WELCOME TO FRIDAY FICTIONEERS.
As always, writers are encouraged to be as innovative as possible with the prompt and 100 word constraints.
Henry David Thoreau said it best.
“It’s not what you look at that matters, it’s what you see.”
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THE CHALLENGE:
Write a one hundred word story that has a beginning, middle and end. (No one will be ostracized for going over or under the word 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 FICTION. (Should you find that you’ve made an error you can delete by clicking the little red ‘x’ that should appear under your icon. Then re-enter your URL. (If there’s no red x email me at Runtshell@aol.com. I can delete the wrong link for you).
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- Make note in your blog if you’d prefer not to have 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 prompt for those who might be distracted by reading a story before writing their own . I enjoy your comments.
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Copyright-Ted Strutz
Genre: Literary Fiction
Word Count: 100
HANAI
I met Kevin online. Our connection began with shared interests and blossomed into more.
“You should visit in person,” said my sister.
“Fat chance. He’s in Hawaii, I’m in Nebraska.”
Last week I received an airline ticket.
“Next Saturday. Icon Grill. Seattle.
Aloha,
Kevin.”
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He slides into the booth across from me. “You bring it?”
From my purse I take a faded photograph of twins, a boy and a girl. Korean War orphans. I’ve carried it for forty years.
His almond-shaped eyes crinkle as he fishes an identical photo from his wallet.
“Jah-meh, I always hoped to find you.”
*Jah-meh – Korean for sister