Angela Scott's Blog

© LilySmiles and warm boutique shop banter. A gold picture frame? A pretty antique bowl? A knick-knack or two?

She collected and displayed her wares on shelves, tables, and walls in the main street store. Pretty and quaint. ​Quite the delight to townsfolk and traveler alike.

Yes, she had plenty of trinkets to purchase – a little something for everyone.

“Do these actually go to anything?” The young woman held the painted keys, turning them over in her delicate hands. “Or are they purely decoration?”
​
Smiles disappeared as the owner weaved her fingers together. “It depends on what you’re willing to know.”

(100 Words Exactly)​Friday Fictioneers is hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.

For a moment I was hopeful that I could proudly display the flag again.

Because in the most recent years, the flag had been taken over by a certain demographic on the back of their jacked up trucks, tattooed on their chests, or draped over their shoulders as they rushed the capitol.

But there was a chance, a new hope, that the flag was going to become a flag for everyone, like it once had been, before it started to morph and stand for something slightly different. 

The flag now caused you to doubt if we all believed the same any more, and instead of uniting, had seemed to do the opposite by dividing.

So, yes, when there was hope, I was excited and ready, flag in near hand! 

But alas, divided we still stand and my flag is still hidden for fear someone might lump me in the wrong crowd.  Six Sentence Story hosted by Girlie On The Edge

I learned a new word today - 
pogonip - 
yet once I knew its definition
I realized it's possible to know something,
something very familiar,
even if you didn't know it had a fancy name. 

Glassy crystals on trees, 
hushed frozen foggy breath, hanging in the air,
everything dusted in frosty white. 
Each step crunching fragile blades,
simple sounds echoing, seemingly much louder
along nature's frigid exterior. 

I've seen it, I've experienced it, I've walked among it. 
But I had simply called it, "Too damn cold." Rag Tag Daily Prompt: Pogonip suggested by Martha Kennedy Ooooo...I live off comments! Please let me know you've stopped by. Feed my heart :) 

PHOTO PROMPT © Ted StrutzHe raised the glass of juice to his mouth, but stopped, and set it back down next to his coffee and breakfast. After a minute of adjusting everything and making sure the lighting was right –“Natural light is superior, Grandpa.” –he used his phone to take a sixty-second video.

“I don’t understand why anyone finds this interesting,” he had said when it first began. “Seems ridiculous.”

“You have almost a hundred thousand followers, Grandpa. You’re viral! They love you!”

Social media was stupid. Real stupid.
​
But he videoed his meal, told a story, and loaded it to the Tiky-Toky app. 

​(100 words exact)Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields
Read more stories based on the above photo prompt HERE

Photo by cottonbro studioThe Friday prompt for Stream of Consciousness Saturday is “bookmark.” Use as a noun, use it as a verb, use it way you’d like. Just write, let it go, have fun!

Tagged for later with a post-it note, 
a quick "save" to a Pinterest board, 
a highlighted passage in yellow,
a turned down corner of a page in a book, 
a scribbled on scrap of paper lost in the blackhole of my purse, 
a bookmarked website I want to visit again...
but for what again? 
A craft that looks promising,
a perfect quote, an outfit I want to replicate, 
a place I want to visit,
something funny I want to remember, 
the way a room was designed, wisdom for my soul,
a new exercise program to try.
a how to
a need to 
or a want to. 
Yet, I can highlight and tag or bookmark away, 
and most likely will continue to do so, 
only to never return to any of it
to view again. 

The Friday Reminder and Prompt for #SoCS April 11, 2026 provided by Linda G. HiIl

Like code:

PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

​The seagulls circled in restless spirals, almost impatient, waiting long enough for him to take his leave. I lie on the cooling sand and watch him shrink. Our small sailboat carving its way through gray waves, disappearing with no plans of return.

​Salt and blood mark my tongue. My vision becomes cloudy. It doesn’t matter. There’s nothing more to see anyway. What’s done is done. The gulls no longer wait, and they argue over me as if I’m already gone. They tug and tear. 

We both knew one of us wasn’t leaving the island. I’d just hoped it wasn’t me. 
                          
                            (100 Words Exact)


Friday Fictioneer challenge is hosted by Rochell Wisoff-Fields. Read other stories base on the picture above Here. Like code: Socials Code:

PHOTO PROMPT © Roger Bultot​ “Don’t touch that,” the lady shifted forward. “I’m warning you.”

To that point, she hadn’t moved or said a word but allowed me to carry trash bag after trash bag from her home. Having worked with hoarders, I knew this situation wouldn’t be much different.

"It looks like this bucket has been up here a long time, Ruby.” I stepped up the ladder. “It’s time to let it go.”

“Don’t,” she said. One simple word.

I pulled the bucket toward me and found it rather heavy. Once at eye level to peer inside, I turned and vomited on the floor. 

                                                                                                       (100 Words Exactly)




​Rochelle Wisoff-Fields is the host of Friday Fictioneers.Like code: Socials Code: Leave a comment! Let me know you stopped by! 

The image is from Jon Tyson.



Written for Melissa’s Flash Fiction Challenge #366. 
​
Melissa’s Fandango Flash Fiction Challenge: Each week she posts an image off the internet and challenges bloggers to write a flash fiction piece or a poem inspired by the image. There are no style or word limits.Drag queens reading stories
were never the threat.
Trans kids finding their names
were never the danger.

Danger wore ties,
spread lies masked as truths,
sat in politic boardrooms,
aged into entitlement,
old fragile egos,
and called it tradition, their God-given right.
​
“No Kings,” the crowds chanted,
feet pounding pavement into rhythm--
no crowns, no thrones,
no men above consequence.

Just people--
messy, defiant people--
refusing silence,
refusing fear.
Just people--
unarmed,
unafraid,
refusing to disappear.

Less guns, more glitter--
because sparkle doesn’t kill,
and maybe, just maybe,
if we let it catch the light,
we’d finally see each other clearly--

and see everything for what it is.  Comments feed me :) 

From the dark corners of her website, “Contemporary Wiccan,” she printed the customized order.

Crushing the gooseberries along with their toxic leaves, she simmered and stirred them in the bronze kettle pot—nine circles counterclockwise and then nine circles the opposite.

As an added touch, she finalized the mixture with a dash of Devil’s helmet, a pinch of thornapple, a tablespoon of brown sugar, and a hint of vanilla extract for a palatable taste.

Once brewed to its final thickness, she poured the tar-black jam into a small decorative jar, sealed it with a lid, and gave it a simple tap of her finger for more than good measure.

The cutesy, printed label, “Cackleberry Conserve” mentioned nothing of the contents hidden agenda, touting ingredients of freshly picked blackberries, pure cane sugar, natural preserves, and orange zest—nothing nefarious at all.
​
But for those who knew exactly where to find her and what precisely they were looking for, she offered up the most extemporary of customer service. Six Sentence Story hosted by GirlieOnTheEdge. This week's prompt word: ORDER

​Join HERE or read other stories. They are all so different and oh so fun! Comments feed my soul! Literally, it's how I stay alive :)

PHOTO PROMPT © Sandra Crook“That is the fakest, saddest looking piece of shit I’ve ever seen.” Harry waved an arm around, indicating the webbed trellis. “Seriously. Look at it! Who do they think they’re fooling?”

Scarlet only stared at him.

“They’re not, that’s who! Noone is going to believe THAT”—he swung his arms for emphasis—“is real!”

“They’re not going for real, darling. Besides, they can’t. They don’t have the capabilities.”

“But it’s a mockery of my reality, my art, my livelihood!”

“It’s a haunted corn maze, darling. That’s all. Just a bit of fun.”

Harry huffed.
​
Then the two spiders crawled away. 

​                                                                             (Exactly 100 Words)
Friday Fictioneers is hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Check out other posts or add your own here.