Romantic Fiction [Friday Fictioneers]

Anniversary Post

It was my third year in the university. I was among those who welcome freshmen to the campus when i caught sight of her.

I was at the café unwinding after a long day; she sat at across me distraught, willing an IPod to come to life.

“Those little techies do make our lives a hell”

“I am living through one at the moment”

6 pm, we were at the concert; she was on the stage swaying in delight to the harmony springing from my excited knuckles.

Thence, I knew I would play more songs to the rhythm of her swaying hips.

 

 

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Hello there, this in celebration of Mrs  Rochelle Wisoff-Fields who marks a year at the helms of managing the Fictioneers’ Cafe this week and every one who has been with her so far.  You should read other interesting stories here

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This is dedicated to a Friend whose pleasurable company I shared on the 19.10.2013

Friday Fictioneers

 

Copyright – Rich Voza

Dean is opinionated.

That’s the first point of conflict in our three-week old relationship.

It felt like heaven sharing those precious moments with him, but who doesn’t want to be respected for their worth?

To him, life is choosing between white and black. Either we agree on his points or we don’t.

If he were here on this solitary lawn, he would probably choose the between white and red. But then, there’s the blue.

Through summer’s peep, autumn fell in flecks of grey upon the meadows. I smelt the winds and knew where I belong.

 

 

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We are again for the Fictioneers’ Cafe, many thanks to the good anchor Rochelle Wisoff Fields who makes it possible for our weekly gathering. Go here, to read more fictions

An Accident — Friday Fictioneers

Credit: Roger Bultot

Who wants a job half-done but pays fully?

Dave had promised the labourers full wage without bringing the tree down.

Dave and Made were going to have a make-up date. He pulled over outside the house, on the street.

“Kate, I better attend to this gardener before we go”

A devastating scream trailed his steps as he tripped on a rope on the ground calling out to me.

A smirk played on his face as I turned away from his porch to see him coming and his backdrop of tragedy.

“Hey, you’re here for your money?”

“No, I’d rather call the police”

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This has been made possible by the goodwill and fervent addiction of Rochellewisofffields and her creative gang of writers who converge weekly as the Friday Fictioneers. Click on her Link to read fabulous stories