Sunday Photo Fiction – July 23rd 2017

Each week a photo is used, donated by one of the participants of Sunday Photo Fiction, and the idea is to write a story with the photo as a prompt in 200 words or less. Careful editing will keep your words within the confines of the 200 word limit. The photo doesn’t have to be centre stage, there have been times when I have had to read the story a few times to spot where the prompt is hidden. Please include a mention and / or link to whoever donated the photo.

The challenge makes you look at replacing two words with one, and a little jiggery pokery. A few words over is sometimes necessary when there is no way of shrinking it without losing an integral part of the story. Using a program like Microsoft Word or Open Office have a word counter so you can see how many you have used. A few of the stories have been going way over the limit. Please try to keep the stories within the 200 word limit.

Once you have written and posted your story, please add the link to the inlinkz froggy icon below and add it to the collection so we can all have a read.

The main object is to have fun.

Click on the image see a larger version.

Please acknowledge the photographer if it isn’t mine when you post your story.
Thanks very much.


get the InLinkz code

206 07 July 23rd 2017
© A Mixed Bag 2009
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26 thoughts on “Sunday Photo Fiction – July 23rd 2017

  1. Eyes In The Sky – John Hall
    Jeez, what bloody time is it? Sun’s blinding me, glass everywhere and no shade. Same faces milling about, not smiling but acknowledging each other with quick glances and nods. No chairs, no tables.
    I can’t detect any semblance of hope, certainly no joy. Despair you might call it as they walk round and round this space.
    Might as well stand up, take in the view, if you can call it that. Knees ache, hips ache, everything about me is sore. View? Well, lots of tall buildings full of little cells, most are for workers who, though dressed well, look like my ‘friends’ in here but at least they can feel the sun and the air not like us. As they scurry from holes in the ground or from one tower to the other sometimes I feel I’m better than them stuck up here in the sky.
    Other towers, I’ve heard, contain pods for these workers and the poor sods who can’t work to live in. It’s called living but is it not just existing?
    Cut backs. Prisons in the sky.

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