Be it ever so dysfunctional there’s no place like meho

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As always, please be considerate of your fellow Fictioneers and keep your stories to 100 words. (Title is not included in the word count.) Many thanks.

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.

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The holiday season is upon us and I find myself to be busier than a one-armed paper hanger. Between the mandatory gifting, my husband’s birthday the 15th, book signings/art shows, and working on a new novel that’s taking up quite a bit of head-space, I’ve taken the liberty to craft this dreadful run-on sentence and also to post some reruns this month. The photo and story are from December 14, 2012 Some may remember it. For those of you who wrote a story for this prompt, feel free to post a rerun. The photographer of this prompt has been MIA for a while, but I assure you, our disc flinger is alive, well, and happy.

Genre: Realistic Fiction

Word Count: 100

UNHOLY BONDS

Somewhere between “I do” and diapers Gavin’s winsome bride turned into a nattering, self-centered shrew. Everything he said or did she took as either an affront or lack of caring.

If he brought her flowers she accused him of seeing another woman. If he made overtures she accused him of treating her like a sex object.

Eventually he gave up trying to fix their relationship and escaped to his garage sanctuary.

One afternoon Lois stood over him, packed suitcase and their three-year-old son in tow. “I’m leaving.”

“Pick up a quart of milk.”

“For good.”

He smiled. Peace at last!

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Please be considerate of 70 or more participants and keep your story to 100 words. Thank you.

PHOTO PROMPT © Carla Bicomong

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Genre: Realistic Fiction

Word Count: 100

WHAT A GREAT LIFE IT MUST SEEM

“You’re such a success, Elise.” says Mary. “I’m jealous.”

“You got it all, girlfriend,” Barbara adds. “You’re a published author and an artist? If I could do what you do, I’d truly be happy.”

Her compliment is coupled with a longing gaze at Elise’s recently finished seascape.

A mixture of pride and something other than joy floods Elise as her admirers kiss her cheek and leave. She sinks to her knees under the weight of her adult daughter’s scathing words, spewed in anger the night before. Her accusations haunt Elise and reduce her to ash.

“I’m such a failure.”