12 October 2018

Published October 10, 2018 by rochellewisoff

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 © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

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Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

CRY OF THE HUMAN SPIRIT

Ten-year-old Annie had never ridden on a train. Cousin Anastasia said it would take her and her brother to Springfield. How odd. Stasia never kissed her before. What did Uncle John mean when he muttered, “Almshouse”?

“D’ya think Nellie and Mama and Johnny are happy in Heaven, Jimmie?” Annie asked.

His feverish snoring answered her. She wished she could see the scenery whizzing by.

“Not to worry, little one,” said her invisible faerie friend with an Irish brogue. “Someday you’ll do great things.”

“Me? How? I’m only an ignorant blind girl nobody wants.”

“Trust me, darlin’ Annie Sullivan. You will.”

Helen Keller with Annie Sullivan Macy (Teacher)

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5 October 2018

Published October 3, 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 © Sandra Crook

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Genre: Memoir

Word Count: 100

SHELL GAME

We flocked to the record racks to buy his LP’s. I did my best to memorize those monologues. Remember the slush ball?

“Junior Barns, you gunky.” That one made me laugh until tears rolled.

I spied Scotty, partner of undercover tennis bum Kelly. With humor, they solved crime after crime.

Every time I drove my Beetle, I heard him say to a raucous audience, “When the fan belt breaks we use a rubber band.”

The accusations rocked my world as Bill Cosby plummeted from his pedestal. A deep sense of loss floods me.

The jokes aren’t funny anymore, are they?

FLIGHT THROUGH HELL

Published September 30, 2018 by rochellewisoff

Pegman did not get enough of this lovely region of Europe, so this week Pegman heads a little further west to the Douro Valley of Portugal.

This week’s suggestion comes from the talented Lish over at Up From the Ashes. Be sure head over to her blog and enjoy not just this week’s story, but her excellent poetry and other entertaining stories.

Your mission on Pegman, as always, is to write up to 150 words inspired by the prompt. Feel free to use the image supplied above, or visit the Douro Valley yourself via Google maps and find your own street view or photo sphere for inspiration. Or better yet, visit it in person, and take the rest of us Peg-people with you!

Once your story/essay/poem is finished, share it with others using the link up below. Reading and commenting on others’ work is part of the fun!

It has been a busy week and I really didn’t think I’d post a story this time. Once more, the Google trail and my muse conspired against my plans. And just when I think I’ve sussed out all “those stories,” another comes to light.

Many thanks to Karen and Josh for keeping this challenge afloat.

Synagogue in Douro…yep, I found one.

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 150

FLIGHT THROUGH HELL

“Mue amigo, my position in the Portuguese consulate gives me the power to grant you and your wife and children visas,” said Aristides de Sousa Mendes, “and safety from the German Madman.”

Rabbi Chaim Kruger twined the end of his beard around his index finger. “Can you do the same for my brothers and sisters stranded here on the streets of Bordeaux?”

Tortured by his inability to grant his friend’s request and other personal issues, Sousa Mendes suffered a breakdown. Following a rapid recovery, he threw off the bedclothes and proclaimed, “From now on I’m giving everyone visas.”

When faced with charges of “disobeying during higher service” by the Portuguese government in 1940 he responded. “I could not differentiate between nationalities as I was obeying the dictates of humanity.”

In 1966, Sousa Mendes became the first diplomat to be recognized by Israel as one of the Righteous Among the Nations.

*

Rabbi Chaim Kruger with Sousa Mendes

One of the visas issued by Sousa Mendes

Jewish Refugees in Belgium

Simplified version of the medal given for the Righteous Among the Nations

28 September 2018

Published September 26, 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 © Yvette Prior

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Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

THE BUTLER DID IT

Six-year-old Billy earned a bit here and there on the Post-Civil War streets of Richmond dancing for anyone who’d watch.

A passerby tossed a penny at the boy’s feet. “Cute little darky.”

Determined to be more than a ‘pickaninny,’ Billy tapped his way from Vaudeville to the Harlem, and, ultimately, to Broadway. Top hat and tails became his trademarks.

Hollywood relegated him to servant roles.

“Everything’s copacetic.” He said as he instructed his diminutive partner. “Take small steps or you know what happens.”

Slipping her lily-white hand in Bill “Bojangles” Robinson’s, Shirley Temple giggled. “Yeah, I fall on my keester.”

****

Here’s a taste of what I’m talking about:

21 September 2018

Published September 19, 2018 by rochellewisoff

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and remember:

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 © Dale Rogerson

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Genre: Whimsy

Word Count: 100

BUMBERSHOOT

Dark clouds gathered, threatening to spoil Eric and Alistair’s sightseeing.

After months of emails and planning, the two blog buddies decided to meet in London since Eric had never been away from the States.

“Did you think to bring a brolly?”

Eric’s brow furrowed. “Why would I bring a trolley?”

Rain pelted Alistair’s forehead and dribbled into his eyes. “Are you deaf? I said ‘brolly.’ Not trolley. You know. A gamp.” He sputtered. “Can’t you Yanks understand plain English?”

Eric shrugged. “It certainly rains a lot over here. As you Brits say, it’s a good job I brought an umbrella.”

WHO NU?

Published September 16, 2018 by rochellewisoff

This week Pegman is on the continent of Africa, in Bamboi, Ghana. There is not a lot of streetview available in this area, but you are free to roam within the borders of Ghana for your inspiration.

Your mission is to write up to 150 words inspired by the prompt. Once your piece is polished, share it with others using the link up below.

Reading and commenting on others’ work is part of the fun! Thanks as always to Karen and Josh for facilitating.

This week, while I stayed in Ghana, I went to a different village. I had to go where the muse took me. A familiar theme for me, but there’s always something new to learn. New people to meet.

Genre: Realistic Fiction

Word Count: 150

WHO NU?

When I was a child in an Orthodox home, Shabbos as it was called by my Polish immigrant grandparents, was a non-negotiable. All work ceased on Friday night. This included tearing toilet paper and flipping light switches. We spent every boring Saturday in shul, synagogue. Havdalah, the separation between Shabbos and the rest of the week, between the holy and the mundane, marked the end of my torture.

As soon as I was old enough, I joined the Peace Corps. I loved the feeling of helping people less fortunate than myself. I was making a difference. As much as I hated to admit it I was homesick. I even missed Shabbos.

In a village called Sefwi Wiawso, Ghana I met a group of Jews who invited me to spend Shabbat with them. After a Kosher dinner, I joined my new mishpokhah for Havdalah. Fragrant spices and candlelight replaced my loneliness.

*Mishpocha – family

*Nu? -Yiddish for ‘so?’

CLICK here to watch Havdalah, Sefwi style.

14 September 2018

Published September 12, 2018 by rochellewisoff

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

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 © J Hardy Carroll

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Genre: Some might find it humorous

Word Count: 100

This is based on fact. I recently was called for jury duty. A day spent waiting…and reading. I think I can blame Russell for the inspiration. When I wasn’t sketching or snoozing, I was reading my signed copy of “The Perils of Heavy Thinking.” That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

MEMBER OF THE BORED

My day in court arrives. I spend hours in a sterile waiting room with 74 other potential jurors before moving to the courtroom. To pass the time I sketch the man in front of me.

Who among us will be chosen to spend the next five days deliberating? Not I.

So…

Will it be the blonde with a rock on her finger the size of Texas? Or maybe the brunette whose attributes are barely contained will catch the judge’s eye. Or what about the dainty young thing in striped hoodie and floral pajama pants?

The possibilities fire this writer’s imagination.

***

Not Boring

A STONE FOR THE JOURNEY

The coffee table companion to Havah’s Trilogy

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or HERE

COLLATERAL ORANGE DAMAGE

Published September 9, 2018 by rochellewisoff

This week Pegman takes us to Hanoi, Vietnam. Your mission is to write up to 150 words inspired by the location. Feel free to use the image supplied with the prompt or take your own tour of Hanoi. You’ll find photosheres and a limited amount of street view in Hanoi.

Once your piece is polished, share it with others using the link up below. Reading and commenting on others work is part of the fun.

I hated to miss another week so I hope no one minds that I’m sharing something of a rerun. Not enough brain cells this morning to come up with something new. 😉 Thanks to Karen and Josh for keeping Pegman going.

This isn’t a fun piece by any stretch. Some may remember the shorter version I posted in Friday Fictioneers in February of 2016. Once more I dedicate this story to my brothers in law who both served in Vietnam and suffer the effects of Agent Orange.

Genre: Realistic Fiction

Word Count: 100

COLLATERAL ORANGE DAMAGE

(Expanded)

“Farewell, Rob” was all I could muster as I laid my battered dog tags on his grave.

We’d been through a lot together, but in the end it wasn’t a Viet Cong bullet, but prostate cancer that got him. Doc says I’m next on the hit parade.

Please try to understand. We were soldiers following orders.

“A little defoliating agent to clear the jungle and expose the enemy.” Our commanding officers assured us. “Nothing that will harm a human.”

I’d read of the far reaching effects and wanted to check it out for myself. I booked a flight and a room in beautiful downtown Hanoi.

Last night, after taking in the sights, I visited a children’s hospital in Ho Chi Minh City. There the fruits of our labors languish with twisted or missing limbs and eyes that bulge from enlarged skulls.

We have exposed the enemy, and he is us.

Click Here for a Disturbing Illustration

7 September 2018

Published September 5, 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.

get the InLinkz code

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

BEAUTIFUL DREAMER

Minnie stared out her window at the rising moon and yawned.

“Girl,” said Mama Mary, Minnie’s great-grandmother. “You ain’t gonna learn to read stayin’ up all night.”

“I hate school. The kids call me Minnie Crazy.”

“Tell me what’s in them visions, child?”

“I see my great-great-grandma being brung here on a slave ship. I see elephants and birds and angels.”

Minnie Evans’ visions continued to haunt her. One day, paintbrush or crayon in hand, she recreated her dreams.

Her husband Julian frowned. “Pictures don’t put food on the table.”

Minnie trembled. “God told me I havta paint or die.”

*

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Heeding the Call by Minnie Evans

In her own words:

BIRTHRIGHT

Published August 26, 2018 by rochellewisoff

This week Pegman is in Resolute, NU, Canada. Your mission is to write up to 150 words inspired by the location. Feel free to use the image supplied in the prompt or snag your own. Both streetview and photospheres are available in this location.

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

In pursuance of a story this morning, I ended up south of Resolute, although still in Nunavut. Thanks as always to Karen and Josh for facilitating this blog challenge.

Genre: Realistic Fiction

Word Count: 150

BIRTHRIGHT

“You hold the pencil like this.” I imagine Napachie guiding her daughter’s tiny hand. “Draw what you see.”

I watch Annie draw a face on the paper and smile up at her mother. “I want to be an artist like you when I grow up, Anaana.”

Perhaps Napachie Pootoogook’s heart swelled with pride. “And like your grandmother Pitseolak Ashoona.”

Did fame destroy the child who became an internationally acclaimed artist? Her boyfriend claims she’d disappear for days to drink. Others say she feared him. Did he murder her? Or did it happen as the chief investigator told reporters?

“…could be suicide, accidental, she got drunk and fell in the river and drowned…much of the Aboriginal population in Canada is just satisfied being alcohol and drug abusers.”

What would she say?

Her depictions are courageous and straight forward. Although her pencils lay still and bereft, deep calls to deep. Annie speaks to me.