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.

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208 08 August 13th 2017


29 thoughts on “Sunday Photo Fiction – August 13th 2017

  1. Pingback: Quotes – Journey
  2. The dark place. Again. Every bloody day. When is this doom laden, crap filled hole going to open up? Can’t see, can’t feel, taste has gone and I can’t remember when the colours faded to grey then to black. I’m beginning to forget what colour looks like, seems the black is getting inside my head now. Time waits for no man they say, at least I can recall thoughts like that one, maybe I can try to keep thinking, to perhaps record in my head my thoughts about this place. The dark place. Again. There’s noise in my head now, getting louder, slowly, a tune, if you can call it that, pushing into my thoughts. The box appears – in my head or here in the black? My God, it’s real! It stops turning. Music stops. Door opens and an old man in Victorian clothes with swept back grey hair calls to me “come on lad this is no place for you”.

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