Sunset Means Freedom – FF -24 June 2016


Sunset was something sonny wasn’t sure he would see. But here he stood in Houston International, less than twenty yards from a lifetime of freedom. His fourth disguise and change of clothes had so far kept him incognito. No one seemed to care he was here. It was the story of his life. He patted the carry on riding close on his hip, the one that contained the key to a lifetime of luxury. He wished he could have brought Carrie along, but she was a goodie two shoes and couldn’t do it. He could, did and laughed about it.



A Ring Out of Tune – FF – 17 June 2016

Firday fictioneers time again!


Turner could not wait to do this. Mindy was his girl and the new piano man needed to know that in no uncertain terms. He fished the jewel from his pocket that equaled his life savings and let it glimmer in the midday sun. With this on her left ring finger the pretender would have to defer.

He waited for the moment in the act where Mindy had a break, feeling the excitement well up inside. When his moment came he caught his toe on a prop and the ring flew out of his hand and into the prop piano.



A Circle of Three – SPF – 12 June 2016

Sunday Photo Fiction comes again and I find myself in part three of a continuing serial that seems to have a bit of life. Enjoy.


The dawn of a new day revealed a much different world than we had known the day before. Our leadership did not reveal the deal struck with our former mates to the west, an agreement that meant they would have responsibility for out left flank in the offensive. Their artillery teams have always been known for their deadly aim just as they were in this battle. Our foes weren’t ready for this unexpected twist and it showed. The unbelievable promise from our high command that this battle could end our war seemed to be coming true.

Unfortunately though, no battle is won without a cost and my circle of friends now resembles more of a triangle. Six of us finished the training in good standing, assigned to the same unit of foot soldiers. We looked out for each other and tried to stay alive. We counted off two hundred and eighty four days of success, but his bloodiest day, at least for our enemy, also had enough bloodshed to take three of my friends. Of all my mom’s favorite candle collection I could only manage to scrounge together the three candles I needed. Now I watch the somber glow and wish this is the last time I will need to do this.


Hungry For Nothing – FF – 10 June 2016

While Rochelle is busy working toward a July deadline to finish her book I am enjoying the chance to see photo prompts that came around the summer before I enjoyed the world encompassing troupe known as the Friday Fictioneers. If you come each week to read try giving the writing side a hand. We love to add to the mix!


No one could talk to him when he got like this. But it wasn’t because he would withdraw, it was that dang helmet. His lifelong dream had been to deep sea dive. But when you live in Kansas there is very little chance of that. To say he was stubborn was an understatement. To try to get his way of traveling to the sea he decided to go on a hunger strike and helmet in place he began his campaign. What he did not know was that mother and father already had plane tickets to Florida for the coming weekend.


A Dream – Sophie Marceau Mystery -Friday Fiction With Ronavan Writes -3 June 2016

This is my fifth installment of a new Sophie Marceau mystery with Ronovan Writes and the Friday Fiction prompt. Basically Ronovan gives us a one word clue to utilize in building a story. I decided to give my established character, Detective Sophie Marceau, a new series within this weekly challenge. I invite you to check for previous chapters in the links that follow this week’s story. This chapter follows the theme of: A Dream


Tom yanked a white handkerchief from his pocket and pressed it against the flow of red from the suspect’s head, strengthening his grip as the fellow seemed to falter. Sophie pushed from behind as they closed ranks to enter the throng of reporters that were now recovering from the shock of the moment. Cameras clicked as they documented the scene of fresh violence and the crimson trail escaping the limited reach of Tom’s small cloth.

Sophie saw a smug look of accomplishment on Mayor Crawley’s face where he stood some twenty feet from them now. With a re-election vote less than ten days distant she was sure he would add this to his ever growing list of positive events during his tenure. She was amazed how politicians could manage to take the most benign measures of success and tailor them to fit their personal agendas. This man was no different, willing to claim any positive and deflect all negative criticisms.

In contrast she was encouraged to see her Captain’s usual dour expression at least shifted to a neutral one. He rarely looked overtly happy, but if the Crimson Nights case was settled it would be one less agitator in his life. For this crowd the wounded man embodied the gruesome purveyor of horrific acts. Having him in the open one more second than absolutely necessary would expose him to more of the brutality they had just experienced. She continued to gently nudge him forward faster, seeing another hundred yards to the safety of the front door.

“Great job detectives. You deserve a raise!” the mayor shouted over the boisterous crowd as they passed near to his position.

Sophie found herself remembering a very similar dream from three nights earlier. It seemed out of place at that moment, but now as she looked around so much was familiar. She blinked several times to give herself the chance to get back in this moment. Sophie struggled to keep her expression passive, wanting to shoot back a comment, but knowing it would be lost in the sea of confusion and excitement. This politician seemed to eschew the idea that all are innocent until proven guilty, but then innocence meant the case would not be closed and his achievement would be lost. Would that alone be the difference in his bid to claim another five years leading the city? She had no interest in the politics, because no matter who held the chair laws would be broken. She had little to fear as far as job security in this city, of that she was sure.

In the sanctuary of the precinct she finally let herself breathe again. Two uniformed officers took the suspect from her and Tom, rubber gloves in place to shield them as they tended to the wound. It was something they had not even considered in the heat of the moment. But then who had time when the potential for further violence loomed so large?

“Do you still have a change of clothes in your locker?” Cammie O’Neal asked. She was the Public Information Officer for the department, over from the Commissioner’s office.

“No,” Tom replied. Sophie nodded her negative response, drawing a frown from the middle aged, brown haired woman.

“You have thirty minutes before the press conference. You think you can make something happen?”

“Press conference?” Sophie questioned.

“Yes! “You caught the Crimson Nights serial killer! CNN, Fox News and the major networks are on their way. This is a big deal!”

“We don’t even know . . .” Sophie began before Cammie cut her off.

“I need you to do . . . something,” she said nodding at their appearance before answering her ringing cell phone. Tom grimaced at Sophie as they watched Cammie walk away as she continued to coordinate the incoming media horde.

“I’ll be back,” Tom said grabbing the keys to his car as he jogged toward the employee entrance in the rear.

Sophie plopped in her chair and rubbed the bridge of her nose as she repeated the thought Cammie had short-circuited.

“We don’t even know for sure if he is the Crimson Nights killer!”


Chapter 1                           Chapter 2                             Chapter 3

Chapter 4


The Doubt-Filled Offensive – SPF – 5 June 2016

I got so many responses from last week’s entry I thought I might continue the story this week. I will have to go back and see what Mr. Forbes says about ongoing stories. Some hosts prefer you don’t have a serial and I cannot remember if he has that view. So until I know for sure enjoy!


Hugh Kelly was a brilliant strategist and the main reason other than our brilliant code that we has survived against our invaders for so long. But even Hugh was unsure now, almost seven days after that chilling message appeared on the bridge. THE PIES . . . WE KNOW! Did they know more than we thought or was it a ploy? They had some of our best and it was accepted that they had interrogation teams.

Did they know our plans for this place? Were they hiding and waiting for us? Were our emplacements all compromised? The possibilities were endless and maddening! Alex Maddox said he thought it was just psychological warfare, meant to cause confusion and doubt. If that was true then the effect was just as desired. Long meetings filled with too many opinions to give confidence preceded the choice, but the command group voted to move ahead with the offensive strike.

Now we sit with nervous energy as the magic hour approaches. Will this be our end? Could we wake to see a new flag wafting over our land tomorrow? Honestly, I just want to wake up and see anything tomorrow. Because too many of my friends will not.



Shapeshifting 13 #56 – 3 June 2016

The Grammar Ghouls offer a weekly photo to use as a starting point in crafting a micro short of flash fiction. Each week is a multiple of 13 and this week the budget bulges to a hefty 52 words! The story or poem must be based on the picture that comes next.


Minerva’s eyes darted around the room and she tried not to be conspicuous, but zero hour was fast approaching. She had loosened just enough supports on the tree chandelier to make sure it released and fell just as Duke Horace and Duchess Farrah reached their chairs. Only five more seconds and bang!


A Wheel Marks the Spot – FF – 3 June 2016

Friday Fictioneers are off and running, translating what Rochelle calls a retread into a story. This is my first chance to eyeball the picture and my story came quickly. I hope you enjoy!


Copyright Piya Singh

“The legend says that fourteen Mc Kellers were found here two years after leaving Philadelphia with arrows and tomahawk wounds claiming their lives,” Hal announced.

“What about the wheel?” sixteen year old Sam asked. There is no way a wagon could have rolled there.

“Hmmm,” patriarch Dan said, approaching the old west relic.

He and Sam lifted the wheel loosing a pile of stones beneath. Below that they dug to find a large iron box.

“Is it?” someone asked.

Patriarch Dan nodded when he raised the lid to see the lost McKeller gold brought from Ireland.