Invasion of Privacy

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PHOTO PROMPT © Susan Eames

“Whatcha you doin’ up there?” Vonetta asked Carlo, her big brown eyes wide with curiosity as she looked up at him.

“I’m trying to make a phone call,” he answered shortly.  “Now go and play or something.”

“Is the call important?”

Kids!  He sighed.  “Vonetta, I want to be alone.  I don’t want to be disturbed.  You know what privacy is, don’t you?”

“Yeah.  I know what it is but I just don’t understand why you had to climb up dat tree.”

He climbed down the tree.

“Where you goin’?”

“For a swim.”

“What ‘bout your call?”

“It can wait.”

 

100 Words

This was written for the Friday Fictioneers challenge hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields For more details, visit Here.  To read other stories based on this week’s prompt, visit Here.

No Aptitude

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Photo Credit: Susan Spaulding

 

“Why can’t your painting be beautiful like the rest of these?” Jonah’s mother demanded.

“I’m not good at painting,” Jonah replied and was rewarded with a censorious look.

“That’s because you don’t put much effort into it.  How do you expect to be good at something when you don’t try hard enough at it?  I’m sure the kids who painted these tried hard.  And, I don’t know why yours is up here.  It looks out of place.”

Mrs. Richards bristled but she tried to remain calm and professional.  “All of the pictures are put up, Mrs. Marshall,” she said.  “I don’t want any of the children to feel left out.  Not all children are artists.  Jonah is excellent at Math and Science.”

Mrs. Marshall didn’t look impressed.  “He can be excellent at Art too if he were to put his mind to it.”

“As I mentioned, not all children have an aptitude for Art…”

“My other son has an aptitude for every subject, Mrs. Richards.

“I’m sure he does, Mrs. Marshall, but Jonah isn’t his brother.  We really shouldn’t compare children, especially siblings.”

“Why don’t you stick to teaching and leave me to sort out my son?” was the retort.

 

200 Words

This was written for Sunday Photo Fiction hosted by Susan Spaulding. For more details visit Here.  To read more of the stories based on this week’s prompt, visit Here.

Let It All Go

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She watched the kids playing. Not so long ago, Michael was playing with them. He would have turned 11 on Friday. She recognized the kid whose father ran Michael down on his way home from school. Apparently, he was reaching for his cell when it happened.

He was serving time in prison but she was still angry. He killed her baby. Michael was all she had after his Dad died two years ago. Friends, family and coworkers urged her to move past her anger before it destroyed her. But, she just couldn’t do that.  Fighting back the fears, she turned away.

“Mrs. Thompson?”

She turned around. It was the man’s son. “Yes?”

“I’m sorry about Michael. He was my best friend.”

She didn’t answer.

“I know you’re still angry with my Dad. I was too.”

“How did you cope?”

“I asked God to help me.”

“How did he do that?”

“He showed me that being angry with Dad won’t bring Michael back.”

“What should I do with my anger?”

“Let it all go.”

“I’ll try.”

 

175 Words

This was written for Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers hosted by Priceless Joy and Joe. For more information visit Here.  To read other stories based on this week’s prompt, visit Here.

Embittered

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Photo by Akshata Ram

She sat at the window looking down at the playground where she used to go with her kids until that fateful afternoon when she was shot trying to hustle them away after learning that there was an armed suspect in the vicinity.  Her fingers gripped the handles of her wheelchair as hatred welled up inside her.  Whenever the pastor and church members visited her, they always quoted:  “And whenever you stand praying, if you have anything against anyone, forgive him, that your Father in heaven may also forgive you your trespasses.”

How could I forgive him? How could I forgive the person who robbed me of the use of my legs?  I’m useless to my husband and my kids.  I’m stuck in this contraption for the rest of my life.  No, I won’t forgive him. 

The door suddenly opened and her neighbor walked in.  “He’s dead!” she announced.

“Who?”

“The guy who shot you.”

The man who put me in this wheelchair is dead.  Why then do I feel regret instead of relief?

 

173 Words

This was written for Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers hosted by Priceless Joy and Joe. For more information visit Here.  To read other stories based on this week’s prompt, visit Here.

Meeting McKenzie

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Photo credit: JS Brand

I’m a happily married man with two adorable kids.  I’m standing here, in front of the magnificent Kelpies.  I remember the first time I brought my kids here.  Little Brody clung to my legs, terrified.  Cora’s eyes were huge in her little face as she gazed up at the massive sculptures.  I came here alone today.  The kids are in London with their Mom.

The day’s overcast.  I’m meeting McKenzie, the woman I’d gotten off on a murder charge due to lack of evidence.  She’s a stunning woman who married a man twenty years her senior.  His family had always believed that she’d married him for his money and that she was responsible for his death.  From all appearances, he’d died of a heart attack. There appeared to be no foul play.  When she received the not guilty verdict, his family was visibly upset and fought bitterly to contest his will which left everything to her.

“Hello, Counselor,” her voice interrupts my thoughts.  I turn to face her, my heart pounding.  “I was worried you wouldn’t show.”

I swallow hard.  “I almost didn’t.”

“I’m glad you did,” she says as she walks away.  I follow.

We head for the hotel.

 

200 Words

This was written for Sunday Photo Fiction hosted by Susan Spaulding. For more details visit Here.  To read more of the stories based on this week’s prompt, visit Here.

Back in the Saddle

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PHOTO PROMPT © Jilly Funell

Initially, she had been nervous going to the JP Morgan’s Re-Entry Program, a 14-week training experience for women like her who left the workforce but after being encouraged by family and friends, she decided to go for it.  Besides, she missed working.

She had left her job to be a stay at home Mom of three but now that her husband was deceased and the kids were grown, she longed to be among the working class.  Concerns about ageism had prevented her from venturing out before now.

Here goes.  Taking a deep breath, she climbed the stairs.

97 Words

This was written for Friday Fictioneers challenge hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields For more details, visit Here. To read other stories  based on this week’s prompt, visit Here.

Source:  Gender Fair

The Burnses

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Photo Credit: Susan Spaulding

 

Chuck and Millie Burns were enjoying another day at the beach.   The weather was overcast but it didn’t dampen their mood.  The cool breeze and the smell of the sea air felt really good.

An hour later, they pulled up in the driveway and were getting out of the car when several squad cars showed up. Startled, they looked around wondering what was going on.  “Chuck and Millie Burns, you are under arrest for torture and child endangerment”  Handcuffs were slapped on them and they were led away, faces red and heads hanging.  They were bundled into a squad car and driven away.

It turns out that the police were alerted when the couple’s 15 year old daughter escaped the house where she and her nine siblings were locked up and starved.  Neighbors were shocked.  “They seemed like such a nice couple,” one woman said.  “Their children didn’t say much or play with the other kids but we just thought they were shy.  It goes to show you that you really don’t know people.”

The Burnses are currently being held in custody on six counts of torture and eight counts of child endangerment.

192 Words

I read of the couple who had 13 children because they felt it was God’s calling but those poor children were subjected to torture, endangerment, neglect and starvation.  They gave the impression that they were a devout Christian couple who had all of those children because it was “God’s calling”.  I’m pretty sure that torture, confinement, endangerment and starvation weren’t His calling.

This was written for Sunday Photo Fiction hosted by Susan Spaulding. For more details visit Here.  To read more of the stories based on this week’s prompt, visit Here.

Source:  Mirror

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