Tag Archives: photo prompt

Summer Vacation

clouds

PHOTO PROMPT © C. E. Ayr

The hiking trail had been a refreshing interlude but he always came back to the same place. Facing the dehumanizing blocks of motel rooms, Richard sagged wishing he could stay among the trees with a roof of clouds and sky.

But she didn’t like to camp, said sleeping bags made her itch, and motels served a free breakfast.

“I can’t face it all again and especially her.” He stopped to glare at the suite of prison cells. “Hell with it.”

He turned around. The sun would set soon and he would be alone. Richard wondered who would find his bones.

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She Can’t Hear Me Anymore

two chairs

PHOTO PROMPT © Lily

He watched her sitting in the same chair she always occupied. This was the resting spot on her daily walks where she watched the island. It and the empty chair beside her held terrible memories that would forever possess her.

“Lily.” He called her name but of course she couldn’t hear him. In a few moments she would go back to her walk eventually returning to the home they once shared.

All the while, he was trapped here, maybe forever. She could never forget the day she murdered him and he would always haunt these two chairs and the island.

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Of Stuff and Muses

fleur

PHOTO PROMPT © Fleur Lind

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“Well, write something about it,” Muse demanded. In such an ordinary setting, her ephemeral existence, blond hair flowing as water-like as her sheer gown, she was so out of place.

I answered in dismay, “Write what? It’s just someone’s family room. I have no idea what the image on the TV screen is supposed to mean except in the literal sense.”

“Hurry up, James. You do this every week. I have a 10 o’clock with another client.”

“It reminds me of…” I looked around my home office. “Everyone keeps stuff no one else understands.”

She vanished in an impatient puff.

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Guardian

camping

PHOTO PROMPT © AJ Wilson

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Some idiot family from the suburbs thinks owning an SUV gives them license to off-road to a wilderness area and then trash it. I bet they think taking the little kiddies down to the lake is some sort of adventure. Those trails haven’t been used in years and with good reason.

I walk over to the blue foldout chair, have a seat, and wait. Fortunately, he doesn’t come out until dark. With any luck I can get these people out of here before he wakes up. As the guardian, I’m the only thing between this family and an immortal killer.

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This Isn’t Me

resized

PHOTO PROMPT © Lisa Fox

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How did I end up like this?

Look at this. A baby walker, little kiddie motorized truck, and the worst of it, a mega-propane barbecue.

This isn’t me. It was never me. I guess that’s the point, though.

“Alan? Can you come in and help me change the baby’s diaper?”

“Yeah, Hon. In a minute.” I sound just like some stupid suburban husband. I mutter, “The name’s Ricco.”

I shrug my shoulders and start trudging up the back steps. Diapers. Married. Barbecues. It’s not me, but then the mob won’t be looking for a hit man turned state’s evidence here.

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Comfort Food

Liz Young

PHOTO PROMPT © Liz Young

If you like my work, buy me a virtual cup of coffee at Ko-Fi.

“What’s this?” Aaron viewed the cutting board with dismay.

“You wanted to know how to cook. This is your first lesson.”

It was his third date with Melissa. He’d been divorced for two years. He didn’t want to at the age of 63, but his friends pushed him into that dating service.

“What are we making?”

“Something healthier than what you usually eat.” She pressed in behind him. He felt the not-so-subtle push of her breasts as a motivator. It wasn’t enough.

“Where are you going?”

He grabbed his phone and headed for the door. “Out for a burger. Bye.”

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Night Tightens Like a Noose

new day

© Sue Vincent

“The circle of an empty day is brutal and at night it tightens around your neck like a noose.” Elisa Gutierrez realized they only had a few seconds between the flash and the heat wave that would incinerate the both of them as they stood on the ridge overlooking what used to be greater Los Angeles. But she still turned toward Harvey Bowman, her boyfriend and co-conspirator, looking at his face, mostly hidden by the light suppressing lenses she also wore, amazed that he could wax poetic moments before they died.

“Are you nuts?” She grabbed his arm, feeling how perfectly still he was compared to her trembling. “We’re about to die and…”

Her voice, nasal Bronx accent and all, were cut off abruptly as the blast of heat, exceeding a hundred million degrees Celsius, reached them. They were both instantly rendered as dry, black ash. Seconds later, the shock wave hit them and they exploded, their remains scattered like autumn leaves in a hurricane. Amazingly, she could still see.

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The Wishing Tree

wishing tree

© Sue Vincent

Little Mari, a year younger than five-year-old Zooey Davidson, took her by the hand as they ran toward the wishing tree. In their free hands, they each held a colorful cloth provided by Tala, who looked like she could be Mari’s teenage sister but wasn’t.

“Danilo helped me put my first one up. Now I’ll help you.”

“Did your brother tell you what it is?”

“Of course. It’s a wishing tree.”

“What do you wish for?”

“Anything you want.”

“Can I wish to go home?”

“I don’t know. A lot of the kids don’t want to go home.”

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One Last Hill

uphill

MorgueFile April b5afa0fad12c0fc6b1d0bf8cc983d6e4

The hill seemed to get steeper everyday, but then, it really wasn’t the hill, it was him. He was getting older, always older, each and every day. He couldn’t remember the last time he could actually ride his bicycle up the hill on his way home. Was it last year? No, maybe it was five years ago? How old was he? It didn’t matter.

“Half way up.” He huffed and puffed. He got out of breath more easily these days, and he was just pushing a bike up a hill. “Have to make it home.” Home was at the top of the hill. If he could get there again, he’d be safe.

“Wait. Need rest.” He leaned against the wall. The old man couldn’t breathe and there was a terrible weight on his chest.

Then he was six years old again and racing his bike up the hill with his mates Jerry, Tommy, and Little Sam. They were all laughing and zipping between the parked cars. He made it. He was home. He was free.

I wrote this for the Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner challenge for 2018, Week #22. Once again, the idea is to use the image above as a prompt to create a piece of flash fiction no more than 200 words long. My word count is 175.

I couldn’t read the sign in the photo, even magnifying the image, so I couldn’t use that to influence my writing. Instead, I concentrated on the (presumably) old man pushing his bicycle up the hill. I let my mind drift and this tale is the result.

To read more stories based on the prompt, visit InLinkz.com.

As always, you are invited to contribute a wee tale to this linkup.

The Non-Memorial

Berlin Holocaust Memorial

Berlin’s Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe. Credit: Getty Images

“I don’t get it, Sheldon. What’s the big deal? It’s just a bunch of blocks.”

“Great place to party, though. It’s like a maze in there, Linda. Get a bunch of people together, bring some weed, and no one can find you.”

“We didn’t come here to party, Sheldon. We’re touring Holocaust Memorials in Europe this summer. But this one in Berlin doesn’t even vaguely mention Shoah.”

“Quit living in the past, Linda. Loosen up.”

The young girl looked down at her shoes, fighting back the tears. “I can’t”. Her Bubbe died just four months ago. Linda could still hear her voice singing her to sleep when she was little. The image of the tattoo on Bubbe’s arm, the one the Nazis gave her when she was a girl, never left her.

Linda looked up and in the distance to their right, she saw a group of young Neo-Nazis laughing.

I wrote this for the What Pegman Saw photo writing challenge. The idea is to use a Google maps image as an inspiration to craft a piece of flash fiction no more than 150 words long. My word count is 150. Today’s challenge takes us to the city of Berlin.

This news article at Haaretz explains the controversial history of the Berlin Holocaust Memorial, so I won’t include the details here, except to say that we must never forget Shoah and we have a duty to not only remember the past but to make sure we never repeat it.

To read other stories based on the prompt, go to InLinkz.com.