Tag Archives: Friday Fictioneers

Torahman

FF 205 Roger Bultot

copyright Roger Bultot

“I want something like Bibleman, but cooler. And for Jews.”

Jeff wasn’t sure how the rabbi had heard of Bibleman. “So, you want me to create . . . Torahman?”

“No, that’s too stereotypical. I want something original. And tougher. How about The Maccabee?”

“Okay.” Jeff didn’t know how to draw a Maccabee. “Does he throw stars of David?”

“Sure.”

“And his sidekick could be Dreidl Boy.”

The rabbi frowned. “That seems stereotypical.”

“Does he kill people?”

“No! He just teaches kids about Judaism.”

“He teaches? So he’s basically. . . Torahman then.”

The rabbi looked deflated. “Fine, Torahman. And stick Dreidl Boy in there too.”

 

 

When I finished writing this, I did a Google search and apparently there is a Torahman already, although his sidekick is called Mitzvah Boy. It seems you can’t make this stuff up.

 

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Treasure Hunt Plea

FF 203 Dale Rogerson

copyright Dale Rogerson

One of the nice things about a photo prompt is that there are many different aspects that you can draw a story from. For instance, the clouds, the buildings, the garbage bag, the snow, the graffiti on the building, or the whole thing together. I’ve decided to concentrate on the graffiti, telling the story in the medium itself.

Treasure Hunt Plea

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Here is the plain text of the above, in case you had trouble reading it.

Please help!

I use what little freedom and money I have to paint this, hoping it will be seen

We have no voice, no dignity

They treat us like cattle, herded back and forth

They drug us into stupor, give us slop to eat

Profiting off our lives and our deaths

My generation is being wiped out from the front and from behind

If you read this, do not forget about us, the silent ones

They promised us rest and instead gave us a chilly cell on death row

The nursing home is so cold, in temperature and in spirit

As you know, I like to try experimental things sometimes. Let me know if you don’t get this. 🙂

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Competing Vows

FF 202 Roger Bultot

copyright Roger Bultot

Competing Vows

We met at the garden gate after dark, both trembling and nervous. She was still beautiful, even swathed in the crisp, new habit.

“Hello, wife,” I said, still unused to that glorious word.

She looked troubled. “The abbess said the cardinal has annulled it.”

“We didn’t agree to that! Did you?” She shook her head. “Let’s run away. Tonight.”

“Where?”

“There hasta be somewhere your family can’t find us.” I tried to draw her outside, my body aching for her. “Do you have some time, at least?”

She resisted. “They made me take other vows here.”

“But ours came first.”

 

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The Family Legacy

The Family Legacy

The basement stank of burned flesh.

“It’s a gateway to outside our world,” my dad said, pointing to the hole. “They never stop coming, but light attracts them.”

I adjusted my night vision goggles. “Can we block it up?”

“You don’t think I’ve tried?”

A stygian tendril snaked out. Dad’s machete came down, severing it cleanly. I heard a shriek.

“They do that sometimes.” He tossed the writhing limb into the incinerator.

“What if they’re intelligent, if they need help?”

“We can’t risk it,” he said. “Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it. All blood is black in the dark.”

 

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Baby Balloons

This is my 200th Friday Fictioneers story, each one exactly 100 words. I started doing these over six years ago, but I took a break for most of the last two years, which is why I’m only reaching this number now.

I decided to go through the Friday Fictioneers stories I did in the past and pick my top five stories. I came up with 22 favorites, but narrowed it down to 10. If you have been reading for a while, you might remember some of these. Here they are in chronological order:

1. The Wrong Tourist (#11) (This was the first one that used a picture I submitted)

2. Knick-Knack Paddy Whack (#40)

3. The Dog, the Clubhouse, and the Cookies (#53)

4. What Does This Button Do? (#61)

5. Jasper’s Lamp (#62)

6. Fructocidal (#63)

7. The Last Few Seconds (#64)

8. A Bad Car Dynamic (#127)

9. Desertedmoonlitclearing.com (#139)

10. Prodigal (#181)

And now, this week’s story.

FF 200 Sandra Crook

copyright Sandra Crook

Baby Balloons

Finally, the loom stopped.

“That’s the last one,” Mrs. Arane said. She sighed.

Her assistant Cyclosa pointed to the hundreds of shroud-white balloons along the walls. “You made them well.”

“What if they get hungry during the flight?” Mrs. Arane sniffed.

“They’ll be okay.”

Mrs. Arane wiped her eyes. “Some of them.”

“Children, come get your balloons!” Cyclosa called. She grabbed four balloons in four of her limbs.

The baby spiders lined up, bouncing with excitement. One by one, they took a balloon and, waving goodbye, launched themselves into the open air.

Mrs. Arane watched with tears and a smile.

Read about spider ballooning

 

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Rebirth

I tried to think of a pithier title and couldn’t come up with anything.

Rebirth

You can’t know what happens after you die. The piano feels screws loosening, feels a crowbar somewhere underneath. Wood cracks, splinters. It’ll be soon. They’ve already pried off its ivory keys.  At least it doesn’t hurt.

There’s a pling sound as its strings are cut, the last music it will ever play.

Consciousness fades.

* * *

“What a unique table!”

The table feels a hand run along its glossy surface.

“It looks like it was made from a grand piano top.”

Was I ever a piano? the table wonders. It can’t remember. Unfortunately, you can’t know what happened before you were born.

 

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Carving at Hades’ Chains

FF198 J S Brand

copyright J.S. Brand

 

“It takes patience,” the lunatic had said. “A sledgehammer won’t work. Only beauty overcomes death.”

By the light of a bone-white moon, I felt my way to my mother’s grave, carrying a purloined hammer and chisel. I started carving swirls into the marble, then starbursts and graceful figures until I transformed that baleful guardian into revivifying craftsmanship. I prayed I would see her again—not some ghastly reanimation, but really her.

“There was a grave robbery,” my dad said at breakfast. “Someone destroyed a headstone. The body is missing.”

My soul leapt.

“It’s the one right next to your mother’s.”

 


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