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.
• • ***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  

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Genre: Literary Fiction

Word Count: 100

C’EST LA VIE

            When I was a co-ed I married a professional baseball player.

            After a year, a specialist told us we’d never conceive.

            Jack refused to adopt. He couldn’t see himself raising “another man’s bastard.”

            Within weeks he divorced me and married a fan.    

            Devastated, I left for France. In Apremont-sur-Allier I found healing in Ranier’s arms.

            “All I have to offer is my farm and my love,” he said.  

            “I can’t give you children,” I said.    

             “All I want is your heart.” 

            Today we greeted our fourth son, the spitting image of his father.

            Jack? No runs. No hits. No heirs.