"Pay Day" by Stephanie Hill

“And now, you will uphold your end of the deal, Mr. Figgins. Lie down on your back and keep your shirt sleeves rolled up,” Ms. Helmsley ordered.

“Can't we talk about this? I've got another idea!” Figgins pleaded.

“The time for talk has passed. You accepted our investment and have produced no return. Guido? Open your kit.”

The man in the cocked-back fedora obeyed. From the orange and yellow case he retrieved a set of rubber tubes, plastic bags, large needles and hand-pump bladders.

Figgins lay down and breathed heavy. Guido swabbed Figgins' inner arms with iodine and felt for veins with his fingertip. He pressed a needle into each arm and secured them with tape. Rubber tubes ran from the needles to the bags.

“Both!?” Figgins yelled. He had forsaken all else to try and turn a profit, but workaholism, especially with other people's money, rarely pays off.

~ fiction inspired by Edward Hopper's Midnight Meeting ~

"Back on Earth..." by Stephanie Hill

Dreamed. Got hungry. Learned to cook.

~ Six Word Story ~

"Untitled" by Stephanie Hill

Christina's World hung over Meme's couch in a retirement community apartment, a metaphor for her inability to return to the beloved farm of her childhood.

“Such a beautiful piece of art,” someone absently commented. The story goes that Christina made it, dragging her limp legs one bony arms length after the other, uphill, through the pale, dry color of the wheat field bristle after harvest.

These take time: reconciling oneself with lost years; going on one's own from a lonely field to the threshold of Home.

~ fiction inspired by Andrew Wyeth's Christina's World ~

"The Fall" by Marissa Carlson

She'd had no idea when leaving the farmhouse that morning that it would be so difficult to go back. But it was. Standing below the road, looking at the pale gray buildings against the bleached sky, she willed her legs to carry her back. But they wouldn't.

Too many things slammed in those ugly buildings. Too many voices raised. Why had she come here? "It's your bed, now get on," she whispered.

A gargantuan effort moved one leg towards her home, but the rest of her body went so limp she fell; felt the short wheat pinch into her thigh. Unable to retreat or advance, she wept.

It was only supposed to be a short walk, and breakfast would be late.

~ Fiction inspired by Andrew Wyeth's Christina's World ~