My focus had been on my feet, trying to maintain my footing despite the uneven ground or large roots protruding into the path. It wasn’t until I heard the snap of a branch that I looked up and saw the root cellar.
Slowly I approached and could hear the soft hum of a guitar. Was I hearing things? As soon as I walked around the side to the front of the building I saw him. It was a young boy, guitar in hand, rocking in an old wicker rocker, singing softly to himself, eyes closed, in his own little world.
The next photo is the PROMPT. Remember, all photos are property of the photographer, donated for use in Friday Fictioneers only. They shouldn’t be used for any other purpose without express permission. It is proper etiquette to give the contributor credit.
I haven’t taken a step outdoors in months. What if the virus is just floating in the air around my home? The plants are growing in my walkway, a walkway that hasn’t been used. The sun is shining, I should be outdoors. Is it safer in the sun or in the shade? Does sun kill the virus or does the lower temperatures? Is it here on the railing, where the postman placed his hand as he delivered my letters yesterday? Although I stand here, door open, sun shining, I cannot get myself to step onto the stoop. I’m too scared. (100 words)
Marcel wanted to surprise Maria for her birthday. He had the idea to cook her favorite roasted garlic..
Marcel wanted only the freshest garlic, so he went to the farmer’s market in town. Upon arriving home, Marcel hung the garlic in the kitchen. Within minutes he was in the bathroom, throwing up. He knew he must have caught a bug at the market.
Maria stopped by to check on Marcel. As she was putting some ginger ale in the fridge, she noticed the garlic.
“Marcel, did I already tell you I think there is a vampire in my neighborhood?”
Lainey walked to the coop. There were at least a dozen chickens so collecting the eggs required a basket. Of course, like almost every morning, Lainey forgot the basket in the shed and would try to carry them without dropping any. She knew her dad would count how many there were. He said he didn’t do it to check on her, rather he did it to make sure all the hens were still laying. Her dad told her that after about two years, maybe three, most hens stopped laying eggs, sort of like women getting too old to have babies.