The Third Room

“Third room on your left.” That’s the nurse’s dialogue whenever she sees me. Maybe I’m too handsome to be forgotten? Or do I look to old to remember anything?

Her brown eyes’re watery. I recognize them— tears of pity. Though I am not sure if those are for you, or for me. They’re for us, maybe.

Weird as it may sound, I am glad we can still share something. Something that still belongs to us. Even if they’re salty tears.

‘Cause our memories are now solely mine. Your complex brain has long abandoned them. Even my name was left forgotten.

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Word count: 100 words

©2016 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.

Photo credit: Amy Reese

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In response to Friday Fictioneers prompt for 30 September 2016.

Friday Fictioneers is a weekly writing challenge hosted by the generous Fairy Blog-Mother Rochelle Wisoff-Fields, where a photo is used as a prompt for a piece of fiction.

P.S. It’s been a long time and I am glad to be back. ❤

Read more great 100-word short stories here:

The Amulet

The unforgiving sun bathing me with its flamed rays makes this journey even more excruciating. But I have to see her. I have to.

She was adamant to go first without me, but I insisted. I want to prove her that I can walk this long path alone, with just one limb. Sore and drenched in sweat, I almost regret she let me win. But I can see her looking at me, her little eyes cheering for me, waiting for me patiently.

Like an amulet, I gently caress the ring inside my pocket and resume limping towards my future wife.

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Word count: 100 words

©2016 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.

Photo credit: Adam Ickes

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In response to Friday Fictioneers prompt for 12 August 2016.

Friday Fictioneers is a weekly writing challenge hosted by the generous Fairy Blog-Mother Rochelle Wisoff-Fields, where a photo is used as a prompt for a piece of fiction.

Read more great 100-word short stories here:

Cave Woman

Cave woman. That taunting nickname was born when I was a teenager because of my bar-hate. The tag and my bar inexperience have remained until now that I’m almost at my four-decade mark.

I hate the smell of beers and alcohols, most of all, smoke. I can’t stand noise equally. Beyond these, I’ve heard and watched obscene, brutal, unfortunate events that happened inside an almost light-less, always crowded bar.

But today might be my cave-woman name’s ending.

I just resigned from my 23rd job when I saw the blinking WANTED sign. Maybe waitressing in a bar is my real calling.

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Word count: 100 words

©2016 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.

Photo credit: Ted Strutz

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In response to Friday Fictioneers prompt for 05 August 2016.

Friday Fictioneers is a weekly writing challenge hosted by the generous Fairy Blog-Mother Rochelle Wisoff-Fields, where a photo is used as a prompt for a piece of fiction.

Read more great 100-word short stories here:

Homecoming

I’m back home to cook lunch when I heard my girls’ delighted squeals. I missed hearing them. I never thought I’ll hear their warm giggles again after their dad left us, for no known reason. There’s no farewell nor goodbye. He just stopped coming home.

I quietly went up to sneak a peak and was stunned to see he’s back, my husband. He removed his weird-looking helmet, looked at me with chilling intensity.

“I know where you’ve been,” he said coldly.

I want to run back to my lover’s arms but my husband’s gaze showed escape wouldn’t stand a chance.

—

Word count: 100 words

©2016 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.

Photo credit: Douglas Macllroy

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In response to Friday Fictioneers prompt for 10 June 2016.

Friday Fictioneers is a weekly writing challenge hosted by the generous Fairy Blog-Mother Rochelle Wisoff-Fields, where a photo is used as a prompt for a piece of fiction.

Read more great 100-word short stories here:

The Last Letter

“As long as the waves still kiss the rock-shore, 
surely as I can still love you more,
certain as the sun sets and rises,
I promise I’ll be back, dearest.”

His seven-year-old letter turned my heart as cold as the ocean breeze. I’m done hoping. I’m done believing. I crumpled his words, balled it up with my shaking fist, ready to throw, let go.

Then I heard his voice, followed by rushed steps, then a hug from the back. I tasted salty tears, of joy or of anger, I’m not sure. But I’m sure he smells and feels like this.

—

Word count: 100 words

©2016 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.

Photo credit: Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

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In response to Friday Fictioneers prompt for 20 May 2016.

Friday Fictioneers is a weekly writing challenge hosted by the generous Fairy Blog-Mother Rochelle Wisoff-Fields, where a photo is used as a prompt for a piece of fiction.

Read more great 100-word short stories here:

With Closed Eyes

The screaming siren of arriving trains followed by whispering rushed steps and crawling human scents keep me company as I wait for her.

My heart’s racing like a hungry horse and the wooden bench offered no help to pacify my agonized soul.

I  tried to personify her before our eyes meet today. Always, I fail. Maybe because beyond her face and her body, I only want to ‘see’ her soul. Her soul who writes words I adore. Her words that opened my decade-old locked heart.

Her soul and words I know I will forever love even with my eyes closed.

—

Word count: 100 words

©2016 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.

Photo credit: J Hardy Carroll

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In response to Friday Fictioneers prompt for 20 May 2016.

Friday Fictioneers is a weekly writing challenge hosted by the generous Fairy Blog-Mother Rochelle Wisoff-Fields, where a photo is used as a prompt for a piece of fiction.

Read more great 100-word short stories here:

Olympic Dream

An extension of my arms, that is my cello. The gift I received from my rocker parents when I was five. Ironic as it may seem, dad and mom have accepted that my inherited musical ears are not for loud drum beats but for soft, melodic classics.

Since the beginning, they supported my dream—to play solo not in extravagant orchestra houses but in the glorious Olympic Stadium in Berlin.

My music classmates and even my teachers say that’s impossible, but their words are futile.

I only listen to my parents, who believed I can even I, myself, think I can’t.

—

Word count: 100 words

©2016 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.

Photo credit: © CEAYR

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In response to Friday Fictioneers prompt for 13 May 2016.

Friday Fictioneers is a weekly writing challenge hosted by the generous Fairy Blog-Mother Rochelle Wisoff-Fields, where a photo is used as a prompt for a piece of fiction.

Read more great 100-word short stories here:

Counting Birds

Counting Birds

It’s that time of the year again. Flock of little birds swing in electric ropes. Their sweet chirps signal morning’s hope. My eyes are wet again, whenever I see them. How time flies.

My little girl, my first angel, learned numbers when she was barely two by counting those little singers. One… two… become sixteen… to twenty-two.

Gripping my soft blanket, I resist the urge to cry out loud, my husband and my newborn might wake up.

I can’t add up those pigeons any more. My always little girl can count them because she has the best view from heaven.

—

Word count: 100 words

©2016 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.

Photo credit: Roger Bultot

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In response to Friday Fictioneers prompt for 06 May 2016.

Friday Fictioneers is a weekly writing challenge hosted by the generous Fairy Blog-Mother Rochelle Wisoff-Fields, where a photo is used as a prompt for a piece of fiction.

Read more great 100-word short stories here:

Book of Future

Note: This is my first try on fantasy so please forgive me. 😀

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I’m not picky with books but this one’s  eerie. I hesitantly flip the metallic cover when it suddenly jumped and flew open on top of a humongous rock.

Uh oh.

I love words but not geometry. I am about to leave when the gear-like shapes noisily twisted and turned. The page glowed brightly! My squinting eyes can’t see but my alert ears heard a voice surely.

“Want to know your future?”

Too stunned to speak, I let my recovering eyes figure this man’s identity. I almost fainted as our identical faces stare at each other.

He is the future me.

—

Word count: 100 words

©2016 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.

Photo credit: Kent Bonham

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In response to Friday Fictioneers prompt for 15 April 2016.

Friday Fictioneers is a weekly writing challenge hosted by the generous Fairy Blog-Mother Rochelle Wisoff-Fields, where a photo is used as a prompt for a piece of fiction.

Read more great 100-word short stories here:

Unseen Fall

Like a vibrant flower in full bloom, 2015 was my life’s blessed prolonged spring. We got our million-worth dream house. Most especially, we finally have our first born after five years of waiting. A blissful life season ends after the unseen 2016 fall.

My husband’s an animal rights advocate. I love and hate him for that. He avoided a stray cat on that fateful night, in exchange of his and our only baby’s lives. I survived, barely.

From a lovely blossoming bud my life’s now like the naked trees I overlooked outside my asylum’s window– alive but barely breathing quadriplegic.  

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Word count: 100 words

©2016 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.

Photo credit: J Hardy Carroll

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In response to Friday Fictioneers prompt for 08 April 2016.

Friday Fictioneers is a weekly writing challenge hosted by the generous Fairy Blog-Mother Rochelle Wisoff-Fields, where a photo is used as a prompt for a piece of fiction.

Read more great 100-word short stories here: