RFDS – Friday Fictioneers.

PHOTO PROMPT © Ted Strutz

We glided across the water like I was in a Tarzan episode, deep in the seventies.

Without thoughts of crocodiles or poison darts, I stepped heroically into the waiting dinghy. Continuing in the part, I braced as we sped over the lake, mooring at the jetty outside my new office – the Royal Flying Doctor’s Service.

Hands extended to assist my disembarkation and show the way. But their ready smiles and warm handshakes froze upon the news.

I was not the new nurse, or the doctor.

“Don’t worry,” I said, ruefully, “I do know how to fly a plane.”

 

The Royal Flying Doctor Service is an aeromedical service to provide emergency medical treatment to people in Outback and remote Australia. It was begun in 1928 and I think has only had 2 female pilots.

For more stories from the prompt, please visit this link.

Friday Fictioneers – defect.

PHOTO PROMPT © J Hardy Carroll

I held the coffee cup in my hands and looked out of the window, beyond the police officer who had asked my name.

The American flag danced in the breeze and I compared its design to the one I had grown up with. All those lines and little stars.

It had been three years since my defection, which was much simpler than I’d expected. But I still felt nervous when I thought people were sent to recover me.

“Starzanlines,” I answered. “Combo Starzanlines.”

She tapped her notepad.

“Is that German?”

“Polish!”  I smiled encouraging at her and she left.

For more stories from this prompt in Rochelle Wisoff-Fields’ blog, try here.

Friday Fictioneers – cooling off.

PHOTO PROMPT © Ted Strutz

A shot of heat went through her, a mixture of excitement and shame.

He seemed to have remembered their favourite treat, near where they first met, on Pine Street.

Years ago, in their twenties, they had a torrid, frantic relationship and
she recently decided to look him up.

He’d responded eagerly and they’d had several texts, loaded with the old
cryptic messages that each had to unlock.

So, when he said to meet at the ‘box of ice’ she knew he meant ice cream. It must have been nerves that caused him to type ‘off ice.’

She hurried on.

For more stories prompted by the photo, go to this link.

Friday fictioneers – sepia

Sepia

It was another time, I knew. But something about the simple images screamed of order and delineated duty.

The character standing where I do, looking atop the combustion heater, knew how to wield these tools for maximum effect, to bring life, sustenance and pride to the family.

Am I trying to layer texture into her life that she did not seek? Was it a monochrome life yearning for the end of the rainbow, or one in which she was content with the familiar sepia tones?

Dare we allow it to be ‘he’ and not ‘she’?

For other fictioneer tales, see this link.

Friday fictioneers: Wishing you were here

PHOTO PROMPT © Susan Eames

Wishing you were here

I remember how we used to scuttle up the trunk after one another, like a line of ants. So happy we had the balance. Forgetting the frustration and fear before this.

Then we’d straddle it, grinning like gibbons, threatening to push each other off and gripping the rough bark. Descending only when another challenge presented itself.

But when I saw him, alone, I knew he didn’t want to be followed. He’d gone out on a limb, suspended between ‘let’s make it work’ and ‘It’s over.’

Or elated about his travel and needing to say, directly, ‘wishing you were here’.

To join Friday Fictioneers, see Rochelle Wisoff-Fields’ blog

Friday Fictioneers – submerged

PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

The chlorine hit me as soon as the automatic door opened, flooding me with memories. Entry from a dive was shocking, whether it was warm, cold or in-between. I’d always loved the viscosity of the union.

I inhaled deeply and my eyes skimmed the water’s surface then closed, seeing my raised arm and feeling the urgency of breathing deeply. Exhaling hard.

Her touch on my shoulder brought me back and I smiled as the lift was attached and I was hoisted into the air and slowly into the pool, keeping my head still. The only thing I could control now.

For Rochelle Wisoff-Fields-Addicted To Purple, Friday Fictioneers

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Friday Fictioneers – Ruin

I’m indulging in my writing urges by joining the Friday Fictioneers, where the aim is to use a photo prompt to write a story in 100 words or less. So, if you ever decide to read on, the pain will be short-lived.


PHOTO PROMPT © Jean L. Hays

Like so many others, it was a shell of its former self. But something about its aspect and the backdrop of escarpment made me stop.

Ruins are like a 3D novel. Two rooms, so they had money, or planned a big family to help with the sheep and the wheat. The aspect from their windows, across the saltbush and gently undulating plains to the shadowy forms of rising hills beyond, would have inspired them. Beyond drought and dying crops, livestock or offspring.

Maybe they prospered and moved into town, from where they managed without heat and dreams. And remembered this.