WELCOME TO FRIDAY FICTIONEERS!

A Happy Valentine’s Day

Henry David Thoreau said it best.

“It’s not what you look at that matters, it’s what you see.”

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 

 

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Genre: Let the Farce be with you.

Word Count: 96

TAKE A NUMBER

            “To Randall B. Johnson. My first husband.” Marilee raised her glass. “Good riddance.”  

            “To my Randy,” Juanita lifted her half empty goblet. “The snake. Glad I divorced him.”  

            “Yeah, but he was pretty, wasn’t he?”

            “Pretty slimy.”

            “I hear he’s getting married again.”

            “Who’d be that stupid?”

            Juanita raised an eyebrow. “Two ex-Mrs. Johnsons walk into a bar.”

            “You could’ve warned me.”

            “Like you’d have listened?”  

            “There is that.” Marilee sipped her sangria and relished its bitter-sweetness.  “Suppose we should educate the future ex-Mrs. Rat Bastard Johnson?”

            “Nah, let’s just plan on a threesome next year.”