Poetry ~ The Widow

she feigns a laugh before she cries

a broken heart with no goodbyes

pain and sorrow have burrowed in

her lover's eyes, a face gone dim

oh, cruel the time, tick-tock, the years

deeply etched lines channel her tears

an empty vessel, she sets course

her sails billow as winds blow north

upon life’s ocean, vast and deep

fate beckons, no time to weep

Friday Fictioneers: The Ritual

Photo Prompt by Dale Rogerson


I managed to snag an invitation to the old bones annual ritual. A black robe and mask awaited me in the foyer with a note.

 ‘Wear only the robe and mask. Ascend the staircase. The chamber doors await.’

The room was dark, save a candelabra in the far corner casting shadows on the walls. Several robed figures knelt before the High Priest. He raised his head. Our eyes met.

‘Present your offering.’

I pulled the garlic from my robe. A collective ‘gasp’ filled the room.

The High Priest swooped in and whispered, ‘nicely played’ as he gorged on my neck.


Another flash fiction story written for the Friday Fictioneers. A big shout out to Rochelle @Rochelle Wisoff-Fields-Addicted to Purple for hosting Friday Fictioneers. The weekly challenge is to write a story of no more than 100 words based on the photo prompt. This story is exactly 100 words!