WELCOME TO FRIDAY FICTIONEERS.
As always, writers are encouraged to be as innovative as possible with the prompt and 100 word constraints.
Henry David Thoreau said it best.
“It’s not what you look at that matters, it’s what you see.”
Write a one hundred word story that has a beginning, middle and end. (No one will be ostracized for going over or under the word count.)
Make every word count.
- Copy your URL to the Linkz collection. You’ll find the tab following the photo prompt. It’s the little white box to the left with the blue froggy guy. Click on it and follow directions. This is the best way to get the most reads and comments.
- MAKE SURE YOUR LINK IS SPECIFIC TO YOUR FLASH FICTION. (Should you find that you’ve made an error you can delete by clicking the little red ‘x’ that should appear under your icon. Then re-enter your URL. (If there’s no red x email me at Runtshell@aol.com. I can delete the wrong link for you).
- Make note in your blog if you’d prefer not to have constructive criticism.
- REMINDER: This page is “FRIDAY FICTIONEERS CENTRAL” and is NOT the place to promote political or religious views. Also, you are responsible for the content of your story and policing comments on your blog. You have the right to delete any you consider offensive.
**Please exercise DISCRETION when commenting on a story! Be RESPECTFUL.**
Should someone have severe or hostile differences of opinion with another person it’s my hope that the involved parties would settle their disputes in private.
My story will follow the prompt for those who might be distracted by reading a story before writing their own . I enjoy your comments.
Genre: Historical Fiction
Word Count: 100
SUFFER THE LITTLE CHILDREN
When little more than a babe, I happened upon a nest of hornets in the churchyard. After a sennight of swelling, fever and Mother’s prayers, I was recovered.
“This child’s destiny from Almighty God is fraught with purpose,” cried Elder Martin.
As I grew to womanhood, nothing more was said of my destiny.
A fortnight ago I strolled with Elizabeth Martin and tripped upon another hornet’s nest. She perished from their relentless stings. Only a tiny welt arose upon my hand.
Red-hot flames sear my ankles. I scream and plead for mercy whilst Elder Martin shouts.
“Witch! Behold thy destiny!”
*Sennight-Old English word for a space of seven nights and days.