Bottomless

Bottomless lake NM Photo-New Mexico Tourism Department

Photo: New Mexico Tourism Department

 

“Which one was it?” Mark peered into the screen and jiggled the joystick for the drone.

“I don’t know,” Jake panicked. “It looks different from the ground.”

“We really should call 911,” Sherlock fretted.

“Shut up and live up to your name, will ya?” Jake snapped. Worry and guilt made him mean.

Sherlock turned beet red. In two months he’d finally be old enough to rid himself of this kick-me-name. Not that he trusted it’ll matter to those who already knew him.

Mark maneuvered the drone over the blue circle. He scanned the rocky edges. Ted was only supposed to pretend to jump in, so they could post it online for the new “Dive In” Internet challenge, but he either lost his footing or decided to show off.

A ripple in the watery surface had him zoom in closer.

The drone tilted, wobbled, splashed into the sinkhole, and disappeared. Like Ted.

 

For What Pegman Saw: Roswell, New Mexico

 

Time To Unlock

the old city3 OsnatHalperinBarlev

Photo: Osnat Halperin-Barlev

 

Morning bells reverberated in the ancient alleyways, echoing against well-worn stone.

He rose to make his way from the humble room he slept in, to the place of worship his soul knew as his actual home.

The Old City of Jerusalem. The holy place named for harmony, recompense, greeting, and – with hopes for higher roads to be achieved – for wholeness, safety, and peace.

 

 

For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: Unlock in 63 words

 

The Loophole

PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

 

“Why would anyone choose this tomb?”

Sally’s voice ricocheted in the clearing. I felt my face flush and dug my nails into my palms to keep from responding.

“I realize they don’t need light, but what do they have against air?”

“They’re blind, you know, not deaf,” Mark noted dryly. I could’ve kissed him.

Sally shrugged. She leaned forward and slapped the wall. “Thick walls. I bet they’re as good as.”

“Or not.”

Sally boomeranged off the wall as if electrocuted.

A hand waved out of an arrow slit, two inches from her waist.

I grinned.

“Come right in. Dinner’s ready.”

 

 

For Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers