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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- ***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
As of 20 February the consensus is that my Genre is Horror 😉
Word Count: 98
BELLING THE CAT
Undaunted by the prospect of childbirth and motherhood, the epitome of idealistic youth, I cheerfully welcomed the task ahead. I’d show everyone how it’s done. What could possibly go wrong?
After an excruciating and humbling thirty-six hour labor and breech birth, Mara, my 8 pound lioness, roared forth into the world.
From infancy to puberty, she has marked her territory well.
Light glints off my sixteen-year-old’s silver nose-ring and gaudy orange-dyed mane. I cringe like cornered prey when she growls and dangles my car keys from her black-nailed fingers.
“Mo-om, you promised to start my driving lessons today.”
Rochelle Wisoff-Fields-Addicted to Purple 