28 February 2014

Published February 26, 2014 by rochellewisoff

WELCOME TO FRIDAY FICTIONEERS!

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.
- ***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.
**Please exercise DISCRETION when commenting on a story! Be RESPECTFUL.**

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.
Like us on Facebook
My story follows the photo and link tool. I enjoy honest comments and welcome constructive criticism.
Shalom,

Rochelle

Copyright -Sandra Crook

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Genre: Literary Fiction

Word Count: 100

C’EST LA VIE

When I was a co-ed I married a professional baseball player.

After a year, a specialist told us we’d never conceive.

Jack refused to adopt. He couldn’t see himself raising “another man’s bastard.”

Within weeks he divorced me and married a fan.

Devastated, I left for France. In Apremont-sur-Allier I found healing in Ranier’s arms.

“All I have to offer is my farm and my love,” he said.

“I can’t give you children,” I said.

“All I want is your heart.”

Today we greeted our fourth son, the spitting image of his father.

Jack? No runs. No hits. No heirs.

21 February 2014

Published February 19, 2014 by rochellewisoff

WELCOME TO FRIDAY FICTIONEERS!

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.
- ***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.
**Please exercise DISCRETION when commenting on a story! Be RESPECTFUL.**

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.
Like us on Facebook
My story follows the photo and link tool. I enjoy honest comments and welcome constructive criticism.
Shalom,

Rochelle

Copyright – David Stewart

get the InLinkz code

As of 20 February the consensus is that my Genre is Horror 😉

Word Count: 98

BELLING THE CAT

Undaunted by the prospect of childbirth and motherhood, the epitome of idealistic youth, I cheerfully welcomed the task ahead. I’d show everyone how it’s done. What could possibly go wrong?

After an excruciating and humbling thirty-six hour labor and breech birth, Mara, my 8 pound lioness, roared forth into the world.

From infancy to puberty, she has marked her territory well.

Light glints off my sixteen-year-old’s silver nose-ring and gaudy orange-dyed mane. I cringe like cornered prey when she growls and dangles my car keys from her black-nailed fingers.

“Mo-om, you promised to start my driving lessons today.”

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Belling_the_cat

14 February 2014

Published February 12, 2014 by rochellewisoff

WELCOME TO FRIDAY FICTIONEERS!

A Happy Valentine’s Day

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.
- ***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.
**Please exercise DISCRETION when commenting on a story! Be RESPECTFUL.**

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.
Like us on Facebook
My story follows the photo and link tool. I enjoy honest comments and welcome constructive criticism.
Shalom,

Rochelle

Copyright – Janet Webb

get the InLinkz code

Genre: Let the Farce be with you.

Word Count: 96

TAKE A NUMBER

“To Randall B. Johnson. My first husband.” Marilee raised her glass. “Good riddance.”

“To my Randy,” Juanita lifted her half empty goblet. “The snake. Glad I divorced him.”

“Yeah, but he was pretty, wasn’t he?”

“Pretty slimy.”

“I hear he’s getting married again.”

“Who’d be that stupid?”

Juanita raised an eyebrow. “Two ex-Mrs. Johnsons walk into a bar.”

“You could’ve warned me.”

“Like you’d have listened?”

“There is that.” Marilee sipped her sangria and relished its bitter-sweetness. “Suppose we should educate the future ex-Mrs. Rat Bastard Johnson?”

“Nah, let’s just plan on a threesome next year.”

EMERGENCIES OF A DIFFERENT SORT

Published November 9, 2013 by rochellewisoff

A few days ago I managed to burn the roof of my mouth on a baked potato. Please don’t ask for details, it’s embarrassing. If that’s not bad enough, the burn turned into rather nasty aphthous stomatitis. Mouth ulcer.

By Friday I couldn’t eat, because the tiniest nick caused so much pain I wanted cut off my head. After getting my boss’ okay to leave the bakery early I went to a close-by pharmacy with an urgent care.

This particular store refers to this as a “minute clinic.” There I waited over two hours to be seen by the solitary, overtaxed nurse practitioner.

“Why am I seeing you today?”

“My mouth hurts.”

While she entered my particulars into her data base, I went on to explain how I’d injured myself and how much it hurt.

What I expected next was that she would look at my poor mangled mouth, write a prescription and send me to the pharmacy counter to have it filled. And, of course, that’s not what happened.

She had to take my vitals.

“Blood pressure is a little high, but pain will do that.”

Then she listened to my heart for a full minute.

“Have you had heart problems?”

“No.”

“Your heart rate is too low. It’s between 40 and 44.”

“I work out. It’s always been low.”

“This is dangerously low.”

After scaring me into thinking I would soon be corpse du jour, she informed me that she was sending me to ER and no way would she allow me to drive.

“Do you have dizziness or pain.”

“Yes. I haven’t eaten all day because my mouth hurts.”

“I’m more concerned for your heart. They will give you lidocaine at the hospital.”

At her insistence I called my husband to share my news. I could hear the controlled terror in his voice. Then I sat for another forty minutes until he arrived. He took me to the hospital close to our house. Another forty minutes of evening wasted.

“You feeling okay, honey,” he asked.

“No. I’m starving and my mouth hurts.”

When we reached the ER, I was quickly ushered to an examination room, changed out of my icing-crusted uniform into one of those famed hospital numbers of song and story.

This time the nurse hooked me up to a heart monitor, automatic sphygmomanometer and stuck little rubber contacts all over me to prepare for an EKG. Then the interrogation began.

“What meds are you taking? Any allergies?”

I answered each question to the best of my ability. Then the doctor came in and asked more questions.

“Are you having any pain?

”

“My mouth hurts.”

By then, I’d played “Who’s on First, What’s on Second” with at least four professionals.

The doctor shined her little flashlight in my open mouth. “Yep. I advise using Anbesol. I don’t have any so you’ll have to go to Walmart.”

Then she told me she was going to hook me up to an IV, take some blood and check my electrolytes.

The whole ordeal took another two hours culminating with the doctor telling me everything looked great and that I just have a low heart rate.

“I’m sending you home.”

As the nurse wrapped up the visit she asked me if I had any pain.

“My mouth hurts.”