Friday Fictioneers is a weekly blog link-up led by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields at Addicted to Purple. The Challenge – write a one hundred word (plus or minus) story with a beginning, middle, and end inspired by the picture*. The Key – make every word count.
The picture is worth a thousand words. Below are my one hundred.
Image © Claire Fuller
“It looks like more in person than it does on paper,” said Michael Johns. He stared at vaults of evidence.
Detective Frank McCann remembered the paperwork. “No, it doesn’t.”
McCann flashed through the day they found the floral graveyard, the media naming the serial killer “The Florist,” his partner Michael Johns leaving for a civilian position as a security analyst. He remembered three years of investigations, fifteen bodies, five more, then another three. All eventually identified. A month later, Tom Armstrong admitted to twelve years of murder.
“Armstrong pled guilty,” said Johns. “Why am I here?”
“Because you were there.”
100 words. Fiction. Feedback is always appreciated. Other Frank McCann stories include, They Called Him “The Florist”, In His Father’s Footsteps, and The Brass. This one goes sometime between “The Florist” and “Footsteps.”
Click below to read other creative contributions to this week’s Friday Fictioneers photo prompt.
I have found another audience for these drabbles. Did you know that’s what 100-word stories are called? Me neither, until about two weeks ago when I was introduced to drablr: a site dedicated to 100 word stories. It’s a chance to revise and share with another audience. Now you know.
Every once in a while I put up a please donate if you are so inclined sentence (or three). When I do, it’s because I care about the person who is asking and admire their strength for asking. Shawn can’t talk, or breath very well, thanks to cancer, and that makes it hard to work. If you can, please consider giving to Shawn. If you can’t, please consider sharing because maybe somebody can.
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