“Grandma made it, says it’ll take her home.”
“Dunno, Dad, she doesn’t make sense anymore.”
“Yeah,” he said, jingling the chains.
“Last week she told me a nude Harry Truman kept waking her up at night”
“Truman gave me the schematics.” Grandma said, shuffling up behind her son and granddaughter who turned to give her a hand. “Said it’ll take us home, said it’s my time. Don’t know why he’s nude though.”
“Who welded…” her son began, turning toward the contraption, but it was gone. There was a black mark in the grass where it had sat just seconds before. A faint metallic smell hung in the air. He jumped back, startled.
“Mom! What…” He began, turning back to question the old woman.
But she was gone too.
Friday Fictioneers: 100 word stories inspired by a photo that Rochelle Wisoff-Fields posts every week. This week’s photo courtesy of Douglas M. MacIlroy .
A Quick Disclaimer: This story is a tiny bit blasphemous (maybe, depending on how sensitive you are). Carry on if you’re ok with that.
Jesus: The Early Years
The sound of waves on the shore woke Jesus. He opened His eyes slowly; His head ached and He could tell already His pants were missing. He sat up, “Hey!” He croaked, coughing and struggling to get to His feet. “Hey! Peter! Get up!”
Peter rose gingerly and stumbled towards the water, “I gotta take a piss,” he said. “Man! How much water did you turn to wine last night anyway? I mean look at that chair! Did you get tired of walking out there or something?”
Jesus looked around, He couldn’t remember any of it.
Peter unzipped his pants by the lake, “Jesus Christ! Your Dad’s gonna be pissed!”
Friday Fictioneers: 100 word stories inspired by a photo that Rochelle Wisoff-Fields posts every week. This week’s photo courtesy of Ted Strutz.
It’s a museum now, with a purple door. I remember the purple being darker. And I remember my grandmother’s fresh pfeffernüsse cookies that once lingered behind that door on so many Saturday mornings.
I didn’t know then that not every grandma hid families in the attic, families you could never speak of. Until the day they came to take the families away, and they took my grandmother too, the neighbor’s yelling “Juden” and ” Schieß” at all of us, even though we weren’t Jewish. I never saw my grandmother again.
Tears fall hot down my face as I touch the gold chain. At least now their memories will be honored. Finally.
Friday Fictioneers: 100 word stories inspired by a photo that Rochelle Wisoff Fields posts every week. This weeks photo courtesy of ceayr.
There was only one valuable thing on the shelf, and it was making him sweat. He prayed no one else would pick it up, he prayed she would notice it.
“Well let’s go down to the beach then,” she said to him.
“Wait, look at this…rock. With the face,” he said.
She smiled at him in placation. “Yeah, It’s…a face.”
Possibly out of boredom, since they had stood at the old case for an awkwardly long time, her hand moved to the silver box. His heart skipped a beat when she picked it up and he felt faint when she opened it. But when she gasped and asked if it was for her, he relaxed. And as she took the ring out of the box, he dropped down on one knee.
Friday Fictioneers: A story in 100 words prompted by a photo posted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. This weeks picture provided by Claire Fuller.