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.

Image of chairs in a pool.


Art Credit: Timo Kozlowski

21 Responses to “Photo Prompt”

  1. Ken Gosse says:

    The Blurry Day After ~
    Past thirty years on this date,
    it’s a photo I still contemplate.
    Snapped from a room
    waiting for bride and groom
    unoccupied, by turn of fate.

    I sat with a friend in a chair
    when we were tossed into the air.
    I surfaced. My friend
    sunk beneath the deep end—
    drunk groomsmen were never aware.

    Police tape was taken away
    but chairs remained throughout the day.
    An unkind reminder
    for memory’s grinder—
    worst plans of friends gone agley.

    Meant to be celebratory,
    starting their trip into glory:
    beautiful bride,
    her mate at her side—
    never the end of his story.

  2. Dumped. Like so many humans, these chairs are in limbo. Searching. There are plenty of fish in the sea, but what about the pool?

  3. Brandon Morgan says:

    Pool on the rooftop

    “He’ll never do it,” I chuckled loudly to attract the attention of the other party-goers. Ben quickly turned away from the rail where he had been standing, gazing at the ground 30 stories below. Red-faced with chest heaving, he stared at the people splashing in the pool to avoid my eyes.

    As I reached out to him, he spun away. In his rush, he tripped on the chaise lounger, knocking it into the water. He shoved the chair in his path harder than necessary. Action in the pool froze as metal frame screeched against metal frame.

    He didn’t hit anyone.

  4. Yash Seyedbagheri says:


    The pool glimmers turquoise, sun and water mingling. But three chairs are splayed across the water, legs mingling, fractured.
    They bear the mark of drunkenness. Parents, wrapped up in wine and the shields of I, I, I. Maybe parents who started out saying I’m sorry but were triggered. Maybe it was politics, credit card bills, a laugh or a glance once endearing. And with each week, they added indelible bruises, bribed their children, slept on couches and bathtubs.
    Hunched over the pool, I try to extract one pair of legs from another. I pull, heave, legs shifting, shifting. Nothing breaks.

  5. A. M. Green says:

    The stunned hotel guests trudged back to their rooms, drinks in hand. No one had noticed the convention organizer’s screams, the scraping of the deck chairs along the concrete surface, or the splash in the water. It was only when the detectives questioned them that the weight of the moment had hit them.

    The receptionist gulped as he was led away in handcuffs. The plan was almost perfect. The police always blamed the husband in the wife’s murder, and the free-flowing alcohol and loud music kept guests distracted. Perhaps he should have remembered that the surveillance cameras were always watching.

  6. Mackenzie says:

    The Day She Relinquished Shingon

    They’d named him Haiiro before he opened his eyes. It was before the first summer rain, before the green moss had bloomed and secured him to such blessing.

    His mother knew gray was the color of death ever since the old willow had died. Against a summer sky, nothing could be as representative of death as that tree’s corpse, and she carried its image with her to her son’s birth.


    How foolish.

    Now, she visits Okunoin after the last summer rain. It’s verdant, intense, pulsating with unseen life. As she turns to depart, she smiles. Haiiro’s eyes are open.

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