PHOTO PROMPT © Bill Reynolds

Alyssa had always been a loner. Moody, her mom said. Self-involved, her dad said. Just weird, her sister said.

Finally, when she finished college, she took her long-planned year off. She bought a used camper, hooked it to her pick-up, stocked it well, and took off for parts unknown. No cell phone, no internet. Just the beauties of nature and, of course, her beloved guitar.

She never thought about how her trip would end. That would take care of itself. For now? No one telling her who she WAS, compared to who she OUGHT to be.


Just Junk

PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Audra and Pete entered the store, doing their best not to jostle the merchandise. Narrow paths wound between piles of stuff.

Pete was disgusted. “I’ll never understand why you love death traps like this! Nothing but disorganized trash!”

“Hush, Pete! You’re insulting.”

“Bah! Let’s go!”

“No, wait–oh, Pete! Look at this!” Audra held up a faded book, her eyes shining with delight.

“What, an old useless book?”

“No! Pete–LOOK! I think it’s a part of the first-run printing of this author! Look at the date, and check out the typeface!”

Pete looked, and smiled.


PHOTO PROMPT © Roger Bultot

The wind from the hurricane’s spinning arms had finally abated. The playground was all puddles and fallen leaves, but little Annie wanted to play.
“Please, Mommy? I’ll wear my rubber boots! I’ll be careful!”

There were no other children at the park, but Annie was not deterred. Off she ran, heading for the “slippyslide” she loved so much. She clambered up the steps in her big red boots, unaware of anything else in her joy of being outdoors.

Just as she reached the top, the huge snake raised its ugly head, looking straight at her.


He sat, iPhone in hand, gazing out the rain-streaked window. Relentless rain, soaking, causing a person to shiver in the heat. Even though he was warm and dry, he felt chilled again as he pictured his flight through woods, fields, hills and valleys. Drenched every day. Fat leeches clinging to his feet and legs. If they caught him, he would die a slow and hideously painful death. No mercy. Not for a Western photoghrapher/journalist who had exposed them as the monsters they were.

Memory was clear of the moment he sensed eyes on him.

“Hey, Mistah! You come. We hide! Come!”