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This week’s prompt is a rerun. We will be out of town visiting family this week so please forgive me for very slow or nonexistent response time. I hope everyone is having a wonderful holiday. If you’ve already written a story for this prompt as a few have, feel free to enjoy the respite. Look for next week’s prompt to be a retread as well. Thanks to each and every one of you who participate. I can’t begin to tell you what this group means to me.
Genre: Historical Fiction
Word Count: 97
Like the anguished images that flashed across our television, Friday, November 22, 1963 will ever be etched into my memory in black and white.
Walter Cronkite wept on camera.
The nation mourned.
Dazed, Mom sorted Christmas ornaments at the kitchen table and mumbled empty phrases. Dad dropped to his knees, laid his head in her lap and sobbed.
“He was my hero!” I screamed.
My eleven-year-old world spun out and I kicked at the two faceless uniforms.
Their vacuous condolences pelted me like the bullets that killed my big brother in Vietnam.
I’ll never forgive Mr. Kennedy.
I was in 5th grade the day Kennedy was assassinated. We had just come in from recess when the teacher greeted us with “The president’s been shot.’ and flipped on the TV. What a cold and hollow weekend followed as we all crowded around the television and wondered who would do such a horrible thing. I don’t mean to spark a controversy but the fact is that President Kennedy did send advisers to Vietnam and he did get us into the war.