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The following is the PHOTO PROMPT. Express permission is given for the purpose of Friday Fictioneers only. It is proper etiquette to give credit to the photographer/contributor. Thank you.
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Genre: Historical Fiction circa 1950
Word Count: 100
MOONS AND JUNES AND FERRIS WHEELS
Eighteen-year-old Tammy set the cake on the table. “Seventy-five candles, Grammy.”
Phoebe blew with all her might. “Wish James was here to celebrate with us.” Winded, she leaned back and shut her eyes. “We met in 1893. I was your age.
“May I sit here, Miss?”
Phoebe gazed into his startling blue eyes. “Certainly.”
“Think this contraption is safe?”
From their car at the top of the observation wheel, an unheard of 264 feet, she took in the whole fair. Heart pounding, she grasped his hand. He squeezed hers.
Tammy squeezed Phoebe’s stiff hand. “Give Gramps a kiss for me.”
For a little more about the Ferris Wheel CLICK HERE
The original Ferris Wheel at the Chicago Worlds Fair in 1893
PHOTO PROMPT © Lucy Fridkin
This is an absolute first for me! I’ve never posted a second Friday Fictioneers story. However, after reading Kent Bonham’s STOOD UP? and the ensuing comments between readers and author, it seemed to cry out for the other side of the story. Maybe it’s all those plummy Hallmark channel holiday movies, but here’s my take.
Genre: Romantic Fiction
Word Count: 100
John came into the café at least twice a week. Julie looked forward to his wit and comfortable repartee.
He checked his watch for the fifth time. The disappointment in his eyes made Julie ache as she poured his water.
“Perhaps she got hung up in traffic.”
“Nah. Stood up again.”
Maybe there was something she could do after all—for both of them. Heart pounding, Julie made an excuse about her shift ending and dashed to the back room to change.
John’s mouth dropped when she returned and squeezed his hand. “Sorry, I’m late. I had to work.”
As I post my latest Friday Fictioneer’s story it’s Friday Eve. That’s Thursday in some parts of the world. For other stories from our growing global community click here. You’ll find a wealth of one hundred word stories inspired by this single photograph from Jan Morrill.
Summer 1969, an American sailor stationed in Greece, I went on leave to Santorini.
In Pyrgos, I met sable-eyed Melina.
We drank each other. Her fragrant breasts welcomed me home.
“Marry me,” I whispered.
After that I never saw her again.
Summer 2010, I returned to Pyrgos.
On the street I stopped a silver-haired woman. “Melina Dimitri? Do you know her?”
“I love her.”
“Impossible! She was my great-grandmother. Died in childbirth in 1846. Here she is with my great-grandfather.”
When the woman flipped out a daguerreotype I gasped at the youthful images of Melina and…me.