Light at the End of the Tunnel

I sent this photo to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for her to use on her Friday Fictioneers 100-word fiction challenge, which I see she did. I thought it was a good photo prompt. However, I myself, being a lazy SOB, didn’t write any story to accompany it. OK, better late than never.

The light ahead was finally visible, within reach. Only a few steps more and Morris would be free. There was no going back. Steadily he advanced. His steps echoed eerily in the dark, dank subterranean passageway. Actually, to tell the truth, it was only a pedestrian underpass. It was a Thursday and Morris was going to the beach, and he had chanced upon this underpass that went under the Pacific Coast Highway. But never mind. Morris saw the passageway metaphorically. It was his pathway to freedom. Morris had always been a bit dramatic, an artist no less. Ah, freedom. Sweet freedom.

The NY Harbor – Friday Fictioneers

I can’t resist this Friday Fictioneers‘ photo prompt. Memories from rides on the Staten Island Ferry wash over me like the cold, salty mist of the harbor.  I’m including a 100 word excerpt from my first novel Up in the Bronx. In the excerpt, Herb Rose, in the midst of his mid-life crisis (actually, it’s an end of the life crisis) has just cut out from work. He heads for the ferry and rides it back and forth a coupla times.  Ah, the view from the deck!

Check out the Friday Fictioneer’s link

As the big ferry edged out of the slip, he opened the door to the sunny front deck, walked up to the bridge, and looked out over the harbor. The cold air rushed at his face as the boat began to surge forward and gain momentum. The great noise of the wind, the power of it all, the vista of all the cold, grey water heaving up against the bow — all spoke of a tremendous freedom of a great mysterious world.

“What a pleasure to have a day like this,” he said to himself.

He looked out at the Statue of Liberty – off to his right – and the grey Jersey shore in the distance. The Staten Island shore was off to the left, and he reminded himself of the nautical word port. The enormous expanse of water was all around, the wind blowing hard and high. Rose stood out on the deck and watched as the land slowly grew closer.

The Bicycle —–Friday Fictioneers’ Challenge

This week’s Friday Fictioneers 100 word prompt is this bicycle. I couldn’t think of much of a story so I threw in a song to soften the blow. It’s one I’ve been working on called Morning Blues Again.

James regarded his old bicycle. Someone had clipped his brake cables. Son of a bitch! Why? Why? Why would anyone want to do that? It was just meanness. Plain old meanness, that’s what it was. There goes his morning, his plans for a ride to the beach. Damn it!

Well, there was no sense getting all worked up about it. There was nothing to be done for it. Except ride home real careful, get a new cable at Jim’s bike store on the way. Fix the damn bike again.

Such were the vicissitudes of city life. James was getting tired of all these vicissitudes. He pedalled home slowly, carefully. What a morning!

Friday Fictioneers on Sunday —- Another Bus Thing

1. So appears Rochell Wisoff’s photo prompt for this week’s _ almost last week’s, it’s Sunday after all – Friday Fictioneers 100 word story challenge. Since Bumbastories is actively engaged (risen from the couch) in the “As I Sat On The Bus” International Invitational Mass Transportation Story Compendium and very pleased with how it’s coming along and invites everyone to visit, he feels he has to give this week’s prompt a try. After all, it’s a bus. Here goes:
   

The old bus passed with a heavy whiff of heat. Malcolm slowly rose and headed into the brush. Perhaps he could find some shade in there.

He walked into the hot, dry scrub. Soon he peered down into a large and deep valley. Before long he heard the sound of water. Malcolm quickened his pace. Though he had been exhausted and faint on the road, he now raced and jumped down the steep winding path. The stream was running. Malcolm ran straight into the chilly water. He bathed and drank his fill.

At that point three maidens appeared.

Friday Fictioneers

This Friday’s photo prompt for the Friday Fictioneers courtesy of R.W. is this bar:

Magruder sat at the downtown bar room. It was already 3:30 in the afternoon. He had yet to make a sale.
Magruder was tired. His feet hurt.
The vacuum cleaner business wasn’t what it used to be, but what was?
People would ask him: “How’s the vacuum business, Mac?”
Magruder would respond:
“The vacuum business? It sucks! Ha Ha”.
Old joke, but what the heck. It was true.
He smiled to himself and slugged down his beer.
What a business! What a life!
Magruder looked across the room at the bar maid. She wasn’t a bad looker. Maybe later.

Friday Fictioneers Challenge

This week’s photo prompt reminds me of a joke. The photo is

“Complaint Department Upstairs”

“Ha, Ha, Ha,”

Oh, sorry. Wrong finger. Wrong direction. OK, forget about it. Well, OK, I’ll explain it. You see, it’s the middle finger that’s supposed to be pointing up and then the caption reads “Complaint Department Upstairs”. Get it? Well then, file your own complaint! Complaint department is upstairs. Are we up to 100 words yet? No? Well complaint department is upstairs. Is this getting overly repetitive? Well, complaint department is upstairs…..Are we at 100 words yet? Well…..Take it up with the complaint department. It’s upstairs, buddy.

Friday Fictioneer’s Challenge

OK. It’s time to give Madison Wood’s Friday Fictioneer’s 100 word fiction challenge a shot. The photo prompt this week is

The hermit who inhabited the old stone house down on the valley floor was an ornery son of a gun. All of us kids were scared of him. Mikey said that the gnarled, old man was the boogie-man! According to Mikey, the boogie man had once been a millionaire, but now had a bad conscience about how he had made his money. Jose, our elder statesman at age 11, said that the old man was “psychiatric”. We kids only knew that it was fun to hurl rocks onto his roof, and then to run like the dickens when he charged out the door. He sure was an ornery son of a gun.

Friday Fictioneers

This week’s photo prompt for Madison Woods Friday Fictioneers challenge is truly a challenge because it does nothing to me. I do remember one time being out on a high-rise balcony. It was nothing special, I gotta tell ya. But here goes:

I stepped out on the balcony. The marijuana smoke was overbearing inside. I didn’t belong in there. Ah, but where? My friend Marty and his stoned-out buddies were passionately discussing the merits of various rock bands. Marty was a decent enough guy, but not too bright. His voice rose above the others. He was defending somebody’s lead guitarist.  A woman stepped out, smoking a joint. “OK, I’ll have a drag. Sure.” Her name was Diana and she was beautiful. Then her boyfriend appeared reaching his arm around her waist as she kissed him. I thought briefly about jumping, and then went back inside to join the guitar symposium.