Friday Fictioneers: The Blight Cometh: Part Two

© Lura Helms 2012

The Blight Cometh: Part Two

Two weeks passed. Two horrifying weeks as the blight began to spread across the area. Bill and Steve began hearing reports from other parts of the state being overrun. It was relentless.

Ever changing. Ever growing. Ever destroying.

When they met the biologist, Rebekah, in the capital, she insisted on coming with them. That's when they made the harrowing discovery.

"It's just destroying everything in its path," Rebekah said, dazed by the dying landscape.

Steve sighed heavily. "Yeah. This used to be nothing but trees. Now all that's left is the one in the middle."

"Which is peculiar, don't you think?" asked Rebekah.

A loud snort came from behind them. The duo turned to look at an eye-rolling Bill. "This whole thing is peculiar."

Rebekah regarded for a moment, and then turned back to Steve. "Can I borrow your binoculars?" she asked. Steve handed them to her and lit a cigarette. She zoomed in on the solitary tree. "There seems to be an odd growth on it."

"Not surprising," Bill replied. "Oaks like that sometimes have weird branches growing out from crooks."

The binoculars fell from her face, her eyes like saucers. She turned slowly to Bill. "Do they usually move?"

Steve's cigarette hit the ground unnoticed.

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Prompt For For This Week's Friday Fictioneers

Here is this week's prompt for Friday Fictioneers, courtesy of Madison Woods. Come join us over at her blog.

It'll be fun fun fun!

My Friday Fictioneers entries.

Friday Fictioneers: Down By The Beach

By Susan Wenzel

Down By The Beach

"You're right," Charlotte said. "I am bored. I think I'll go for a swim."

"But none of us brought our suits," Rose stated.

"I've got knickers and a camisole on. It's not like I'm naked," Charlotte said, eyes rolling.

Rose stood, arms crossed, as her sister, sans the dress she had been wearing, bolted towards the warm water. Patrick wrapped his arms around her waist and placed his chin on her shoulder.

"What?" Rose asked testily.

"I'll give it thirty seconds before you're in that water, too," he replied smiling. Rose glared from the corner of her eye, but her attention was quickly diverted to Charlotte's laughs.

Rose huffed and started taking off her dress. Patrick could only laugh.

"Oh, shut up, will you?" Rose said annoyed. She looked him up and down, eyebrow quirked, before taking off toward the water.

Patrick rolled his eyes and began shedding his shirt. "There is no such thing a quiet day at the beach when the Landy sisters are involved," he said to himself.

Friday Fictioneers: The Blight Cometh

Photo courtesy Madison Woods

"The Blight Cometh"

"Is it moving?"

Bill's voice pulled Steve out of his thoughts. The fungal, oozing thing most definitely looked like it had moved. Or had it, thought Steve. He eyed it warily, not getting too close. 

"Did you hear me?" Bill asked. "Is it moving?"

Steve continued staring as he replied, "No. It's not moving." He hurriedly grabbed his camera and started snapping photos.

"If it isn't moving, then what is it doing?" Impatience laced Bill's question.

Steve lowered the camera from his face, and slowly turned towards his brother. "It's growing," he replied quietly.

Bill could only stand dumbstruck as Steve continued taking pictures.

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Friday Fictioneers: Last Cigarette

Amanda Gray "Outside Pecos"

Last Cigarette

I could feel the chipping stucco on my back, still hot from the pounding desert sun. So this was how it was all going to end, I thought. At least I was going out with a bang. Or six bangs, really.

I was warned that this was the likely outcome when I started doing business with Pancho. Too late for regrets now, I supposed. The crunch of soldier started moving away from me.

“Don't I get a last request,” I queried.

“Like what,” the leader asked, his accent worsening the sick thrill in his voice.

“Cigarette,” I replied.

The leader hastily shoved the cigarette in my mouth, lighting it. I took a long, glorious drag, savoring the spicy tobacco taste.

I heard the cocking of six guns. I never heard the shots.

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Friday Fictioneers: Out of Body

This wasn't happening. This couldn't be happening. They were humans. Boys. There was absolutely no way this was happening.

“Dude! What are we going to do?” Steve looked over at Billy. He couldn't tell his brother was 13. Or that he himself was 15. He still couldn't believe this was happening.

“Steve! What are we going to do?!” Billy was growing frantic. Steve couldn't blame him. If there was a time for frantic panicking, it was now.

“I don't know, Billy.”

“What do you mean you don't know? This is your fault!” This was true, Steve thought. It really was his fault.

Billy puffed, “I should have never let you take me to that Voodoo priestess.”

“Look on the bright side, Billy. At least we're at McDonald's.”

Friday Fictioneers: Pot of Gold

Pot of Gold

“Look! A rainbow!”

Steve stopped dribbling the ball to see where is his little brother was pointing. The rainbow stretched across the sky, curving down to settle in a thicket of trees at the back of the field.

“Let's see if there's a pot of gold at the end of it,” his brother said excitedly.

Steve rolled his eyes, “Billy, there ain't gold at the end of a rainbow.” Billy really could be a gullible kid sometimes.

“I'm looking anyway. And if there is, I ain't sharing it with you,” Billy hollered while sprinting across the field.

Steve dashed after him. “Not if I find it first,” he yelled. If anyone was going to find that gold, it was going to be him. He was the older brother, after all.

Flash Fiction: Preserving the Story

 

 

It was banged up. Badly. Faded, too. But it was original, and she just couldn't bring herself to tear it down at the moment. The wall held stories too precious to destroy.

A young couple dancing, celebrating their new wedding bliss. The first day home from the hospital. Her first steps. Celebrating straight A's on the report card. And Junior prom, a bundle of nerves, anxiety, and pure unadulterated joy. The day the acceptance letter came. The day she brought him home, and they knew she had found the one.

When her husband came in later, he found her carefully cutting a large swath of the wall paper. “What are you doing,” he asked.

She just smiled at him and turned back to her work, saying, “Preserving the stories, dear.”
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I forgot to add that I was actually really excited when I saw the photo prompt. My wife is addicted to housing rehab (her favorite "housing show" is Rehab Addict), so I was imagining her when I started writing. She loves old houses for the stories, and I can see her using the wall paper as a piece of art to base the room decor.