Historical Fiction

All posts in the Historical Fiction category

4 October 2019

Published October 2, 2019 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 © Dale Rogerson

Click the Frog to Join the Fun. 

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

UNHOLY COMMUNION

Sunset filled the room with an orange glow. Bear Starfire’s stomach rumbled. “Gitchie Manitou in the sky, all I did was speak your name and I am sent to bed without—.”

            The door opened. She switched from her spirit language. “Give us this day our daily bread.”

            Father Patrick stood before her with a tray. “Amen.”  

            “I’m not hungry.”

            He gave her a sandwich and caressed her cheek. “Lying is a deadly sin.”

            Wolfing down the food, she tried to ignore his fingers crawling between her legs.

            “There’s my lamb. Swear never to tell anyone about our—special friendship.”

***

Once more I’m sharing a distilled and tweaked teaser from my WIP WHAT THE HEART WANTS. Thanks again to the real Bear Starfire who loaned me her name and gave me thoughtful input. This story is not meant to cast dispersion on the Catholic Church as a whole. Sadly, sexual abuse was a fact of life in the Indian boarding schools, often at the hands of the clergy. 

On a side note, I entered the manuscript in our Ozarks Writers League writing contest and took first place in the category. 😀 I’ve never placed in a literary contest before. Hopefully, an agent and or publisher will think it’s worthy as well.

 

 

TODAY I AM A MAN

Published September 25, 2019 by rochellewisoff

PHOTO PROMPT © Na’ama Yehuda

Frog delightfully rendered by Keith Hillman

I hope you’ll forgive me for double dipping today.  I couldn’t help myself. 😉  

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

TODAY I AM A MAN

“This is stupid.” Twelve-year-old Leon fumed. “Why do I have to do a dumb old Bar Mitzvah?”  

            “Stupid is it?” Zaydeh’s faded eyes brimmed. “It could save your life.”

            Leon braced himself.

            “I stuck by Papa in the men’s line until a guard forced me to go with the boys. But I would have none of it.”

            “What did you do?”

            “I went back to the men.”

            “You were only thirteen.”

            “I told the guard I am Bar Mitzvah. A man according to Halakha. Papa and I survived the camp in the men’s barracks. The boys? Straight to the ovens.”

20 September 2019

Published September 18, 2019 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 © J Hardy Carroll

For a good time, CLICK!

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

THE SPIRIT SURVIVES

           Morning sunlight bathed Gertrude’s violin as she played a mournful melody. Although twelve years had passed, she would never forget the moment at the Quaker school her heavy braids tumbled to the floor, clipped by the teacher’s cruel scissors.

            Education meant nothing if she didn’t use it for good. Her people’s spirits called to her, yearning to be free.

            She plucked the pins from her hair. It fell around her shoulders like a black cape.

            “I will be their voice. I am no longer Gertie.” She raised her fist. “I am Zitkala-Za of the Yankton Sioux, granddaughter of Sitting Bull.”

To know more about this trailblazing woman CLICK HERE

6 September 2019

Published September 4, 2019 by rochellewisoff

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*Note: The photo prompt is meant to be the INSPIRATION for your story not an ILLUSTRATION of it.  

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 © Penny Gadd

Click on the Frog to Join the Fun! Hoppy! Hoppy! Joy! Joy!

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

THE PERFECT IDIOT’S PROFESSION

            Twelve-year-old Kathy burst into the bedroom. “Hey, Lazy-Bones, time for breakf—.” She choked on a scream.

            Tommy’s body hung by a noose from a rafter.

***

            Kathy picked at her eggs. “I miss Tommy.”

            Mother ignored the reference to her departed son. “Get ready for school.”

            Kathy shuddered. “No!”       

            “Traumatized.” Father sighed. “I fear Kathy’s destined to become a recluse. I’ll hire a tutor.”

***

            Years later, nineteen-year-old Katharine announced to the dismay of her father. “I’m going to be an actress.”

            Dr. Hepburn scowled at his headstrong daughter. “You don’t get anywhere in theater unless you sleep with the director.”

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THE DAY THE MUSIC DIED

Published August 25, 2019 by rochellewisoff

This week Pegman takes us to the capital of Latvia, in Riga’s Old Town. Your mission is to write up 150 words inspired by the location. Feel free to use the image supplied, or venture around Riga for something that inspires you. You may write fact or fiction, poetry or prose. The only only requirement is to keep your piece at 150 words or less, as a consideration to others.

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

As always, thanks to Karen and Josh for heading up the challenge. 

Click the frog to read other stories and add your own. 

Peitav Synagogue in Riga, Latvia was built in 1905. It has survived the Holocaust and bombings in the 1990’s.

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 150

THE DAY THE MUSIC DIED

Katya played Chopin’s “Berceuse” on the imaginary piano in her coat pocket with trembling fingers. She tried to keep pace on the frozen path.

Without success, she tried to block out the image of her father, the cantor, lying in the street, his magnificent voice forever stilled. Latvia’s November wind whipped through her.  

She remembered when Professor Philipp at the conservatory in Paris proclaimed, “Katya Abramis, you have an exquisite talent.”

“Schnell!”

A drunken soldier ripped an infant from a young mother’s arms and shot him. She dropped to her knees only to suffer the same fate as her son. The snow turned red beneath them.

“Shoes in this pile, clothes in that.”

Katya obeyed. What choice did she have?

Standing naked at the edge of a deep pit, Katya pictured her beloved synagogue and heard Papa sing “Lord of the World, Who was, Who is, Who is to come.”   

 

There is little on the internet about Cantor Abram Abramis or his daughter Katya, renowned pianist of her time. Both perished in the 1941 Massacre in Riga. CLICK HERE for my source. 

אנו זוכר’ם

 

PENANCE

Published August 18, 2019 by rochellewisoff

Today Pegman travels to the Florida Keys at the bottom of the United States. Like the other Torch Keys, it was probably named for the native Torchwood tree.

Stroll and around and see if you can find something that interests you. When you’re done, write 150 words and link to the prompt using the frog below. Remember, reading and commenting is part of the fun!

Thanks to Josh and Karen for hosting this weekly challenge.

To play add your story click the frog.

Sunset Siesta Florida Key

This week I revisited an oldie posted for Friday Fictioneers in January of 2013. It seems to fit the prompt so I added 50 more words. 😀 

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 150

PENANCE 

            Jonathan gazed at his reflection in the cracked mirror. Self-loathing flooded him. He took pen in hand, the hand that only an hour before had closed the eyes of a deceased child, still hot with fever. Imagining his beloved’s sweet countenance, Jonathan wrote:

                                                3 December in the year of our Lord 1765

Dearest Catherine,

            It is with deep regret I write that I shan’t return to England. I cannot for I would not have you plight your troth to a murderer.

            Now I must remain to make amends.  

            At the first the savage misliked me and I feared him. But over time we became friends. Together we laughed and fished the Seminole way in this Florida paradise.

            Surely these people threaten us with war. Yet it was neither my musket nor my dagger that felled my warrior brother and his son, but my white man’s curse—smallpox. 

            Penitently yours,

                        Jonathan

WHERE TWO RIVERS MEET

Published August 11, 2019 by rochellewisoff

Karen’s directive: This week Pegman takes us to Manitoba, Canada. Feel free to use the location/picture supplied with the prompt, our take your own tour of Manitoba via Google Maps and find a view to inspire you.

Your mission is to write up to 150 words inspired by the week’s location. You may write poetry, prose, or essay. Once your piece is polished, share it with others using the linkup below. Reading and commenting on others’ stories is part of the fun!

Thank you, Karen and Josh for hosting this weekly challenge. 

CLICK THE FROG TO JOIN THE FUN

Here is the photo I chose from Google Maps. I hope one day to see the Northern Lights in person.

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 150

WHERE TWO RIVERS MEET

            Blue, purple and green snaked across the night sky. Stars twinkled through the brilliant colours.

            Full and drowsy after the evening meal, warmed by the fire, Tantoo laid her head on her mother’s shoulder. “Tell me about the lights, Nikawi. Where do they come from?”

            Nikawi stroked Tantoo’s hair. “They are the spirits dancing. See how they move in circles?”

            “Nohkum says they are our beloved ancestors visiting us and we should respect them.”

            “Your grandmother is a wise woman.” Nikawi’s eyes glittered. “One day we will dance with them.”

            “I can hardly wait.” Tantoo yawned, her eyelids heavy with sleep. “I heard the elders say our way of life will end soon. Is this true?”  

             Nikawi did not reply.

            The girl could not imagine it. The Nisichawayasihk had always hunted, fished and tended the land. In return Mother Earth rewarded their reverence. How could it not always be so?  

 

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