Archive for the ‘Friday Fictioneers’ Category


The story below is fiction. It is my submission for this week’s Friday Fictioneers 100 word story based on a photo prompt, provided by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Comments and feedback are welcome.

Thank you all for following my blog and stories through the year, and for the positive welcomed comments. I wish you all a healthy, happy, prosperous new year in 2013.


A “secret benefactor”, her lawyer said had fronted the last twenty thousand needed for her to buy the coffee-house cafe, add the bookstore, and turn it into the profitable venture she had only dreamt about before.

“The contract is ready. All we need is your signature and everything will be legal and tidy to close the deal.”

Could she trust him? This new “business partner” was too secretive, a figure in the shadows. He chose to remain anonymous, requiring her lawyer to keep confidential his identity until the meeting between the three.

Here they come.

“NO! Not my ex-husband!”


“Guilty” – Weekly 100 word stories of flash fiction, based on a photo prompt, Dec. 20, 2012

The below story is my submission for this week’s Friday Fictioneers flash fiction based on a photo prompt. Comments and feedback are welcomed. I want to wish all the writers and bloggers in the Friday Fictioneers group, and those who visit my site a Merry Christmas and hope you will take a few moments to view the other Christmas poems I have posted recently, below the story. Thank you all for reading, following and commenting on my stories and posts through the year. It is always appreciated.


“Yep. Got them made, cooling on a rack. I tried that new recipe, ‘Cranberry Chews… something. You know, with the white chocolate chips? But, with everything going on this week before Christmas it’s been frantic trying to get everything done. Hey, I got to go and feed my cat. I’ll see you at the party. Bobcat comes meowing when it’s past his feeding time.”

I filled his dish. “Bobcat!”


Oh, no! He didn’t! I heard the plate fall to the floor, and ran to the kitchen.


His apology, maybe?


Cookie crumbs everywhere, but no cookies.

Just Bobcat.


Joyce E.  Johnson

Posted December 20, 2012 by Joyce in Fiction, Friday Fictioneers, Short Fiction, Writing

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The below story is fiction. It is my submission for this week’s Friday Fictioneers 100 word story. The reference to ‘Scrooge’ is based on the old classic Christmas movie and book by Charles Dickens. It is a favorite of mine. I love the theme and story that is woven throughout the story, from the person he once was to the one he has now become. It is what Christmas is all about, accepting the One gift given to us all, the Savior to the world.

Comments and feedback are always welcomed.


“I wish we could decorate, for Christmas. It’s so bare, and dull.”

“Our ‘Scrooge’ boss won’t allow it.”

‘Scrooge’ entered, leading a cadre of men carrying a big spruce tree, boxes filled with ornaments, garland, sweet treats and presents directing men where to put the tree, strands of lights, and decorations. Then he began passing out candy canes, pastry treats and presents to all.

His employees stared in disbelief at their boss as if he had taken leave of his self.

He smiled, nodding. “Yes. I’m a changed man. Forgive me, all. Bless you for being such faithful, patient employees.”


The Night The Lights Came On At The Plaza

The below story is fiction. Formatted to be read like a poetic prose. It is my submission for this week’s Friday Fictioneers writing group based on a photo prompt, hosted and led by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Comments and feedback are welcomed.


I’d not been back in years, but the memories still fresh.

All that happened out on the square.

The night the lights came on at the Plaza.

The years passed slowly. I had no news

where to look, or if he’d married.

Then I get a call and he wants to meet.

At the sidewalk café where we sipped our wine, and

I lost myself in his aqua blue eyes.

He left suddenly, with no explanation.

A man too mysterious, with too little to give back.

There he is, waiting and watching,

like a spy coming out of the cold.

Joyce E. Johnson



A note on the picture above. I took this photo while walking a nature trail with my husband and dog. Our city (Loveland, Co.) is well-known for the many professional artists and sculptors who have created beautiful works of art for galleries, museums and artists’ shows. Many are on display in our city and elsewhere around the world. This particular piece with the hand points the direction under an overpass and bridge where walkers and bikers on the trail can view other sculpted caricature faces displayed. This art project was entitled, “FACES.” I don’t know if the sculpted faces are those of actual people known for specific accomplishments here, or just those depicting fictitious persons, but many are very whimsical and expressive in detail.

Each week I write my short ‘flash fiction’ story of 100 words to go with the photo prompt provided by Rochelle Fields on her website and Friday Fictioneers. Below is my story to go with the photo prompt I provided for this week’s Friday Fictioneers, “Faces.” Feedback and comments are welcome.



“It’s Dicky.”

“Yep, that’s him, alright.”

“With the same silly smirk on his face. Great work by the artist.”

“He will be missed. Everybody loved him.”

“Remember back in college? He was a practical joker, always a good laugh.”

“Yes, even with the professors.”

“Then he becomes a clown, volunteering at the Children’s Cancer Research Center Hospital. Always giving back, never asking in return.”

“Entertaining sick children for hours. Coming in every week.”

He told the staff, “I just want to bring joy and laughter to the kids, however long they might have.”

“And then he himself dies of cancer.”


Story and photo by: Joyce E. Johnson


The below story is fiction. It is my submission for this week’s 100 word story for the Friday Fictioneers writing group. Comments and feedback are welcomed. Although this particular story is fiction, there are thousands on the east coast that can relate to the story with stories of their own, not fiction, but real and they can testify to the sadness, the pain and loss of those lost in super storm, Sandy and other storms that have left thousands homeless, misplaced or killed in its wake. My thoughts and prayers are with them all. The mention of the phrase to the “Convoy of Hope” is a tribute to a ministry that my church, and I and my husband supported financially. It is through people like them with the faith, compassion and love that they travel to areas where disasters have hit to bring help and supplies to those affected by storms and chaotic events that have disrupted or taken lives.



“It could be days before power is restored.”

“Don’t worry. We’ll get through this. There are hundreds more in the same boat.”

He smiled at the irony of his analogy.

“Nothing works. No heat. Even those old batteries in the jar are ruined from moisture. Most of our furnishings and things are still sitting under two feet of water. What are we going to do? I can’t take this!”

He wrapped his arms around her, warming her.

Moments later, a large truck pulled up, full of supplies. Men jumped out.

“We’re from the ‘Convoy of Hope’, here to help.”


Posted November 15, 2012 by Joyce in Faith, Friday Fictioneers, Short Fiction, Writing

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The below story is fiction. It is my submission for this week’s Friday Fictioneers 100 word story based on a photo prompt. I was traveling and on a trip during the two – three weeks I missed submitting a story. Comments and feedback are welcome.

Thank you, Rochelle for the photo, the encouragement, the wonderful friendship we’ve had through the years, and the camaraderie we also share as writers of fiction.

And also I want to thank Madison Woods (a.k.a. Roxanne Phillips) for her past photo prompts, helpful tips with Word Press, and the encouragement she offered too, for all her work with Friday Fictioneers. It has been fun, and getting to know other writers this way, a valuable asset to me as a writer.



She sat anxious, waiting, and afraid.

“Carol, are you ready?”


Carefully, the doctor unwrapped the bandages from around her face and head. About all that was left exposed were her eyes, although still red and swollen.

The glass partition in his waiting room reminded her of the thick coat of ice on her car’s windshield that day of the storm, and the horrible accident, breaking facial bones, scarring her with shattered glass.

Her husband sat with her, also anxious, but hopeful, holding her hand, squeezing encouragement.

When the doctor was done, he handed her a mirror.

“Honey, you’re beautiful!”


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