Friday Fictioneers Take One


This is the first time I’m trying one of these Friday Fictioneers photo prompts. The photo is below, and my piece is after that. The challenge is to get it down to 100 words, although it’s not required.

I don’t know what made me want to write it from first-person-plural, but it was a fun experiment. So it’s either a group hiding out, or Gollum…..

Copyright-Janet Webb

 

Genre: Science fiction, apocalyptic

Inside

Inside we wait for the explosions to stop.

Outside the sky is thick and gray with veins of red fire. But in here everything is pitch dark. We can barely see our hands as we reach for each other.

Last night she came. We had to ask her to leave. There’s no more room and not enough rations. When she wouldn’t, we had to make her. We try not to think about it now and hope that the war will stay out.

Finally the earth stills and we can uncover our ears. When we emerge, it’s all gone.

Word Count – 98

 

Daily Prompt


In the spirit of procrastinating even more from studying for my midterm, I thought I’d give the Daily Prompt a try today. Clicking on the link below takes you to their post:

Daily Prompt: Pick a random word and do Google image search on it. Check out the eleventh picture it brings up. Write about whatever that image brings to mind.

My word was whale.

Nova holds her brother’s hand tightly as they watch the magnificent, sleek killer whale rise again from the ocean. For a moment, it seems suspended in time, droplets of water flying from its glossy skin and freezing in midair. Finally, it dives back down and vanishes beneath the shimmering blue surface of the sea. When it doesn’t come up for a third time, Zeb tugs on the sleeve of Nova’s now dirty and tattered white tunic.

“Where’d he go?” Zeb wants to know. His shiny eyes, as blue as the sea before them, search the area the whale used to occupy. He’s pouting, his brow furrowed.

“I guess he’s gone to join his friends,” Nova tells him. They linger on deck for a few more minutes, but the whale is truly gone. Nova releases her brother’s tiny hand and heads for the stairs leading below deck. The salty air is rattling the sails and whipping her greasy hair in front of her face. “Come on, Zeb. Let’s try to wash up a little before dinner.”

Zeb takes one last look out at the empty ocean, and then dutifully follows his sister to their quarters.