3 October 2014

Published October 1, 2014 by rochellewisoff

The following photo is the prompt. Does it speak to you? What does it say?

My story follows the photo and the blue froggy fella. Comments and suggestions appreciated.

Copyright-Kent Bonham

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Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

REQUIEM IN C MINOR

“You must practice an hour a day,” said Mama. “People will come from miles around to hear you play. You have a gift.”

“I hate the violin,” I yelled. “I don’t want to be a musician.”

Once Mama made up her mind she only heard what she wanted to hear.

What choice did I have? I was only six.

Eight years later Mama’s prediction came true. People came from miles around to hear me play. My music was the last thing they heard on their way to the gas chambers.

Sweet music, the only color in Theriesenstadt, saved my life.

Author’s note for those who may ask how I arrived at this.

At first glance, this photo said nothing to me other than, “Yuck. Where’s the story in this and why did I choose it for a prompt?” At second glance I thought ‘dead bird.’ Nah. Trashed lollipop? Okay, forget about the articles, what about color? I didn’t see much of that. My mind went to the Holocaust, a part of history I think of in shades of gray. (Not the racy novel 😉 ) Next, Terezin, a town in Czechoslovakia that was turned into a ghetto and renamed Theriesenstadt came to mind. There the Nazis made a propaganda film to show the outside world their kind treatment of the Jews, when, in reality, it was a holding place on the road to extermination for most. My research path ultimately inspired me to write REQUIEM IN C MINOR. Thank you for reading.

Shalom,

Rochelle

26 September 2014

Published September 24, 2014 by rochellewisoff

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. 😉

PHOTO PROMPT Copyright – Marie Gail Stratford

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Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 98

HELLO, MY NAME IS BILL

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?”

Epilogue

12 September 2014

Published September 10, 2014 by rochellewisoff

Below is the PHOTO PROMPT. Take time to think and reflect. How does it make you feel? What do you see?

Copyright – Janet Webb

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Genre: Smoke and Mirrors

Word count: 100

HARRY’S FIRST TURN

“Things were supposed to be better in America,” said Rabbi Weiss. “’Too old fashioned’ the congregation I built says, and just like that, I’m a pauper with nine mouths to feed.”

“It’s because you don’t speak English, Papa.” Ehrich looked up from his book.

“What’s this you’re reading?”

“The Book of the Sacred Magic.”

“Better you should study the Torah.”

“That didn’t do you much good, did it?”

“Impudence! To your room!”

Half an hour later Ehrich strolled into the parlor smiling triumphantly.

“How?” Rabbi Weiss gasped. “I locked you in.”

“My brain is the key that sets me free.”

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Click link for more info- Harry Houdini 1899

15 August 2014

Published August 13, 2014 by rochellewisoff

The next photo is the PHOTO PROMPT

Let it speak to you. Does it tell you a story?

PHOTO PROMPT -Copyright – Jan Wayne Fields

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Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 99

HOME FIRES BURNING

“Nights are long and my bed ever so cold…”

She stopped writing, crumpled her letter and recalled their conversation the day before he left.

_____

“The last time you went for six months it turned into four years.”

“I am needed there.”

“You are needed here.”

“Debbie, my dearest.” He placed his hands on either side of her face. “Accompany me. You will love London.”

______

Deborah Franklin laid another sheet of parchment on the desk, dipped her quill in the inkwell and wrote.

“Dear Benjamin,

I love you so. Had it not been for my ridiculous fear of the sea…”

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25 July 2014

Published July 23, 2014 by rochellewisoff

Below is the PHOTO PROMPT. Where does it take you? Let your imagination run free, free from the confines of the box. 😉

PHOTO PROMPT Copyright – Marie Gail Stratford

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Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

KONG FUZI

Like his imposing father, Qiu towered over most boys his age. Yet, unlike Shuliang He, he preferred serenity to battle.

“Eat.” Zhenzai stroked her son’s cheek and tapped his crooked nose. “Your rice is getting cold.”

He rolled his chopsticks between his thumb and forefinger, his gentle eyes filled with pain and tears.

“Mama, why am I so ugly?”

She hugged him. “Not so.”

“It is so.”

“Listen to me.” She tightened her embrace. “Someday you will be a great teacher.”

“No one will hear me. They will only see my face.”

“Everything has beauty, but not everyone sees it.”

********

To learn more about Zhenzai click the Chinese calligraphy below.

**It seems that no two articles agreed on every point of the teacher’s life so all should be taken with an extra tablespoon of soy sauce and stirred with the proper chopsticks.

********

“The honorable and upright man keeps well away from both the slaughterhouse and the kitchen. And he allows no knives on his table.”

Kong Fuzi

11 July 2014

Published July 9, 2014 by rochellewisoff

Below is the PHOTO PROMPT. What does it say to you? Tell me in one hundred words or less.

PHOTO PROMPT – Copyright – Kelly Sands

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Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

SAUVIGNON BLANC 1940: THE GRAPES OF WRATH

Nine-year-old Laurel shivered and rubbed her eyes.

“Are we going to die, Mum?”

Her mother held her tight and shouted over concussions that juddered the shelter.

“The storm will pass.”

The ceiling caved in, their lantern shattered on the floor and her world went black.

In the morning sirens sounded the “all clear” and by afternoon civil defense workers had dug their way through to them.

Laurel squeezed Mum’s cold, stiff hand. “Wake up. Please, wake up. The bombers are gone.”

****

In the cold darkness of the wine cellar the storm still raged.

Eighty-one-year-old Laurel shivered and rubbed her eyes.

20 June 2014 -Summer Rerun

Published June 18, 2014 by rochellewisoff

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Below is the photo prompt. I’ve tried to enlarge it but it defies all my attempts. $:\$

PHOTO PROMPT
Copyright -Mary Shipman

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*I have out-of-town guests coming this week so I won’t be reading or commenting much after Thursday. I really appreciate all of you.*

This was the fourth story I posted for Friday Fictioneers, 1 May 2012. It’s still one of my favorites and it’s fun to go back there to see who commented and what they said. 😉

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word count: 99

SIMPLE HOUSE

In 1901 taxidermist Jefferson Thomas constructed a home and a thriving business. His petulant mail-order bride hated rural life.

One day her prized ruby from a former suitor disappeared. Blaming Jefferson, she demanded a divorce. Tongues wagged when she abandoned both her husband and child.

A century later a tornado devastated the house to a pile of clapboard. Amid the rubble, Jefferson Thomas III found nothing left of his heritage save a lone wall. He tore off a length of wallpaper and yelped.

A glass eyed, mummified woman stared back at him, a ruby ring clinched between her teeth.

13 June 2014

Published June 11, 2014 by rochellewisoff

REMINDER: This page is “FRIDAY FICTIONEERS CENTRAL” and is NOT the place to promote political or religious views. Also, you are responsible for the content of your story and policing comments on your blog. You have the right to delete any you consider offensive.

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😉 My story follows the PHOTO PROMPT below and link tool. I enjoy honest comments and welcome constructive criticism. 😀

PHOTO PROMPT Copyright-Ted Strutz

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Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

BENEATH BUNKER HILL

Determined to keep his promise to Joseph’s orphans and give him a proper burial, Paul searched the grave where dozens were buried. Flies buzzed. Maggots burrowed into the eye-sockets of the nine months’ fallen patriots. Mouldering flesh and matted hair cleaved tenuously to shattered skulls. His gorge rose. He covered his nose and mouth. How would he ever recognise his friend amongst so many?

His thoughts wandered to a day long-past.

****

“Remarkable, Master Revere.” Joseph studied his smiling reflection.

****

Sunlight glinted off a bit of copper in a corpse’s mouth. Paul gasped.

“My dental work. It is General Joseph Warren.”

To know more click here.

2 May 2014

Published April 30, 2014 by rochellewisoff

Thanks to Janet Webb for the message and design.

REMINDER: This page is “FRIDAY FICTIONEERS CENTRAL” and is NOT the place to promote political or religious views. Also, you are responsible for the content of your story and policing comments on your blog. You have the right to delete any you consider offensive.

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😉 My story follows the PHOTO PROMPT below and link tool. I enjoy honest comments and welcome constructive criticism. 😀
PHOTO PROMPT – Copyright – Renee Heath

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Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

ALL THAT WAS LEFT OF THEM

“Tell me about the glorious charge of the Light Brigade, Grandpa.”

“Ah, Tennyson,” said my grandfather with a mischievous twinkle in his faded green eyes. “School?”

“I have to write a report about the poem.”

“‘Cannon to the right…cannon to the left’…tommyrot! Real valley of death was that bloomin’ pestilential hospital.”

“But you were wounded. A hero.”

“Poppycock! We just did what we were told. The true hero was the angel who cared for us. The lady with the lamp, we called her.”

“What happened to her?”

“For all her troubles, she contracted Crimean fever and is a homebound invalid.”

Florence Nightingale circa 1854

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25 April 2014

Published April 23, 2014 by rochellewisoff

WELCOME TO FRIDAY FICTIONEERS

Henry David Thoreau said it best.

“It’s not what you look at that matters, it’s what you see.”

THE CHALLENGE:

Write a one hundred word story that has a beginning, middle and end. (No one will be ostracized for going a few words over the count.)

THE KEY:

MAKE. EVERY. WORD. COUNT.

THE RULES:

Copy your URL to the Linkz collection. You’ll find the tab following the photo prompt. It’s the little white box to the left with the blue froggy guy. Click on it and follow directions. This is the best way to get the most reads and comments.
MAKE SURE YOUR LINK IS SPECIFIC TO YOUR FLASH.
While our name implies “fiction only” it’s perfectly Kosher to write a non-fiction piece as long as it meets the challenge of being a complete story in 100 words.
**IT’S NOT A RACE TO SEE WHO CAN POST FIRST. TAKE YOUR TIME. EDIT. POLISH. THEN POST.**
😉
***PLEASE MAKE NOTE IN YOUR BLOG IF YOU PREFER NOT TO RECEIVE CONSTRUCTIVE CRITICISM.***

- REMINDER: This page is “FRIDAY FICTIONEERS CENTRAL” and is NOT the place to promote political or religious views. Also, you are responsible for the content of your story and policing comments on your blog. You have the right to delete any you consider offensive.
- 🙂
😉
Should someone have severe or hostile differences of opinion with another person it’s my hope that the involved parties would settle their disputes in private.
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😉 My story follows the photo and link tool. I enjoy honest comments and welcome constructive criticism. 😀
Copyright – Björn Rudberg

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Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

ALL THINGS MUST PASS

“‘A sunrise doesn’t last all morning,’” I sing and strum the chords that take me back to a New York television studio thirty years ago.

There to meet a friend, I loaned my Martin to an aging musician for his last live performance.

“You don’t happen to have a capo, do you, Miss Guitar Lady?” he asked.

Something in his serene eyes and genuine smile reached to the depths of my soul.

My fingers move on the fretboard where his once did. I never changed those strings.

And as VH1’s cameras recorded history, George Harrison made my guitar gently weep.

******

It’s not the best quality but here’s the clip that inspired my story. If you’re in a hurry and would rather not commit to 14 minutes the impetus for my story really starts at the 10:00 mark on the bar.