Mass suicide

This week Pegman goes to Guyana, South America. Your mission is to write up to 150 words inspired by this week’s location. Feel free to use the image supplied with the prompt, or zoom in to Guyana on Google Maps and find your own inspiration. Warning, there are not a lot of photo spheres, but the more you zoom around the more you’ll find.

Once your piece is polished, share it with others at the link up below. You may contribute, poetry, prose, or essay–or whatever the location inspires you to write. Reading and commenting is part of the fun!

click the frog. You know you want to.

Thanks to Karen and Josh for facilitating this challenge.

The following is an expanded version of a story I posted 4 years ago in Friday Fictioneers. For those of us who remember…let us never forget.

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 150

WHITE NIGHTS

Like a frightened animal, the girl huddled in the darkest corner of an abandoned shack on the beach. I offered her refuge in my winter home in Bridgetown. After much coaxing she accepted.

“Where are your parents?” I asked. “Do they know where you are?”

She fell into my arms, shaking with anguished sobs. “Dead. Everyone’s dead.”

I embraced her, unable to stem my own tears. “You’re safe now.”

“He promised us a rainbow family in Paradise,” she whispered the next day over lunch.

“We saw the bastard on the news. How did you escape?”

“I told the guard Father wanted flowers for the meeting. I hid under bushes all day, ran all night and then stole a fishing boat. I floated a long time.” She licked her blistered lips.

“Scorcher today.” My husband burst onto the patio, pitcher in hand. “Kool-Aid anyone?”

“No, thank you.” She choked. “Not ever.”

DRINKING THE KOOL-AID

WELCOME TO FRIDAY FICTIONEERS!

Seize the opportunity to free your muse and allow her take you on a magic carpet ride.

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.
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TO THOSE WRITING HISTORICAL FICTION (MYSELF INCLUDED): While WIKIPEDIA is usually a decent source of information, it’s not always reliable one. As a rule, I use it as a jumping off point to other research threads. It’s a good rule of thumb to use more than one source. I speak from experience when I say that a simple 100 word story can bring serious repercussions.

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- ***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.
Copyright-John Nixon

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Genre: Historical Fiction
Word Count: 100
DATE WITH DESTINY

I chew on a date, savor its sweetness and spit the seed into my hand. The Romans will soon be upon us like ravenous hyenas.

Perhaps someone will plant this seed and a date-palm will spread its leaves in our memory.

“Amrit, my beloved, it’s time.” Yonah unsheathes his sword.

“Aim true, husband. Be swift.”

I drop the seed into a jar, utter a prayer and gather my infant son to my breast. His mouth is moist and warm as my life flows into his. I focus on his innocent eyes and wait for Yonah’s blade to set us free.
For the story that inspired this story click here.