TWENTY-FIVE YEARS - 100 word story

TWENTY-FIVE YEARS

Twenty-five years we’ve been married, all but a month, and I’m not sure I can face pretending we’re a loving couple at a big party.

We met in that square ugly diner outside town – I served him coffee and doughnuts – and I was pregnant before I even knew his surname. So here we are, trapped by a mortgage and by three kids neither of us can bear to part with.

That was yesterday. Today he brought me flowers. And there’s a lovely dress in the boutique that might fit me. I suppose a silver wedding anniversary deserves some recognition.

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This week's photograph by Jean L Hays didn't inspire me to write anything cheerful, though I have done my best. Other writers have managed better, which you can judge for yourself by going to https://rochellewisoff.com/  and following the blue frog link.

EAVESDROPPING - a short story in 100 words

EAVESDROPPING

Joe’s passion was people-watching. Each night he’d regale Monica with stories of businessmen meeting hookers en route to a motel, writers seeking material, runaways looking for lifts. After a decade he considered himself an expert.

These three women, he guessed, were young mums on a break from housework, though their conversation looked rather intense for that. Joe took the coffee to refill their cups and heard one say, ‘I’ll drive – my car’s bigger.”

How nice, Joe thought, an outing, and left them to their plans. 

He was almost out of range when the blonde said, ‘Remember to bring your guns.”
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This story was written for Friday Fictioneers, ably run by Rochelle, where writers from across the world use a mere 100 words to tell a story inspired by a photograph. This week's picture was taken by Roger Bultot and posted on  https://rochellewisoff.com/

CHRISTMAS EVE AT THE DINER

SAME PICTURE, DIFFERENT STORY!
I wasn't totally satisfied with my first response to this week's Friday Fictioneers' photo prompt, so here's another story. Do feel free to scroll down and read the other two stories I've posted this week.


CHRISTMAS EVE AT THE DINER

Sally’s feet ached. Christmas Eve had been a long, hard slog.

Lorry drivers had merely grabbed a burger without leaving a tip, every family had brought over-excited, noisy children, and someone had thrown up in the toilets.

The moment the last customer left, Sally grabbed the keys to lock up – with luck she’d be home before midnight – but just then a couple stumbled out of the darkness.

“Don’t lock us out,” the man pleaded, “My wife’s in labour,” and as Sally held the door open for them, one brilliant star came to rest in the night sky over the diner.