Tag Archives: Suicide

Friday Fictioneers – Debt Crisis

ff050117Most days, the twisting lane down to Hennigan’s farm lay silent. Only the rumble of Frank’s rusty tractor occasionally besmirched the rural hush. In summers though, desperately needed visitors would weave their way down the lane to buy the farm’s prize asset, Hennigan cider. There hadn’t been nearly enough visitors this summer, or last, and the farm was in trouble.

From her kitchen, Mary Hennigan peered out between autumn raindrops towards the barn. Frank’s Labrador had been barking, and now he’d started to howl. Buttoning up her raincoat, Mary set out for the barn, cursing both Frank and his stupid dog on the way.


The words above form my first Friday Fictioneers story of 2017.  

Happy New Year to all my fellow FF’rs.

Friday Fictioneers – Festive Follies

ff071216I’d been up here once before, back when our father had worked on the building’s maintenance crew. On that sticky summer’s day my brothers and I believed we could see the whole world, even if it was really only west New Jersey. Thirty years later I look down and watch the rush-hour traffic backing up on Riverview Drive.  A sudden, biting wind ruffles my hair, nips at my tears. I look up briefly to catch a cascade of coloured lights twinkling in the windows of apartments across the street. Within my coat pocket an unanswered phone continues to ring.


These words form my entry into this week’s Friday Fictioneers photo prompt challenge.

Friday Fictioneers – The Need for Appreciation

ff171116The small jazz club off 3rd and Lafayette was Duane’s second home. The unmistakable sound of the big man slapping his beloved doghouse bass filled the air. The chatter amongst the packed crowd was unanimous:

‘The best’

‘Sends tingles down the spine every time’

I needed a smoke. A woman by the door caught my eye.

“There’s nobody better” she said.

I didn’t know her. I didn’t know any of these people, and I doubt Duane did either. Just maybes if they’d shown him this love before now he wouldn’t have gone and done what he done. Maybe then tonight could have been a gig, and not a wake.


These words form my entry into this week’s Friday Fictioneers photo prompt challenge.