The Eye of the Beholder

Back in the saddle, so to speak, and chiming in with another 100-word entry based on a photo prompt for the Friday Fictioneers, hosted as always by the lovely and talented (I’m assuming, never actually having met her) Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.  I hope you enjoy, and please, feel free to comment, praise, condemn, adjulate or otherwise critique.


“The Eye Of The Beholder”

photo-88“I don’t get it.”

“Maybe you’re not supposed to get it.  It is art, after all.  True art shouldn’t be easy to understand.”

She looked down at the words etched into the small plaque affixed to the edge of the railing:  “#23 – Shopping Carts in Reflecting Pool.  By Andre’ Fulmer.

“I still don’t get it.”

His face bunched up in that pouty little moue he made whenever explaining art to the illiterate masses.  “It’s clearly a statement on the human condition in a post-consumerist era, an indictment of how our corporate greed has damaged the environment!”


He smiled, satisfied.


“Fire Down Below” – Friday Fictioneers

Once again, it’s time for Friday Fictioneers, the weekly photo-prompt, 100(ish) word, micro-fiction challenge courtesy of Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. I love these little nuggets of creative fun, and it is especially challenging to try and keep it to only 100 words!  This week I managed to hit it exactly!

I hope you enjoy, and please feel free to leave comments and/or suggestions.  I love to hear your thoughts!  So without further ado, I present to you, “Fire Down Below.”


Copyright – Sarah Ann Hall

Copyright – Sarah Ann Hall

“T’ey say thems were for a factory that was t’ere, once, deep un’ergroun. During The War. After having t’ move it all down below, what with t’em ‘smart bombs’ from space sat’lites and the like.” He leaned in conspiratorially. “Some folks says t’ey still be down t‘ere, workin’ away, still alive after all t’ese years. “

I just laughed. The War was a good 100 years ago. ‘Course Ziggy was the better part of crazy most days.

Suddenly I stopped, looking at the weed-choked pipes jutting up from the ground ahead of us. I could tell Ziggy smelled it, too.

Click below to read other folks entries!

“Oops” – Friday Fictioneers

Time for my lastest entry in this week’s version of the Friday Fictioneers.  A weekly micro-fiction photo-prompt courtesy of Rochelle Wisoff-Fields to challenge writers to encapsulate a story in 100(ish) words.  So here’s my entry, entitled simply, “Oops.”


Copyright-Ted Strutz

Copyright-Ted Strutz

“Well, what do you think?” she asked, gesturing at the colorful bar around them.

“Kitschy,” he replied, with barely a glance up from his Caesar romaine salad.

“Excuse…me?  ‘Kitschy?’ What do you mean?”

He shrugged, shoveling in another mouthful of oversized greenery and garlic croutons. “Kitsch.  Tawdry. Garish. Unredeemably flamboyant and without taste.  Cluttered.  You name it.  Kitschy.”

She sat in stunned silence.  Her eyes glistened with angry, unshed tears.  Oblivious to her inner turmoil, he finally noticed the envelope on the table between them.  “What’s that?”

“It’s the deed to this bar. I LOVED IT, and so I bought it as an anniversary present.”



A Quiet Place To Rest

Thought I’d start dabbling a little more seriously (can you dabble “seriously”? Isn’t dabbling inherently unserious?) in the microfiction writing community.  Soooo, based on a writing prompt from Madison Woods, here’s my first “100 Word” Friday Fictioneer entry:


Friday FictioneersI pushed my way through the last of the trees and stopped, stunned by the lush, vibrant meadow stretched out before me like a fantastic tapestry, seemingly spun together out of bright, emerald-green thread on the gods’ great looms.  A rainbow marked it to me as a good, holy place.

Garrick had said there would be a sign.  That I would just know.  Garrick wasn’t usually wrong about much; he wasn’t about this, either.

I knelt, like an acolyte before an altar, and dug a small hole, placing the urn gently in the earth. Head bowed, I could only whisper, “Goodbye, Mother.”