“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.
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.”
*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.
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.
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.
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.
“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.
“‘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.
🙂 Two years ago this week, I posted my first flash fiction after seeing Madison Woods’ notice on Facebook. I’m amazed at how fast the time has gone and how Friday Fictioneers has grown! 😀
*******
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.
*There is only one photo prompt. Any photos appearing after my story go with MY STORY and are NOT in any way a prompt!
Genre: Historical Fiction
Word Count: 99
To escape Paris gossip, a pair of lovers spent the winter of 1838-1839 on the island of Mallorca.
FROM MALLORCA WITH LOVE
“George, let me read this to you.
“‘Estimado Señor,
“‘To have a couple living outside the bonds of holy matrimony under my roof brings shame to my head. Your woman’s cigar smoking and wearing of the man’s clothes is a sin.
“‘All this I have tolerated for the privilege of hosting such a celebrated musician.
“‘While you have my sympathy, your disease puts the island in danger. Please burn the linens and leave.”
Frédéric Chopin lit George’s cigar, set fire to the letter and tossed it on the bed.
“Cherie, I am afraid we must do as he asks.”
Frédéric Chopin succumbed to the dreaded Consumption (Tuberculosis) 17 October 1849 at age 39.
Amantine Lucile Aurore Dupin at age 34. A novelist, she went by her pen name “George Sand.”
The only thing better than hearing Nocturne in C-Sharp Minor on piano is savoring its sweetness on piano and violin. If you have an extra five minutes, for your listening pleasure (and mine):
Seize the opportunity to free your muse and allow her take you on a magic carpet ride.
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.
TO THOSE WRITING HISTORICAL FICTION (MYSELF INCLUDED): While WIKIPEDIA is usually a decent source of information, it’s not always reliable one. As a rule, I use it as a jumping off point to other research threads. It’s a good rule of thumb to use more than one source. I speak from experience when I say that a simple 100 word story can bring serious repercussions.
***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.
“I wish my folks were like the Williamses’,” said Cathy. She poked at her ice cream soda with her straw and breathed in the scent of Woolworths’ French fries.
“Aw, they’re just TV phonies.” Doug snickered.
“Look. It’s her!”
At the other end of the counter the perfect mother in starched cotton, pearls and pillbox hat ordered a Coke. With heart-pounding awe, Cathy grabbed her napkin and slipped off her stool.
“Mrs. Williams, I think you’re swell. Could I please have your autograph?”
The actress puffed her cigarette, flashed a red-lipsticked smile and said, “Get lost, ya little brat.”
My story follows the photo and link tool. I enjoy honest comments and welcome constructive criticism. 
Rochelle Wisoff-Fields-Addicted to Purple 