Tag Archives: Marital strife

Friday Fiction – Through The Glass, Darkly

It’s an addiction, this FF thing, and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. I’m still battling with time and inspiration, but I can’t bring myself to miss a week or two and let things improve, so here I am. The prompt is from Janet Webb, whose commitment (or possibly addiction!) one of the central columns on which the Fictioneers fortress is built. I strongly suggest you stop reading now and head to either her page or Rochelle’s. You’ll find more thought-out prose (or poetry) there, I’m sure. My offering is below.


Through The Glass, Darkly

“The Johnsons have put their trash out early again,” Brenda grumbled to herself as she wiped down her bathroom sink. She was sick of stepping around the piles of newspaper and cardboard the neighbours had started building every Monday night, long before the Friday collection.

Pulling on her coat a half hour later, she resolved to say something. It was early, but Maggie and Ian Johnson had some explaining to do.

The pile rustled as Brenda approached and she braced herself for a raccoon to emerge. Instead, a head appeared, wearing a dirty smile. “Morning, Brenda,” grunted the hobo.



Filed under Friday Fiction, Writing

Friday Fiction – Counting

It’s the dawn of a new era. The good ship Fictioneers, still proudly boasting her full complement of sails, billowed by a strong wind of inspiration, now has captain Rochelle Wisoff-Fields at the helm. The gallant crew musters on deck for another day’s work and the sailing looks good.

You can blame Doug for my early posting today – he lured me into rebellion and I wrote this yesterday morning. It took a lot of pruning to get it down to 100 words – I hope the meaning and the voice are not too lost as a consequence. If the comments suggest the meaning is unclear, I may have to post an explanation at the bottom, we’ll see how it goes, I guess. I’d love to hear what you think.


He’s looking at me. There are approximately 8 million grains of sugar in a 1lb bag. How do I know that? And this jar holds, maybe, a third of a pound. He’s wondering what I’m thinking.

Let’s say a quarter. That’s 2 million grains. But it isn’t full. Ha, half full or half empty? After what he just told me: almost empty and the bottom just fell out.

There are a million grains of sugar in the jar, then. Each one of them a reason to leave him. But all I can say is

“I need some time to think.”


Filed under Friday Fiction, Writing