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 follows the prompt for those who might be distracted by reading a story before writing their own . I enjoy your comments.
Genre: Literary Fictoin
Word Count: 99
“You should get a Kindle.”
“Convenience. It doesn’t take up any room and you can download a whole library. Think about it, sis. Call me later.”
Charlene hung up the phone and sighed. Since the accident Donna, the quintessential caretaker, had only gotten worse. Always trying to improve Charlene’s life.
But Charlene didn’t want an impersonal, electronic-voice activated device. She loved the scent and texture of books.
“Where was I?” Skimming her fingertips along the raised dots on the page, she savored her inner voices. “‘The library was a little old shabby place. Francie thought it was beautiful.’”
The quote at the end is from A Tree Grows in Brooklyn by Betty Smith. Since the first time I read it as an eleven-year-old it’s remained at the top of my re-reading list.