love

The Dress

/ Dee / 43 Comments

I sneaked off last week, did you miss me?  I spent a week in Spain, just outside Puerto Banus; I found the sun ( must tell Sandra) enjoyed some lovely food and a really relaxing time. I missed Friday Fictioneers due to poor internet connection, so have a lot of catching up to do. Thanks go as usual to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for keeping FF going each week, where would we be without her?

Thanks for the photograph this week go to Janet Webb.  It is  very intriguing and I’m sure it will provide some very imaginitive stories from the great writers who support Friday Fictioneers every week.

window-dressing-janet-webb

Genre: Fiction

Word Count: 100

The Dress

Larry looked up, the dress was still there. It was magnificent. Molly would look fantastic in it. He imagined her on his arm, walking together into the Annual Dinner; making a great entrance, the talk of the club for once. They were broke, but she deserved something new. If it was still there tomorrow night, he’d climb up and take it.

Antonio looked up at the painting and smiled, he had the perspective just right.  He went back upstairs to his ‘studio’ and added the few brushstrokes needed to finish it.

Larry had never heard of Trompe l’Oeil

Standing Still

/ Dee / 20 Comments

Thanks this week go to Sarah Ann Hall for her photograph entitled “Aqueduct” and to the wordsmith Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for continuing the Fabulous Friday Fictioneers.

aqueduct-sarah-ann-hall

Genre: Romantic fiction

Word Count: 100

Standing Still

…In the distance, the spectacular Pont du Gard, a reminder of the Romans’ talent for engineering, built centuries ago to carry water from the springs at Uzes to the Roman garrison in Nimes.

I switch off my voice recorder. It’s early and hot, what exactly am I doing here? I should have ignored Sally’s advice to get back to work; she was wrong, I’m not enjoying it!

I enjoyed having a husband. Now I feel directionless, insular, empty, separate.

The air changes, becomes still. I can sense Adam is beside me.

I relax and breathe the sweet fragrance of life.

Footprints in the Sand

/ Dee / 55 Comments

Once more we gather, we growing band of Fervent Friday Fictioneers, drawn together by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Each Wednesday she posts a photo prompt to tempt us, this week the photo is courtesy of Janet Green. Join us as we try to write a very short story – 100 words, or a poem – same rules apply.

An eternity I was lost at sea in search of your love
Never finding shore nor
seeing one on the horizon
Lost in the vast emptiness that was
everywhere
Your ocean of love eventually giving me life
Binding us
together as husband and wife

(extract from “Sea of Love” – by Bill Turner)

 

wasp-nest

Genre: Romantic fiction

Word Count: 100

Footprints in the Sand

Wandering by the shore, her slender feet leave footprints in the damp, pale sand. The returning tide bubbles into rockpools and swirls over pebbles, she wonders how long it will be until all signs of her are washed away.

Her green dress billows softly on the breeze; a thin strap falls onto a freckled arm, resting there unnoticed as she stares out at the ocean. Reluctantly, she turns back to their rented holiday villa. Has the grey cloud of suspicion and resentment followed them to this tranquil little paradise? Seeing the expression on his face, she rather thinks it has.

(This is an extract from a short story I wrote about marriage; how it  can go wrong, what it takes to get it back on track)

 

Waiting

/ Dee / 42 Comments

As a little white rabbit said “I’m late, I’m late…”

But I managed to pull something together eventually.  The thing about Friday Fictioneers is the big hook, once you’re on you just don’t want to wriggle off!  The photo this week is courtesy of Lora Mitchell and the Friday Fictioneers are lovingly corralled each week by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

lilies-lora-mitchell

Genre: Fiction

Word Count:  100

Waiting

Martha stares out at the city one last time.

Seems she is always waiting.

She had waited for a husband to love.

She had waited a while for their first child.

She had waited in vain for their second.

She had waited for her husband to love her as she loved him.

 

She waits for the bus, holding one bag and one silent child, ‘can’t have any more that don’t speak’

She waits at her mother’s door for the comforting arms that will hold them both; for the heart that is bigger than the ocean, to envelop them in love.