8 June 2018

Published June 6, 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 © Roger Bultot

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Genre: Speculative Fiction

Word Count: 100

DAY OF ATONEMENT

“Pardon me, Frau, what year is this?”

“Why 1889, of course.” The young mother lifts her son from his wicker pram. “5 October to be exact.”

My heart thumps. Weinstein, that lunatic genius has done it. It’s 200 years ago.

“Could you direct me to Salzburger Vorstadt 219?”

“That’s our address.”

“Frau—Hitler?”

“Ja.” She presses her cheek against the baby’s. “Adolf, let’s show the nice man the way.”

I tighten my hand around the gun in my pocket. The child gazes at me with innocent blue eyes.

What can I do? I’m doomed to let history run its course.

It’s a rhetorical question. Think hard before answering. Given the opportunity, could you pull the trigger?

*Note: October 5, 1889 was the highest of high Jewish holidays, Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement. What better day to off the future Fuehrer?

This is a bit unusual for me, but one FF’r took it upon herself to write her story as a solution to my protagonist’s dilemma. Here’s the link to Melody Pearson’s post.

AUCTION OF SOULS

Published May 26, 2018 by rochellewisoff

This week Pegman takes us to Armenia. You are welcome to use the photo provided in the prompt, or chose from among many photo spheres from across the country.

Will you dig into Armenia’s rich history? Delve into its present? Imagine its future? Or will you conjure your own alternate reality? The only rule is to keep your story, poem, or essay under 150 words.

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

Thanks to Karen and Josh for facilitating this weekly globetrotting experience.

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 150

AUCTION OF SOULS

I had just curled up on the sofa when the doorbell rang. Sore from giving birth and sleep deprived from a full-night’s worth of colic, I padded to the door. There stood my Armenian grandmother, Teddy bear in tow.

“Tatik, I just put Joseph down for his nap.”

Her brown eyes twinkled. “I come to see my great-grandson. The first boy in two generations.”

Dropping the toy on the couch, she bent over the bassinet and swept my son into her arms. Suddenly, she collapsed into the rocker clutching him to her chest and burst into tears. “He looks just like my baby brother—Joseph. The Turks ripped him from my mother’s arms, buried him up to his shoulders in the dirt and crushed his little skull under their trucks. Sixty years later I still hear the screams.

“Because we were Christians they called us infidels. I call them bastards.”

December 1915 NY Times

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.

*

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

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 laid 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?”

*

If you have 4 extra minutes and want to know more, CLICK HERE

27 April 2018

Published April 25, 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 © Jan Wayne Fields

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Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

PARTNERS IN BOTANY

September 1880

Dearest Lemmonia,

I never dreamt I would meet such a marvelous botanical comrade. Two souls are we with one thought.

Where shall we honeymoon? I propose we journey to the far-off land of the Apaches in Arizona to explore new species of flora or even climb the Santa Catalinas. I await your reply, my love.

Forever yours,

Sara

***

Their guide, Emerson O. Stratton, later reminisced, “We christened the mountain Mt. Lemmon in her honor—the first white woman to reach the peak. There I chopped the bark off a great pine tree and we all carved our names.”

*One of the things we did on our vacation was to go up Mt. Lemmon. Amazingly, you start at the bottom with Saguaro Cacti and end up at the top amid Pine Trees. It’s when I learned that the mountain was named after this intriguing lady that my bit of fiction was born. So much story, so few words allowed. 😉

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20 April 2018

Published April 18, 2018 by rochellewisoff

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*Note: This marks the third week we will be on our road trip from Kansas City to Los Angeles and back again. This has been posted ahead. Thank you for understanding my slowness to read and comment.

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

Please be considerate of the over 70 weekly participants and keep your stories to 100 words. Thank you.

The following story is a rerun from November 2014, so many of you will remember it, some of you won’t. However I did use a different prompt at the time. To visit Click Here

Genre: Hysterical Fiction

Word Count: 100

IN AN EARLIER LIFE

“Too much studying will ruin you. Carpe Diem. Let’s play catch.” Ted grabbed Douglas’ notebook and pressed a pie tin into his hand.

“Catch? With this?”

“From the Frisbie Pie Company. It’s all the rage on campus.”

For the next hour Douglas forgot about Yale, final examinations and commencement. Tension from late nights hunched over text books lifted off his shoulders and a sense of euphoria filled him as he and Ted flung the whirling dish back and forth.

“This is bound to become a national sport,” cried Douglas.

“Tin Tossing Tournaments?”

“Why not?”

“School’s finally driven you mad, MacIlroy.”

With Doug, in Kansas for a disc golf tournament in 2016. I think I was standing on a step.

13 April 2018

Published April 11, 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.

get the InLinkz code

Week 2 of our road trip. Expect delays.

Please be considerate of the over 70 weekly participants and keep your stories to 100 words. Thank you.

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

YING’S THING

David Kaminsky pressed his nose against the soot-covered window of the Brooklyn tenement. Then, bowing his head, he studied his bar mitzvah reading. “This Saturday, I’ll be a man.”

“You’ll always be my baby. Someday, you’ll sing. You’ll dance. Now drink your milk.”

______

“She was so proud of me that day,” he told his wife as he stirred peapods and chicken in a mammoth wok. Light limned his red hair and his mother’s wedding band on his pinkie.

“She would be proud of you this day, too,” said Sylvia Kaye. “There’s no better chef in the universe than my Danny.”

*Ying’s Thing was the name Danny Kaye gave his Chinese kitchen. Who nu? 😉

This multi-talented performer was one of the mainstays of my childhood. I confess that I borrowed his given name for a character in my third novel AS ONE MUST, ONE CAN.