Photo Prompt
Each month, we post a photograph as a writing prompt. Post your 100-word story in the comments section, and we’ll choose one to feature in our next issue. To see examples, read photo stories we’ve published in the past.
In the spirit of fun and fairness, please follow these guidelines:
• Post only one story per photo prompt.
• Be mindful of others’ feelings when commenting (keep it positive rather than giving feedback).
• Remember this is a shared safe space for all lovers of 100-word stories.
Art Credit: David Gallagher
The puzzle still sat on her table, staring at her accusingly every time she walked into the kitchen. Though mostly completed, there was a scattering of pieces left, and she just couldn’t bring herself to finish it without Grandma. Puzzles had been their thing, and the memories of countless puzzle afternoons were too much to handle in the midst of grief and loss. Grandma even kept a photo album of all their completed puzzles and showed anyone who stopped by to visit. But now, SHE was that puzzle, she thought…missing pieces and never able to be whole without them.
She has turned into a puzzle, her pieces scattered around the living room. He kneels on the carpet and begins to search for her, trembling. He finds one piece under the couch, ensnared in a dust bunny. He finds the dog chewing on another. He pries it from his stubborn teeth. Her cardboard is punctured, shredded. He expects, hopes, to find a piece of her hiding beneath the toe of his shoe, within the warmth of his hoodie crumpled on the floor, even between the pages of his journal, drawn to the safety of his voice. She is everywhere else.
Game Rules
Object:
Win at all costs no matter your title as both Mother and Grandmother.
Setup:
Each round begins whenever competition presents itself. Mother/Grandmother asserts ambition with snickering, palm rubbing, “oh goodies!” Adult children smolder. Grandchildren grow bug-eyes.
Rules of Play:
No fun and games. No handicaps. Rivalries include Scrabble, Miniature Golf, Ping Pong, anything believed winnable by predictable wannabe champion.
Common Mistake:
Assuming peaceful activities (example: puzzling) are exempt from point tallying (example: number of blue sky pieces interlocked) and/or somehow losing.
Hints:
Ignore. Then Bam! Bring It On, without letting on, you’re bringing it on.
Good luck.
My first year in the university dormitory had eight of us sharing a small, square room, two to a bunk.
Rachel’s bunk was closest to mine. We matched each other’s personalities effortlessly. We talked about everything, shared secrets, somehow always understood each other and seemed inseparable.
After graduation, life changed us. We drifted apart as our perspective of life changed. We could no longer recognize the versions of ourselves we had known. And somewhere in that distance, I came to realize that sometimes people fit a particular version of us. And when that version disappears, the fit disappears with it.
It was either the crossword or the jigsaw puzzle but words failed today. Failed to interject meaning into cancer treatments and death. Hospital beds in living rooms—how’s that for irony! So, today is a wordless day. Find answers in fits and starts by putting interlocking (guaranteed!) pieces together. Assemble the big picture silently. (But if bearing down harder helps…) Start with the edges and corners, isolate the alike colors. Gather the pieces in little colonies, get them to interact, to connect. Work toward a solution somewhere in the middle and see if this life mirrors the picture on the box.
Nicely crafted, like the way you frame this (“so today is a wordless day . . . interlocking guaranteed pieces together”). Enjoyed it, well done.
Missing Pieces
Mischievous behavior began early. Curfew for dinner more of a suggestion to him than a hardened family rule. What he likely perceived as clever family conversation was more brash insolence. However, one thing his sister remembered most were the string of unfinished puzzles. The most frustrating a Dole banana with the iconic red label piece forever missing.
Several decades later she now looks across the table at her own son glowing from adding the final piece, completing the family puzzle.
I sat at my table, moving the puzzle pieces around, trying to find the right one. None of the ones I thought fit did. It was starting to get annoying. I didn’t have that many pieces left and I wanted to finish the puzzle. I kept trying to put each piece in one slot but nothing would fit there. Not in any way it was moved. I eventually started to put the pieces in the other places leaving that one empty, though it looked strange, for that was the piece that was the person’s face. The puzzle was forever unfinished.