PHOTO PROMPT © J Hardy Carroll

The night shift was hard on Old Elmer. If he sat down, he’d fall asleep. If he stood or walked, his arthritis would have him in agony. Maybe it was time to retire.

The only thing that kept him going was the nightly concert. He didn’t know who it was, or how the person got in. The padlock was never disturbed.

Every night, the music started around midnight. Concertos, fugues, waltzes. Classical, Romantic, even some pop tunes and movie themes.

He’d actually seen the keys moving. There was no one there.

Not that he could see.

The Synagogue

PHOTO PROMPT © Roger Bultot

The street was quiet in the early morning. As Jacov and Matya approached the old building, they became solemn. Reverent.

“Look, Jacov. Between the windows. Tablets like the Ten Commandments.”

“Yes. And under the arch, Hebrew letters. It shames me that I do not know them.”

“It’s one of the few synagogues that survived the Nazis. They closed it, but did not destroy it. I wonder why. “

“Why did they hate us so much, Matya?”

They were both startled by the loud voice from across the street. “Stinking Jews! Keep moving! Your kind is not welcome here!”

Maisie the Maid

PHOTO PROMPT © Ronda Del Boccio

“Strange people,” Maisie thought. “At least they have a modern sink to make the washing up easy. Who would leave olives and jam sitting out on the sink? Have they been there since I was last here? I wonder if the jam has been opened.”

She reached across the sink, grabbing the jam jar. Glad she’d been wearing her rubber gloves, she gripped the jar and twisted the lid.

The most awful stench ever hit her like a slap in the face. Feeling dizzy, she screwed the lid back on.

“I need a new job. “

Product Parties

PHOTO PROMPT © Fatima Fakier Deria

“My day planner is crammed full. Something needs to go,” commented Cheryl.

Liam grinned to himself. “Yeah, right,” he thought, having heard all this before.

“I know one thing for sure. All these product-pushing parties have to stop, ” Cheryl continued. “There’s nothing I need, but you always feel obligated to buy something if you attend.”

“Jewelry? Makeup? Lingerie? Kitchen equipment? Really, you’re not going to ANY of them any more?”

“Well—-I really could use some up-to-date jewelry, but there’s nothing else I need.”

Liam laughed. “So, when’s the jewelry party?” he said.

“Oh, stop!”

The Sewing Room

Jean L. Hayes

Lissy loved Mommy’s sewing room. She ran her little hands over all the different fabrics, enjoying how smooth, or prickly, or rough they all were. She especially loved the shiny ones.

But her main interest was the pin cushion. Thimbles, straight pins, needles with bits of thread still dangling from the eye. And the little white heads all around the cushion.

Image result for pin cushions with little white heads around them

“Mommy, are their arms and legs all tangled up inside the ball?”

“No, Lissy. They don’t have bodies. They’re just for decoration.”

Lissy thought for a moment.

“Yes, they do. And some day I’m going to set them free!”

Zing and Zang Return

PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

(My two favorite aliens, Zing and Zang, just HAD to make another appearance for this other-worldly prompt. We haven’t seen them for a while, so If you’re curious, you can find all their stories on the right side of the page at the bottom of the “Categories” list.)


“No matter how many places we’ve been, there’s always something new!” declared Zing.

“What do you think they are? Bubbles? Angel halos? Space ships? “queried Zang.

Walking invisibly, the two friends agreed that they’d never seen anything like it.

Suddenly, Zing felt and heard a tiny little tremor in his sensors. “A message from Zerkon!” He was so excited. They didn’t hear from home very often.

“Shhhh! Listen!” whispered Zing. The message traveled over the years of time and space:

“Don’t touch them! Remove yourselves immediately! They are unknown to us, and could damage you or undermine your mission. Repeat: DO NOT TOUCH!”

“Let’s go, Zang. Danger!” And they transported to another realm.

Faded Memories

After Mom died, Daisy and Jonas had the overwhelming job of sorting through almost 90 years of accumulated stuff. Mom would have called them memories, the building blocks of her life.

Shoe boxes filled with snapshots in black and white, 70 years and older. Some were cracked, yellowed and faded beyond recognition.

Mom as a war bride, aged 16, sitting proudly by her sailor who would ship out a month after they married. Her hair and makeup made her look older, but knowing her as Daisy did, she could also see the fear and dread in Mom’s eyes.

It was a long war.