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25 May 2018

Published May 23, 2018 by rochellewisoff

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The next photo is the PROMPT. Remember, all photos are property of the photographer, donated for use in Friday Fictioneers only. They shouldn’t be used for any other purpose without express permission. It is proper etiquette to give the contributor credit. 

Please be considerate of your 70 or so readers and keep your story to 100 words. Thank you. 

PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

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Genre: Anecdote

Word Count: 100

VINTAGE

            “Sesenta y seis.” Counting backwards, I freestyle, somersault at the wall and backstroke. “Sheshim v’hamesh…”   

            My Medicare card arrived yesterday, officially heralding the long-since passing of my youth.

            “Sesenta y cuatro.” I flip and breast-stroke to the other side.  “You’re only as old as you feel. Sheshim v’sh’losh…”  

            How do I feel?

            The crystal bowl on my table sparkles in my mind—an heirloom dating back to my grandparents’ wedding in the early 1900’s. A century hasn’t dulled its beauty.

            I dive under the water and flex my flippers. This little mermaid has miles to swim before that final lap. 

 

Yes the bowl in the photo is the bowl in my story. 😉 Originally it was part of a three-piece set. My dad was one of three children. My grandparents gave each of them a piece when they married. Personally I think my parents got the best of the set. It has been a source of fascination since I can remember. And, yes, I do count backwards, alternating Spanish and Hebrew  when I swim laps. (Sensenta y seis -66, sheshim v’hamesh -65, sesenta y cuatro – 64, sheshim v’sh’losh – 63 and so on and so on and scooby dooby do 😉 ) It helps me stay focused. The pool at our fitness center is 25 ft in length. 66 lengths equals a mile.

 

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18 May 2018

Published May 16, 2018 by rochellewisoff

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As always, please be considerate of your fellow Fictioneers and keep your stories to 100 words. (Title is not included in the word count.)  Many thanks. 

The next photo is the PROMPT. Remember, all photos are property of the photographer, donated for use in Friday Fictioneers only. They shouldn’t be used for any other purpose without express permission. It is proper etiquette to give the contributor credit. 

PHOTO PROMPT submitted by Courtney Wright. © Photographer prefers to remain anonymous.

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Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

FOOTPRINTS

The uniformed matron smiled. “Take off your shoes and tie the laces together so you can find them more quickly after your shower.”

The doors clanked shut behind the child. No cleansing water sprayed from the nozzles. 

Cold tile chilled his bare feet. Naked, he shivered and gasped his final breaths.  

“Mama! Mama!”

His desperate, silenced voice rattles my soul.    

Could he have been another Einstein?

Perhaps he’d have been a storyteller whose words delighted thousands.  

The shoe is crumpled and the eyelets are rusted. It fits the palms of my hands—the only evidence of a candle snuffed aborning.

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TREDEGAR 1911

Published May 14, 2018 by rochellewisoff

This week Pegman takes us to Gwynedd, Wales. This week’s location was suggested by regular Pegman storyteller Alicia Jamtaas. Be sure to visit her site and enjoy her flash fiction and poetry over at https://lishwriter.wordpress.com/   Thanks for the great suggestion, Lish!

Your mission is to visit the region via Google Maps, and write (up to) 150 words inspired by the prompt. You can use the photo above, or browse around for your own view anywhere in Gwynedd. There are plenty of photo spheres around Caernarfon Castle, and both street view and photo spheres all over Gwynedd.

Once your piece is polished, you can share it with others using the linkup below. Reading and commenting on others’ work is part of the fun!

So here I am late for the party once more. And…while my picture is of a street in Gwynedd, my story takes place in another part of Wales–Tredegar. You may be saying, “Oy, there she goes with the Jewish history again.” 😉 Couldn’t help myself. 

As always, thank you to Karen and Josh for facilitating this group of globe trotting writers. 

Genre: Historical Fiction (You were expecting maybe vampires?)

Word Count: 150

TREDEGAR 1911

“Why, Adoshem?” Tears streamed from my papa’s eyes and soaked his beard. “Again and again You bring destruction upon us? For this we fled Russia—to be slaughtered in Wales? ‘He has hurled fire into my bones—’” A sob choked his words.

            I trembled. The night before I’d hidden under my bed, covering my ears to blot out shouts of, “Get the Jews!” and the crash of shattering windows.

            Broken furniture littered the floor. Papa’s sewing machine lay in two pieces. Spools of thread and shredded fabric were strewn everywhere.

            Mama’s soft voice cut through the hush. “Danken Gott, we’re alive.”

            Papa winced. “For how long. Everywhere the goyim hate us. ”

            At that moment a Christian youth entered the shop, head bowed, and gave Papa a banknote. “My father sends his apologies and this to help rebuild.” He took a broom from the floor.  “Perhaps I can help.”        

 

CLICK FOR A BIT OF HISTORY

11 May 2018

Published May 9, 2018 by rochellewisoff

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The next photo is the PROMPT. Remember, all photos are property of the photographer, donated for use in Friday Fictioneers only. They shouldn’t be used for any other purpose without express permission. It is proper etiquette to give the contributor credit. 

PHOTO PROMPT ©Jill Wisoff

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Genre: Memoir

Word Count: 100

The story you are about to read is true. No names have been changed to protect the guilty. 

 

FAMILY TIES

            “Wise-off?”

            “No. ‘Wiss-off.’ It’s a short ‘i’.”

            Very few can pronounce it correctly on the first try. We were the only Wisoffs in Kansas City—probably the world. Talk about feeling like the odd one out.          

            “Your great-grandparents who came over from Lithuania with 7 children shortened Wissosky,” said Dad. “There are plenty more little Wisoffs running around back east.”   

            In 1999 thanks to AOL, I met Jill Wisoff who lives in New York City.

            Say what you will about the evils of social media, but thanks to my unique surname, I don’t need DNA to find relatives on Facebook.

 

Click to hear and see a recent reading I did. Sight, sound and four flash fictions. 

Cloudburst 2018

Some Even Call it Poetry

Published May 7, 2018 by rochellewisoff

Many thanks to Marsha Gershun who, for the third year in a row has organized the CloudBursT at Beth Torah Synagogue in Overland Park, Kansas. 

Martha Gershun

This was my second year to participate. Although, only a handful of us turned up, it was a lovely time to share our individual Jewish experience.

Two of my Hebrew students came to support me…Joy and Joie…so you could say it was a joyful experience. 😉 I wish I’d thought to take a picture of the two of them. Alas, I didn’t so you’ll have to take my word for it that they are two very lovely ladies.

Although I would love to have shared a few other readers, my husband’s smartphone could only take so much. So for your watching and listening (hopefully) pleasure, here’s my part of the program. My Friday Fictioneers and other Pegman participants will undoubtedly recognize these pieces.

 

STAIRWAY TO HEAVEN

Published May 6, 2018 by rochellewisoff

Happy Cinco de Mayo! This week, quite fittingly, Pegman takes us to Mexico. Participants are invited to poke around the resort village (and ancient Mayan stomping grounds) of Tulum. You’ll find both streetview and photospheres to inspire you at this location.

Your mission is to write a 150-word story-poem-essay inspired by the location. Feel free to wander around and find your own view to use in your post.

Once your piece is polished, you can share it with others using the linkup below. Reading and commenting on others’ work is part of the fun!

The photo I chose is from the “Pegman Buffet” but my story takes place in Chiapas, Mexico, a few miles inland from Tulum. The Mayans have always fascinated me. So many mysteries surrounding them.  

Thanks as always to Karen and Josh for hosting this globe trotting challenge. 

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 150

STAIRWAY TO HEAVEN

            The soft grass tickled her back as Yohl lied beside the stream. She relished the sun’s warmth on her face. The rush of the waterfall lulled her and a delicious wave of sleep washed over her.

            “Yohl Ik’nal!”

            She snapped open her eyes to see a giant looming above her. Sunrays splayed like a crown around his massive head. Lightning bolts from his dark eyes seared her.

            Heart thumping, she rolled over and lay prostrate before him. “Itzamná, ruler of the heavens. All gods tremble in your presence. Why do you come to me, a mere girl child?”

            Tucking his finger under her chin, he raised her head. “You shall be queen of your people.”

            Like smoke rising from sacrificial fire, he vanished.

            Ascending Palenque’s throne, Yohl assumed the burdens of her people. In the shadow of impending battle and bloodshed, she trembled and pondered her dream of long ago.  

TO KNOW A LITTLE MORE CLICK HERE 😉

4 May 2018

Published May 2, 2018 by rochellewisoff

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As always, please be considerate of your fellow Fictioneers and keep your stories to 100 words. (Title is not included in the word count.)  Many thanks. 

The next photo is the PROMPT. Remember, all photos are property of the photographer, donated for use in Friday Fictioneers only. They shouldn’t be used for any other purpose without express permission. It is proper etiquette to give the contributor credit. 

PHOTO PROMPT © Karen Rawson

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Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

THIS HOT MADNESS

Benjamin shoved a notebook under his son’s nose. “What is this mishegoss?”

Although the boy had expected his father’s wrath, he trembled. “They’re my stories, Papa. I’ve decided to become a writer.”  

“A sixteen-year-old child decides?” Benjamin shook his fist and thundered. “For this we send you to yeshiva?”

“I make straight A’s in Talmud class. Why can’t a rabbi write fiction, too?” 

Benjamin flung the binder to the floor. “Frivolous nonsense!” Pages scattered like dry leaves.

***

In 1967, thirty-eight-year-old Chaim Potok marveled when his debut novel, The Chosen, became a NY Times best seller. “What would Papa say now?”

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