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.
“Greetings to all you boneheads in the Pacific, this is your number one enemy, your favorite playmate, Orphan Ann, with some good jive.”
Trembling, Iva put down her script and set the needle on the record. What choice did she have? She had to eat.
Stranded in Tokyo after a short trip to visit her aunt, she refused to renounce her US citizenship. Japanese customs repulsed her. She longed for hamburgers and Coca-Cola in her comfortable California home.
Thirty-two years, six of them in prison for treason, later, President Gerald Ford pardoned Iva Toguri D’aquino, also known as Tokyo Rose.
Ornate chandeliers bathed Vienna’s Burgtheater stage with light. A young actor took a final bow and his father cheered, “Bravo!”
Afterwards in his dressing room Johann pleaded, “Bitte, Papa, come with me to America.”
“Soon, Johann.” Papa tied a scarf around Johann’s neck. “Soon.”
Had Papa perished in Mauthausen-Gusen, Buchenwald or Auschwitz?
Johann fingered the remains of the threadbare scarf in his pocket. What would Papa make of him now; an orphaned Jew in a Wehrmacht uniform standing in front of television cameras repeating the catchphrase he had heard for twenty years of searching, “I see nothing! Nothing!”
Below is the photo prompt for the week. What do you see? What do you hear? Tell me in one hundred words or less, then click the blue froggy fella and link your story. My story follows the linkz and prompt. I appreciate honest comments and constructive criticism.
The boy stared out the window beside his bed and listened to his Alyn Ainsworth record. He tapped his fingers on the night stand in time to the music.
Sentenced to the ‘greenhouse,’ a children’s sanitarium, he’d celebrated his fourteenth birthday with tea, boredom and Streptomycin. Yet, after a year of incarceration, the doctors still considered Ritchie too ill to go home.
“Join our band,” said a nurse. “Bring your new banjo.”
“I’d rather play drums.”
Ten years later Ritchie smiled over his drum set at a sea of screaming teenagers as Ed Sullivan cried, “Ladies and gentleman, the Beatles!”
The next photo you see is the PROMPT. Study it. What does it say to you? Tell me in a hundred words or less.
My story follows the prompt and the link. Click on little blue froggy fella and add your link. If reading and commenting on every story is daunting, try reading the five prior to yours and the five following. 😉
Against the cold wooden floor, labor pains wracked Emily’s back. One after another they came, each harder than the last. She closed her eyes to shut out onlookers’ stares but couldn’t block out their voices.
“Helluva place to have a kid.”
“Pour me another, Fayette.”
“Whaddya think, Gramps? Boy or girl?”
“Quarter says ‘boy.’”
“Pay them no mind, Emily,” said Mama. “Push!”
Over the din of cheers and clinking glasses William Griffith Wilson made his howling presence known.
“Born behind Grandpa’s bar,” whispered Emily as she cuddled her newborn. “Don’t suppose it’s some kind of omen, do you?”