© Rochelle Wisoff-Fields
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A ball game’s a ball game even at “The K” in Kansas City.
Jeff scored a hot dog and watered-down beer and relaxed back into his seat. The Royals were playing against the Texas Rangers but that didn’t matter much to him. It was kind of strange to be watching baseball in February, but it was in the low 50s, so he thought a light jacket would do.
© Lisa Fox
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The building was old enough to have a fire escape. It was perfect. Now that Brian’s divorce was final, he was free to move back to the heart of old downtown and be nurtured by urban variations. He was so close to finishing that best seller he had always wanted to write. The sum he would be offered for the film rights alone would throw his ex into a spasm. He sat at the keyboard and tried to put his fingers to work. Nothing happened. A mist slowly seeped through the walls. The alluring ghost said, “Perhaps I can help.”
© Roger Bultot
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Used to be called the 59th Street Bridge but that was long ago. Now they call it the Ed Koch Queensboro Bridge, whoever he was. At least one thing didn’t change. Like in the old days, someone painted a heart on this bench. It’s nice to see.
I’ve been walking up and down the Eternity Road a long time, but not seventy years’ worth. Sure I’m almost seventy myself, but how long…since I was forty-five or so? All my friends are dead, but if I go back, I’ll be so old to them. Being a time traveler is a pain.
PHOTO PROMPT © Alicia Jamtaas
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Downtown passersby were aghast as they watched a man wave goodbye to the woman with one leg dangling out of the second-floor window.
“Do something! She’ll fall.”
Instead of responding to an emergency, the man in the baseball cap smiled. “No, she can’t fall. You see she’s…”
Sirens approaching from the east told the gathering crowd that someone had called 911.
J Hardy Carroll
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She dreamed of this all her life and now, she’d found it. A burned out brick building next to a concrete bridge. Emily had searched photographic archives from all over the world before discovering the object of her nightmares in rural Ohio. She had to push the overgrown foliage aside just to get a look at it. She didn’t know how she remembered, but she put her foot on the edge of one of the lower windows. Then she heard a newborn baby cry. Her mother had abandoned her there. Her “Daddy” was the firefighter who found and adopted her.
PHOTO PROMPT © Na’ama Yehuda
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Okay, fine. I’m a “Ken” in a Barbie world. How did that happen? Darn Rochelle and her writing prompts, anyway.
“It’s not Rochelle, Grandpa. It’s me.”
“Dani, have you flipped? You can’t leave me like this.”
“I turn Grandpa into a Ken doll.”
© Fleur Lind
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Taylor knew she was in a different universe when she was driving on the wrong side of the road.
“It finally worked.” She was grinning and her heart was hopeful. Maybe she’d finally found the way back home.
But crossing the infinity line was only the beginning. She had to find and take the right exit, which meant using the wrong ones to change all history. Getting the Greek civilization off the ground in 1600 BCE, watching the birth of Buddha in 486 BCE, publishing Einstein’s theory of special relativity in 1905.
Photo credit: Dale Rogerson
“I’ve escaped. I’m outside of Sanctuary.” Dane Asher’s numb fingers caressed the brittle petals of the frozen roses. They were covered with a layer of snow, and were so beautiful, like the landscape graced by a winter that was slowly killing him.
“I don’t know why I’m free, but now I’m free only to die.” He looked to the frosted forest and the sunset at the horizon beyond. “Better dying free than living like a slave.”
PHOTO PROMPT – © Jennifer Pendergast
Fourteen-year-old Jerry Craft had shoved his mask deep into the back pocket of his dusty stained jeans five-hundred miles ago. He’d scurried into a boxcar at Denver and the inspectors hadn’t found him when they stopped in Salt Lake. Now somewhere in Nevada, August heat scorching him clean, he felt free. “No COVID’s gonna get me.” He suddenly coughed, doubling over and nearly falling from his perch just above the car coupling. Sitting down, his inner demon quieted and let him speak once more. “With Ma and Pa already dead, ain’t gonna let COVID get me before the cancer does.”
© Roger Bultot
A terrified Sandoval Carson treaded across rough, ancient stones paralleled by pitted archways and shrouded by overgrown vegetation. The cloister was just ahead, and so, he hoped, his salvation.
Once he had stepped through the dark mirror that had once been a patio window, he was young again, though, he suspected, only here. He had to find the one who could help him correct all his life mistakes.
“Hello, Sandoval.” The voice was behind him.
“Can you help me?” Carson pivoted and then faced himself.
Dark Carson lunged at him screaming, “I’ve always hated you.”
“Me too,” he gurgled, dying.
It’s been a while, but this morning, I decided to contribute to Rochelle Wisoff-Field‘s weekly photo writing challenge. The idea is to use the image above as the inspiration for crafting a piece of flash fiction no more than 100 words long. My word count is 100.
The color adjustment of the photo made me feel apprehensive, as if I were looking at a horror film, one where the hero was about to be pounced upon by the monster at any moment. In this case, the monster is himself.
To read other stories based on the prompt, visit InLinkz.com.
EDIT: Forgot to add a title and to mention that this is just one of many “Dark Mirror” tales I’ve written over the past few years. Usually, they take a person to their greatest desire or need. It obviously meant something grim in Sandoval’s case.
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