Archive for the ‘Friday Fictioneers’ Tag

The Mouse (flash fiction for Friday Fictioneers)

PHOTO PROMPT - © Marie Gail Stratford

Photo credit: Marie Gail Stratford. Thanks, Marie for the photo prompt for this week’s Friday Fictioneers


I have not submitted a flash fiction story to Rochelle Wisoff Field’s Friday Fictioneers for the last three years, but thought I would jump on this one for old times sake and join in the fun. Here is mine of 100 words, exactly.


I needed a break. Pouring myself another cup of coffee I sat down to relax. But, my brain still worked on the next chapter of my book. The gnawing, grinding sound like tiny teeth, chewing was driving me insane.

But, it came from my desk. The mouse gyrated, moved around in crazy patterns, made clicking sounds, jerking itself free from my grasp. I stared, unbelieving as it came alive. Using keyboard shortcuts I clicked My Docs. Gone! Nothing! I clicked on my last saved file of my years’ long book project. It was not there. Gone!

The mouse was still.


Joyce E. Johnson (2015)

‘Yearning to breathe free’. Friday Fictioneers photo prompt

It has been over nine months since I’ve participated in Friday Fictioneers (due to other priority writing projects and time involved), but often read and comment on other writers’ stories. This week, however I decided to add one into the mix. Friday Fictioneer stories can be found at Rochelle Wisoff-Field’s blog, at Because of the current piece of work I am editing and posting chapters of now (a novel, The Informant’s Agenda) this photo prompt seemed appropriate to my writing genre and story theme, so here is my contribution this week for this prompt.  The interesting thing is that although my current novel is fiction, this little story has a lot of truth in it as it is based on factual truths found in my novel. 1) My grandfather Jacob’s family were immigrants from Odessa, Russia, and were German Jews. And after over thirty years of research I am now writing a story similar to their own. And 2) I did visit Russia and cities in Ukraine in 1989 where I visited several cities in my novel, and took the photos below this story of the Babi Yar Jewish Memorial in Kiev, 1989 which is a sad, unforgettable site. Information on the Babi Yar can be found in Wikipedia and elsewhere.  Any comments and feedback are always welcome, and thanks for reading.



The Babi Yar Memorial of the 33, 771 Jews massacred on September 29 and 30, 1941 by the German SS in Kiev, Ukraine

The Babi Yar Memorial of the            33, 771 Jews massacred on September 29 and 30, 1941 by the German SS in Kiev, Ukraine

  I took the photos above of Babi Yar in 1989 while touring Ukraine, Russia : Joyce E. Johnson (1989)

Below is my story to go with the photos above and submitted for the week’s Friday Fictioneers story.


I thought of Grandfather Jacob and his family coming ashore in 1889, yearning to ‘breathe free’, to live in a land where ‘pogrom’ and persecution were foreign words, not ones to be feared.

The words of one from the Babi Yar memorial to the thousands of Jews massacred in Kiev came to me.

“My mind reeled with the images. My heart wept for their pain. Where did it all begin? Why no end to their suffering? Where would they find acceptance? A place where peace would reign?”

It seemed fitting to end my journey here upon my return from Ukraine.


Joyce E. Johnson


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!”


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 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!”



Below is my Friday Fictioneers 100 word story based on this week’s photo prompt, provided by Madison Wood’s Friday Fictioneers website. Feedback and comments are welcome.

On a personal note: For the benefit of those reading my blog and stories that are not writers of fiction, but maybe readers only, please note that all of the Friday Fictioneers stories I write and create are only fiction, or what we all loved as a kid growing up, the ‘make believe’ stories we read, listened to as told, or from books we treasured. They do not relate to, tell about, share the same views or opinions, or are similar to any experiences I have had. The characters, plots and stories I create are of my own making and ideas, not someone else’s. That is the beauty and the fun of creating characters and plots with different circumstances, problems, or issues in their life. And of course all these little fiction stories are all based on a photo used to prompt us writers to create a 100 word piece to go with it. That is another part of the fun, and freedom to be expressive in our creation. Sometimes I like to use an idea from issues that are found in the news stories these days, or are similar to situations that may seem real, not just imagined. With that in mind, I like to think about a real life person in this situation or role, and how he or she might react to it, think, or do. As a Christian and a person of strong faith, my characters are not always people like that, but are in fact ones without such a faith. What they do, think and decide for themselves in their situations could, or may not change the outcome of their situation. It is entirely up to them. It might turn around their situation, make it worse or leave them with one thought: What now? What should I do? Who do I turn to? Who will help? The story below is a tad bit similar in a way to one of my favorite genres, ‘Espionage’. Hope you enjoy it.


She waited, anxious between cold, concrete walls no wider than a produce cart.

She was desperate.

She’d sought them out, pleading, “Can you help?”

“If you work for us, and the revolution. Yes. We’ll get her out.” he said.

“But, I’m an American. Not a spy.”

“Doesn’t matter. We fight, for the cause of freedom. To eradicate the opposing government, and free those still held. In Iran.”

They held her daughter, a journalist, prisoner.

She’d wired the money, sent the transcripts, even forged documents.

Her ‘contact’ was an hour late. What if he doesn’t show?

Someone’s coming.


“Yes, mother!”


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