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.”

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**NOTE: Wednesday after next is Christmas (already?) In deference to those who will be busy with festivities and family I won’t post the photo prompt until Thursday the 26th.  I will also extend the link one more day. Thank you for your patience and understanding.**

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THE CHALLENGE:

Write a one hundred word story that has a beginning, middle and end. (No one will be ostracized for going a few words over the count.)

THE KEY:

Make every word count.

THE RULES:

• 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. 
  
• While our name implies “fiction only” it’s perfectly Kosher to write a non-fiction piece as long as it meets the challenge of being a complete story in 100 words.
• • ***PLEASE MAKE NOTE IN YOUR BLOG IF YOU PREFER NOT TO RECEIVE 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.

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•  My story follows the photo and link tool. I enjoy honest comments and welcome constructive criticism. 
• Shalom,

          Rochelle

Copyright – Adam Ickes

get the InLinkz code

Genre: Literary Fiction

Word Count: 100

UNEXPECTED GIFT-UNEXPECTED  TIME

            Charli’s hiking boots are caked with dried mud that defies my cleaning efforts.

            From her first cry, I dreamed of dressing my firstborn in pink pinafores with ruffled lace. But, before she turned two, Charli made it clear she detested pink.

            Since then, I’ve given birth to another tomboy and a son who happens to love pink. Go figure.

            After the accident on her thirteenth birthday, the boots were the only part of Charli I didn’t sell, toss or donate.

            I listen for the doorbell. In a moment I’ll meet the girl to whom I gave my daughter’s untamed heart.