His Greatest Mistake

PHOTO PROMPT © Roger Bulltot

Surrounded by the ruins of his childhood home, Griffin spun slowly, taking in the decay. A familiar noise—the laughter of a child, barely heard on the breeze—tickled his ears. The fears of his youth flooded back, and his arms prickled with goosebumps.

“I’m not afraid of you anymore,” he said, his voice cracking.

The laughter came again. Closer. Directly behind him.

He spun quickly, only to find himself face to face with… nothing. Absolutely nothing. He almost laughed at his foolishness. Ghosts aren’t real.

“When you leave this time, I’m coming too,” a voice whispered, again behind him.

—

Sometimes it’s better to leave the past in the past. And by sometimes I mean almost always, especially when it concerns a ghost who tormented you as a child.

Written for Friday Fictioneers.

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Terminal

PHOTO PROMPT© Jan Wayne Fields

What had started as a tiny whisper, barely heard among the unrelenting hustle and bustle of his thoughts and aspirations had slowly grown—so slowly that he hadn’t even noticed, save for the occasional headache. As it’d grown, so had the whisper, eventually turning into a thunderous, agonizing roar. Michael could feel the awful thing camped out inside his head, at the base of his skull. Terminal, his doctor had called it.

He fled to the forest when the thing inside started stealing control of his motor functions. There in his tent, he left the world on his own terms.

—

Monsters come in all shapes and sizes. Some even sneak up on you and make your body their cozy, little den. I wrote a story last week too, but never got around to posting it. Not the first time. Probably won’t be the last either.

Written for Friday Fictioneers.

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Patient Log: Daniel Moran

PHOTO PROMPT © Claire Sheldon

Day 6.

Daniel continues to exhibit unusual behavior. He’s convinced that he sees penguins everywhere he looks. One is always lying face down, killed by the other, who is usually hiding behind something.

Day 7.

Daniel’s condition has not improved, and may be contagious. Several others have reported seeing Daniel’s penguins.

Day 8.

They’re all dead. Everyone who has seen the penguins. Even one of the nurses. All with their eyes seemingly pecked out by some kind of bird. I’ve no idea what to make of it. I don’t want to believe in the penguins, but it’s hard not to.

—

Those penguins kept calling out to me, but it took me several days and many, many failed attempts to see any kind of half decent story there. For better or worse, this is what came from all the hassle.

Written for Friday Fictioneers.

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A Sign of the Times

PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Dusty walked down the deserted alley, the stones warm under his bare feet. Years ago, people would have packed the narrow passage like sardines. Not anymore.

He banged a rock against one of the metal pipes embedded in the wall. The sound reverberated through the alley.

Hideous creatures—disfigured, heartless things that had once been human before some psychopath started playing with chemical weapons—poured through broken windows and crooked doors into the cramped space.

Dusty retreated to the relative safety of the sewer, praying for the two bound children he’d left out there: an offering to appease the beasts.

—

This one didn’t come easily, and, as always, I have no idea if it’s good, mediocre, or shit. But I’m moderately happy with it, so I guess that’s good enough, right?

Written for Friday Fictioneers.

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The City of Hope

PHOTO PROMPT © Ted Strutz

Hope, they call it, the fortress city behind the wall. Impenetrable unless they let you through the checkpoint. Lines of cars have been sitting there for as long as I can remember, but they haven’t moved in months. Occasionally, the guards still let a few people in, but not as often as before. I was one of the few to make it through the gates shortly after the Scourge. Once I learned what they do with outsiders, I hid. I’ve been trying to find a way back out ever since. Hope is the last thing they should call this place.

—

The grass is always greener on the other side. And then you make the mistake of going to the other side.

Written for Friday Fictioneers.

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