a Revolutionary War soldier limped out from behind the bar. “Leave! We don’t want you here.”

Frankie held up placating hands. “Listen, man, my car died and I need a phone. No need for any drama.”

“We don’t have any phones! Leave now!”

Frankie’s fists curled into balls. “What’s your problem? It’s freezing out there…” He stopped and backed up when the soldier pulled a musket down from the wall and aimed it at him. Chairs scraped the floor as all the sitting men stood. Frankie noticed they all had guns. “Whoa! Easy, fellas. I don’t want any trouble.”

The soldier fired the musket into the ceiling and weapons filled the hands of the other men. “GET OUT!”

Frankie turned and ran. He raced down the street. Rachel started to get out of the car. “GET IN!”

She got back in the car, her confusion plain. Frankie jerked open his door and jumped inside. The car started up with a roar, and he slammed down the gas. Wheels smoked and the car fishtailed a bit in the slush as he zoomed down the street, out of the crazed town and back into the forested road.

“What the hell’s going on?”

“Those crazy bastards were going to kill me!”

The radio clicked on and a few bars of “This is Halloween” appeared then faded. Something in the engine banged and the check engine light glowed in the darkness. “I can’t believe this!” Frankie shouted.

Rachel looked out the windshield. “It looks like there’s another town just ahead.”

“Hopefully they aren’t crazy.”

The car sputtered and jerked, but brought them into town before dying. They rolled to a stop and a flash of lightning highlighted the Revolutionary soldier. He opened the car door, a look of sadness on his face.  “I had hoped we got you out of here in time, but I fear not.”

He took off his hat and held it over his heart. “Welcome to New Roanoke, your new home…forever.”

Word Count: 750

Speakeasy time again. Hope you enjoyed the story. Head on over to their site and check out some great stories by some great writers. Enter your own and join in the fun. This week they’re giving away a copy of American Supernatural Tales and New Cthulhu: The Recent Weird to some lucky winners.

Happy Reading and Writing!

J. Milburn

The Rules:

  • your post must be dated October 27, 2013, or later
  • submissions must be 750 words or fewer
  • submissions must be fiction or poetry, including fictional accounts of true stories
  • your piece must include the following sentence ANYWHERE (except the title): “Main Street was like a ghost town, except for one lit storefront.
  • though your post is NOT about the media prompt above, you must make some reference to it
  • the speakeasy is designed for submissions written specifically for the grid. Please do not submit an entry if you intend to showcase it to another blog link-up. Such posts are deleted without notice.
  • please do not post explanations, qualifications or other stuff prior to the beginning of your post. If you need to clarify anything, feel free to do so briefly at the end.
  • the badge for your speakeasy #133 post is found in the sidebar. Be sure to add the code to the html view of your post before publishing. Come back on Tuesday and add your link!


Today’s Author WriteNow- 10-16

Dispatch: 911. What is the nature of your emergency?

Caller: Hello? Hello?

Dispatch: Yes, ma’am. What is the nature of your emergency.

Caller: Uh…my boyfriend. He won’t leave. He said he was leaving an hour ago, but he’s still standing in the driveway.

Dispatch: Is he threatening you?

Caller: No. We, uh, we had a fight. I told him to get out. Go back upstairs, Claire. Now!

Dispatch: Do you live at 716 Linden Drive?

Caller: What? Oh. Yes.

Dispatch: What is your name, ma’am?

Caller: Kelli.

Dispatch: Ok, Kelli. Is your door locked?

Caller: Yes, but he has a key. (unintelligible) Hey! I called the police! They’re on their way!

Dispatch: Kelli. Kelli! I’m going to have to ask you not to antagonize him.

Caller: Sorry. (unintelligible)…he doing? Oh, God!

Dispatch: Kelli, tell me what’s happening.

Caller: Claire! Lock your door and get in your closet! Oh, God! He has a gun!

Dispatch: Kelli, keep calm. Do you have an upstairs or room that can be locked?

Caller: (unintelligible) (crying sounds) He’s at the door! Oh, God! Please, help me.

Dispatch: Units are en route. Kelli, you need to find a place to hide.

Caller: Claire! What are you doing? I told you to hide upstairs! (scream) Oh my God, he’s inside. (male voice) Think you can (unintelligible)…me? (gunshots)

Dispatch: Kelli? Kelli!

Caller: (male voice) Kelli can’t come to the phone right now…You stay there, Claire! It’ll be alright. I wouldn’t hurt you.

Dispatch: Sir, what is your name?

Caller: Stop crying, Claire! What? Bobby.

Dispatch: Bobby, please put the weapon down. You don’t want to scare Claire, do you?

Caller: No. I love that little girl. I love Kelli. She was going to take her away from me. I…I just couldn’t let that happen. I (unintelligible)…I love her. What did I do?

Dispatch: Bobby, please. Is Kelli still breathing?

Caller: No. There…there’s so much blood. Oh, God, baby. I’m so sorry. What did I do? (scream)

Dispatch: Bobby? Bobby! I know this is hard, but I need you to put your weapon down and wait outside of the house. Can you do that, please?

Caller: I…I…(unintelligible) Claire? I’m so sorry. What’s that? Cops? I can’t go back to jail! I won’t go back. Don’t worry, Claire. I’m going to see Mommy and tell her I’m sorry. (gunshot) (girl screaming)

Dispatch: Bobby? Jesus. Bobby? (shouting) Claire! Claire! Can you hear me? Jesus, please be okay.

Caller: Dispatch?

Dispatch: Yes.

Caller: This is Officer Wheeler. Looks like the suspect killed…

Dispatch: Is Claire still in the room?

Caller: Christ. Jeffries, get the girl out of here! Snap to, rookie! Her name is Claire. Sorry. Jesus, this is a mess.

Dispatch: Ambulances are en route as is Social Services.

Caller: Good. Kid’s going to need it.

Dispatch: Is she hurt?

Caller: The kid? Not physically, no. She’s covered in blood, but it doesn’t seem to be hers.

Dispatch: Christ.

Caller: I know. Listen, my rookie’s getting sick. I need to go take care of the kid and secure the scene.

Dispatch: Take care of her, please.

Caller: Will do, Samantha. Sorry.

call ended

Well, my light-hearted interlude was certainly brief. All of two hours. This is my contribution to the Today’s Author WriteNow challenge for October 25. The prompt: He said he was going to leave an hour ago, but he’s still in the driveway.

Note: According to a “ten-code” list I found here a 10-16 is the code for a domestic disturbance. If you know of a different code, please let me know.

Comments, as always, are welcome.


Trifextra #91-H.B. just don’t give a damn

The whispers are loud and strident. My arm twitches, wanting to attack, but I reel it back. I just walk, not caring.

That happens when you have a honey badger for an arm.

Word Count: 33

Trifextra Time again! This weeks prompt is based off Roald Dahl’s poem The Tummy Beast. The challenge: use 33 words in poem or prose to describe a beast in an unusual place. My entry is just a light bit of silliness with the Honey Badger meme. Hope you enjoy it. Head on over to Trifecta and read the other entries. Maybe enter your own and join the fun!