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24 March 2017

Published March 22, 2017 by rochellewisoff

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The next photo is the PROMPT. Remember, all photos are property of the photographer, donated for use in Friday Fictioneers only. They shouldn’t be used for any other purpose without express permission. It is proper etiquette to give the contributor credit. 

PHOTO PROMPT © J Hardy Carroll

PHOTO PROMPT © J Hardy Carroll

Please be considerate and try to keep your story to 100 words. Thank you. 

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Genre: Fiction

Word Count: 100


Mystery shrouded the vacant house at the end of the block.

According to the fifteen-year-old newspaper article I found while researching for a term paper, the place belonged to a young couple. One night someone broke in and savagely gutted Mrs. Jenson in her eighth month.

I asked my parents about it.

“Mr. Jenson hung himself,” said Dad. “Pity, they never found the baby.”

Mom flinched. “Glad they’re finally tearing that eyesore down.”

Dad’s spectral smile vanished and Mom turned ice-white when I presented them with the yellowed clipping and a photo of Mrs. Jenson who could’ve been my twin.

27 February 2015

Published February 25, 2015 by rochellewisoff

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The next picture is the PHOTO PROMPT. Where does it take you? Can you tell us in a hundred words or less? Take the road less traveled if you dare! 

My story follows the prompt and the blue inLinkz frog. I enjoy comments and welcome constructive crit. 


PHOTO PROMPT –© Dawn Q. Landau

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Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100


            “A moving picture is the last thing I want to see, Amy,” said Lizzie Le Prince. “‘The Great Train Robbery,’ indeed—starring Thomas Edison as the ring leader.”

            Amy patted Lizzie’s hand. “Let it go, dear. It’s been thirteen years.”

            “It was Edison all right. He had Louis murdered for his invention and tried to take sole credit.”

            “Police didn’t find any evidence. Louis just vanished without a trace.”

            Across the aisle in the darkened theater an elderly man peered at them over his program.

            “Poor Lizzie, my dear little martinet,” Louis whispered. “Perhaps a simple divorce would’ve been kinder.”            



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