Friday Harbor

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 © Ted Strutz

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Genre: Missing-you-Ted-Fiction
Word Count: 100

TED TALK

“Ethel,” Cheryl rolled her eyes. “Are you going to play, or aren’t you?”

“I’m just not in the mood for cribbage.”

“What then, are you in the mood for?”

“Let’s talk about Ted.” Ethel whispered. “Do you think he’s forgotten us?”

“Never! We’re his ladies.” Cheryl curved her arm around Ethel’s shoulder. “I miss him, too. But y’know, he’s still snapping great photos and posting them on Facebook.”

“He’s always smiling in his pictures.”

Cheryl swallowed a rising lump. “I’m sure he misses us, too. Have you noticed the twinkle in his eyes? He still has a lot to say.”

*He is still sending photos. Ted Strutz joined Friday Fictioneers before I did. Cheryl and Ethel were his characters. He was encouraging to me when I took over the FF challenge. Four years ago he suffered a stroke. Like Cheryl said, there’s a twinkle in his eye and he still has a lot to say. ❤

I received a post card from Ted last week. It’s apparent that Ted is working off his back end in rehab and I was thrilled to get something written in his own hand. Keep up the good work, Ted! He asked if I could write a story about a lighthouse. So the following is my story.

Genre: Historical Fiction
Word Count: 100

KEEPERS OF THE LIGHT

“Play me a song, Mormor.” Six-year-old Agnes clapped her hands.

Helga Settles looked up from her bread dough. “Is that the proper way to ask your grandmother?”

The child pouted. “Please.”

Hilma poised her violin bow. “What would you like to hear, lilla gummun?”

Lilting music swelled the kitchen. Helga gazed out at the sea. Her Arvel, father of her five children, would soon be home from his twelve-hour shift at Lime Kiln Lighthouse. Tomorrow guests would fill their house.

She breathed in the aroma of baking sponge cake. Salmon sizzled on the stove. No one left Helga’s table hungry.