A Matter of Preference

It’s time again for the Friday Fictioneers, kindly hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. This is a writing challenge which asks that we produce a piece of  fiction in 100 words from the photo prompt given. If you’d like to contribute to this challenge, just follow the link through Rochelle’s blog to read the instructions and copy the photo.

Here is this week’s photo . . .

Copyright: Rochelle Wisoff-Fields


. . . and this is my story:

Abigail gazed across the lawn, a warm breeze rustling the gold-tipped leaves of the tall magnolia and nurturing her memories…

The veranda heaved with folks cooing over her newly-christened brother. Six-year-old Abigail fled to her room, tears streaming as her jealousy soared. Since Ethan’s birth, Daddy had taken his love away.

‘Where are you, Abigail?’ It was Daddy’s voice, down in the hall. He wanted her again.

‘Daddy!’ she cried, lowering her foot to the top stair…

It was a warm September day in 1886 when they buried her in the peaceful little cemetery.

But Abigail liked it better here.

Word Count: 100


If you’d like to read other entries, click the little blue frog below:


The Twenty-First Birthday

I’ve decided to take part in Ermilia’s Picture it and Write Challenge. This is a weekly writing challenge in which participants are asked to write a paragraph of fiction or a poem in response to the photo prompt given. It can be in a different language, as long as a translation is provided. The challenge is organised by Ermisenda Alvarez, the author of Ermiliablog.

This is this the photo prompt for this week . . .


. . . and here is my first contribution to the challenge:

Whenever he gazed into a mirror, he saw him; statue-still at his side and staring back. When he turned away, so did the image. Enrico was not afraid, just confused as to why this had started happening. His twin had died before their fifth birthday. Now, Enrico’s twenty-first loomed.

Enrico had never come to terms with the events of that day. He and Miguel had wandered off to the river with their little fishing nets. Miguel had lost his footing and plummeted into the water. Panicked, Enrico had fled for help, but by the time Papa reached the river, it was too late. No one had blamed Enrico for what happened – yet he had always blamed himself. If only he’d tried to pull Miguel out of the water before running for Papa…

He reached out to touch the mirror and his brother’s fingers reached out to meet his. As the frisson of reunion surged through him, Enrico saw the accident through his twin’s eyes: his head smashing against the river-rock that had killed him. Miguel had already been dead before he slumped into the water. Understanding swept through Enrico. Miguel didn’t want him to suffer misplaced guilt any longer.

‘Enjoy your life as a man, brother,’ was the last message Enrico received as the image faded into nothingness.

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