Friday Fictioneers: Sheepish beginnings

Another chance to join the Friday Fictioneers club and follow the most-interesting photo prompt. I assume I’m not the only one that feels like a lamb being led to the laughter.

The first day of our honeymoon and it had started off on the wrong foot.

We hadn’t discussed it before the marriage, but here it was. Move into his place or mine?

The argument grew heated quickly.

Then the traffic stopped.

“I’m going to walk,” I said, opening the door.

“Sam, wait,” John started.

I swung the door open, only to have it pushed right back in, the first of what seemed like thousands of sheep streaming against us.

“Guess this road was a baaaaad idea,” John said.

My giggle turned into gales of laughter for the two of us.

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Friday Fictioneers: Moving down river

A weekly photo prompt challenge from Rochelle that I’m excited to delve into. My first attempt at Friday Fictioneers. Check it out too, so you can take a shot at it. And see if you too can keep it under 100 words.

Last night the kids took to dumping an old shopping cart into the muck.

Ever since the power plant up river had built a dam, Laketown had dried up.

With no river lifeline, the jobs had set sail along with the fish.

Even the schools were dwindling. Most of the time my two didn’t go, and I didn’t see much point in sending them.

We’d be shoving off too, and soon. Before I spent my last twenty on a forty. The RV was on empty. And so was I. Not sure which one I wanted to fill up more.

 

A special time

Another weekly venture with Sunday Photo Fiction, a Flash Fiction challenge to conjure up a story of about 200 words centered around the photograph captured by Al.

This week’s edition drives us all batty when we see someone parked over multiple space. How friggin’ hard is it to pull into one spot?!? You’re not a semi! You’re NOT A…Deep breath in, deep breath out.

Better. Now I can focus on this week’s tale.

“Dad!” Junior cried. “You can’t park there.”

Dad looked back as he continued to walk away from the truck toward the indoor swap meet.

“Why not?”

“Because, you’ve parked over two spots, and one of them is for special people.”

“What makes them so special?” he said. “They want to be treated like everyone else, but they want the best parking spots. Well, I’m going to treat them like I do everyone else. No privileges from old Hank Carlson.”

It came out as a sneer.

Junior, who despised being Hank’s offspring, stopped.

“No privileges, right dad?”

“Right son,” a wide-grinning Hank replied.

Junior went back to the truck and took out the pick axe that always sat in the flatbed.

“Then none from me either. This is what I’d do to any car I found parked like this.”

He started on the driver’s side window. The axe sliced through the glass as easily as a knife through a down-cushion. Next was the windshield, the headlights and the passenger’s window. Then the tires.

Then Junior opened his mobile. “Yeah, police?” he said. “Some jackass has parked in a handicap space.”

He hung up, put the axe back and walked away. At 18, it was time he found his own place.