castles made of sand fall into the sea eventually

“I’m so sorry, Mrs. Fleener,” Doctor Fensterblau told Mabel as Harry’s favorite Hendrix song played in the background.

“We couldn’t save him.”

Just then Harry was greeted by a tall, dapper, gaunt stranger.

“Ah, welcome, Mr. Fleener!” exclaimed his host in an ominous voice.

“I’m Mr. Monahan. Do sign in at the gate, won’t you?”

“Where am I?” Harry demanded to know.

“You’ll get your explanation in good time, my friend,” was Monahan’s reply.

Harry thought back to his French classes. “‘Sable’ rhymes with ‘diable’, he mused.

“That’s not all they have in common,” Monahan reminded him.

Rochelle Wisoff~Fields leads us weekly in Friday Fictioneers, an attempt to write a hundred~word story based upon a picture. This week’s photo prompt was supplied by Ceayr.

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Planned Parenthood, Partial.birth abortions, sale of baby parts

the mass murder of little children

all the young dudes

It was the second week of our junior year at St. John the Baptist.

Mike, Bill and I were listening to “Fame” in our music lab.

“Lennon co-wrote it,” I boasted,”So it must be good.”

Mike reminded us of “Jet” from McCartney’s “Band On the Run” album.

“I thought the major was a lady, suffragette,” he intoned.

When we weren’t too busy ogling all the lovely girls in school, we were always talking about music.

Eventually, to avoid trouble with Sister Christophine, we sat down and behaved. In our heads, though, we were grooving to Bowie.

Each week we, along with the help of Rochelle Wisoff~Fields, attempt to write a hundred~word story, Friday Fictioneers, inspired by a photograph. This week’s photo prompt was provided by her husband, Jan W. Fields.

the in crowd

“The Limelight is the most happening club in all the Village,” intoned our notorious sidekick, Boy.

Since our school days, Boy has always been hep to the jive, so we reckoned we could trust him.

“Always make sure you tell ’em you know Effie,” he assured us.

As we walked inside, the bouncer stamped our hands, as a Charles Mingus-type bassist played “Good-Bye Pork Pie Hat” in the corner.

“I like it here,” I thought. “The espresso is strong. The vibes are hep. The existentialist oddballs are good for a laugh. I’ll stick around for a while longer.”

Rochelle Wisoff~Field leads us in our weekly attempt to write a fictional story of one-hundred words, Friday Fictioneers. This week’s photo prompt was contributed by Amy Reese.

yet another beckett moment

“I’ve always had such a fondness for airports,” Albert told the pretty stewardess he met at the local terminal.

“When I was a boy, I lived within two miles of La Guardia, and my father practically always worked at Kennedy. In 1981 I even flew to Buffalo on the same plane as Cab Calloway.”

She kept him company as he waited for a friend of his, whom he was expecting within a half hour.

Hours went by and his friend never showed up.

“That miserable Godot has done it again!” he complained. “That’s at least the second time I know of”.

This week’s photo prompt is supplied by Melanie Greenwood. Rochelle Wisoff~Fields leads us weekly in Friday Fictioneers, an attempt to write a story of only one hundred words.