Sunday Photo Fiction: A Gory Death Becomes #amwriting #fiction #SPF


Thanks to Susan for hosting SPF.


Credit: C.E.Ayer


Dust rose thick in the air, and the August sun scorched. The foreman and his workmen dripped sweat, and Natasha Roberts supervised her redesign.

The home’s white-washed stucco matched an aqua-tiled and white kitchen with ice-blue tones carrying into the great room. Glints of multi-colored metal, and a 1920’s inspired bar created a unique entertaining space.

The master-bedroom’s giant windows combined with simplified Art-Decl luxury. In contrast, original barn-doors with glass panes to the balcony, matched the ones downstairs that opened to an outdoor living space.

Natasha admired her creation; she was excited to make the house stylish, and to skim extra profit unbeknown to her clients.

The foreman yelled to her and she scoffed. “I’m coming.” What a hick.

She turned in red stilettos, her ruby dress swirling with its bell-sleeves. She teetered, and her heel caught on the sand-stone patio. Natasha screeched and her body lunged; her ankle and heel snapped. She crushed into white-washed walls, raven hair fanning as she fell.

The foreman witnessed Natasha’s death. He swore as her blood gushed, and crossed himself when he perceived she had no pulse.

Years later, he dreamed of Natasha’s mouth in a daily spitting-rage towards his skilled-workers. He remembered her scream as her ankle twisted at the same awkward angle as her neck. Nightmares haunted him; he believed Natasha deserved her gory end.


©Mandibelle16.(2018) All Rights Reserved.

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Sunday Photo Fiction: A Perfect Wife


I never thought I would be one to travel a great deal but I had been all around Europe this past year. Now, I was staying at a hotel in Amsterdam. On my way to get coffee, I noticed a man following me. He was dressed well and reminded me  of a how the Italian`s dressed, very sharp and expensive.

I remained in the crowds trying to lose my tail and I worked my way back to my hotel room. I thought I was safe in my hotel but my hands were grabbed and tied behind me as  I opened my suitcase. I was pulled over my stalkers shoulder and eventually placed in the back seat of a car.

” Sit back, Natasha, relax. I would never hurt you,”  my kidnapper reasoned.

” Then why would you kidnap me?” I yelled at the stranger.

” Mama says I need a wife and I want a pretty Canadian wife. I have lots of money. Plus, look at me? I’m hot you are lucky to have me for a husband.”

I tried the locks on the doors.” I want to go back to my hotel now. I have a fiance, I don’t need a husband.” I lied.

The man laughed at me and reached back to pat my arm. “I will make you forget about him.”

” I don’t want to be your wife!” I scream.

The man shrugged. ” My Mama and I picked you out in Florence. You helped a little boy find his lost parents and Mama said ‘She’s your wife.’ Mama is never wrong.”

I shuddered.

Dutch House

Thanks to Alistair Forbes for hosting!