20 February 2026

Published February 18, 2026 by rochellewisoff

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 © Lori Wilson

The photo shows a little cafe from the outside. In front of one of the windows is a statue of a chef. There are three narrow picnic tables that look like they’re built into the side of the building. The sign above the roof reads, “Shelly’s Cafe and has the logo for Route 66. Along the roof is red, white and blue bunting, probably for the 4th of July.

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Genre: Historical Fiction
Word Count: 100

BARBECUE KING

“Ain’t nothin’ better than this, son.” Mr. Perry turned a slab of ribs. “Hickory wood’s the secret.”

Seven-year-old Henry breathed in the smokey aroma.

At fifteen Henry left Tennessee to work on the steamboats traveling the Mississippi River. After hours bent over flames and smoke, he’d stand on the deck, dreaming of the future.

“Daddy was right,” he said years later as patrons lined up between 18^th Street and Vine to enjoy hot smoked meat wrapped in newsprint for twenty-five cents.

Barbecue’s up to date in Kansas City. I owe Henry Perry a debt of gratitude.

Please pass the sauce.

I can’t deny it. I’m a Kansas City girl and BBQ is in my top ten favorite foods. Of course there are the ongoing debates as to which establishment does it best. I do have my favorites. 😉

A few years ago I was told by a pitmaster in Alabama who learned from a KC pitmaster, “If there ain’t no smoke, it’s a joke. If there ain’t no wood, it ain’t no good.” (Perhaps it came down from Henry Perry.)

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13 February 2026

Published February 11, 2026 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 © David Stewart

This week’s photo is of a long sidewalk. One woman is walking along it. There’s a wall to right with a wrought iron fence and greenery peaking through. To the other side of the sidewalk is a row of trees and a street beside it.

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Genre: Historical Fiction
Word Count: 100

DIGNITY OVER FEAR

“What if someone had found out?” Sarah held her daughter tightly in her arms. “What were you thinking?”

Rabbi Aharon Neuwirth scowled. “Obviously our child wasn’t thinking at all.”

As she pulled away, Yocheved’s blue eyes spilled over. She smiled and pushed back a lock of blonde hair. “I wanted to see the opening ceremony. All those athletes from all over the world. Besides, they thought I was just another Arian girl. But…”

“But what?” asked the rabbi.

“They gave me flowers to present to—him. I-I couldn’t. Oh, Mama. Papa. I’ve looked into the eyes of der Teufel himself.”

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6 February 2026

Published February 4, 2026 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 © Jennifer Pendergast

In this week’s photo we’re on a landing looking down a flight of stairs between two brick walls. At the bottom of the steps is a sidewalk, a street and beyond that a parking lot with cars. It’s snowing and between the walls an evergreen Christmas oranamet topped with snow.

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Genre: Memoire
Word Count: 100

HONEYMOON SUITE

“The rent is $85.00 a month,” said the landlady, cuddling her yappy Schnauzer. “No pets allowed.”

The third-floor, four-room walkup was our first home together and a few blocks away from my school, the Kansa City Art Institute. Not to mention, the price was right for poverty-stricken newlyweds.

A green Naugahyde sofa between two barrels graced our not-so-great-room.

Our little hide-away, pet mouse, contraband puppy, and all.

The thin walls must have been constructed of foam core board, masking tape, and spit wads. We heard every clever word our next-door neighbors uttered such as, “Oh wow, man! What a rush!”

16 January 2026

Published January 14, 2026 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 © Jennifer Pendergast

The photo appears to be looking up at a cathedral ceiling with inset stained glass windows. Below the windows looks like a walkway with arched openings.

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Genre: Sorta Fiction
Word Count: 100

BETH ISRAEL

Millie can never forget the ground rumbling or the sound of the shattering glass. She was only five the day someone bombed the temple. Two months later someone, who turned out to be the KKK, bombed Rabbi Nussbaum’s home.

“Why’d they do that? I don’t understand.”

“May you never understand, Millie-Nillie.” Daddy read from the book of Isaiah. “‘When you walk through the fire you will not burn.’”

Fifty-eight years later, Millie watches the horrifying newscast. Photos of scorched Torah scrolls appear on the screen. She murmurs in agreement with the temple president, “This won’t stop anything. We will rebuild.”

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26 December 2025

Published December 24, 2025 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 © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

In the photo we see a dining room, lit by candlelight and a hanging fixture with a glass star hanging from it. There’s a mirror on the wall. In it is a reflection of a curio shelf in the living room. There’s a hint of the front door in the sunken living room. We are actually looking at all of this reflected in sliding glass doors. Outside you can see the deck lights and LED lit windchimes that are winged pigs.

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Genre: Fiction
Word Count: 100

WHETHER PIGS HAVE WINGS

“Have you finished your paper on idioms and sayings?” Rosey shut her laptop with a satisfied smile. “Mine’s done.”

“Cakes get done. People get finished.” Jeff sailed a paper airplane across the room. “And I’ll finish mine when pigs fly.”

“You know that pig saying originated in the early 1600’s.”

“Okay, Missy-Know-It-All, did you know that a pilot, JTC Moore-Brabazon proved pigs could fly on 4 November 1909.”

“Oh? Did it sprout wings?”

“Not exactly.” Jeff grinned. “Mr. Moore-Brabazon put a pig in a wicker basket, tied it to the strut of his bi-plane, then flew 3.5 miles. Homework complete.”

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HAPPY CHRISTMAS TO THOSE WHO CELEBRATE!

19 December 2025

Published December 17, 2025 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 © Peter Abbey

This week’s photo is of silouhetted figures on the beach and in the water. The sun is reflecting off the water. There are whispy clouds overhead.

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Genre: Fiction with a lot of Fact
Word Count: 100

The first day of Hanukkah began with shots and wailing heard around the world.

LIGHT ONE CANDLE

“Hurry up, Milka!” said Eli. “We’re going miss the candle lighting on the beach. And it’s our first holiday in Australia.”

Ten-year-old Milka moaned, “I don’t feel so great.”

Noticing her daughter’s flushed cheeks, Naomi felt her forehead. “You’re burning up. No party for us.”

Reciting a prayer for the sick, Eli and Naomi tucked Milka into bed. Naomi’s cell phone rang.

“Hag Samayakh, Mom. How are things in New York?”

Mom’s voice was tinged with panic. “Please, tell me you’re safe!”

“Milka’s sick, but other than that…”

“You’re home, then?”

“Yes. Why?”

“HaShem be praised. Turn on the news.”

12 December 2025

Published December 10, 2025 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

In this week’s prompt we are in an alleyway between two stone walls. Lights are strung across the arched entry. There are picnic tables and a bench.

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Genre: Historical Fiction
Word Count: 100

HANUKKAH IN WESTERBROOK

“Aviva,” said Bubbie, “what are the letters on the dreidel?”

“Noon, Gimmel, Hey, Shin,” I replied. (נ,ג,ה,ש)

“What do they stand for?”

“Nes Gadol Hayah Sham. A great miracle happened there.”

“What miracle?”

“When there was only enough oil to keep the ancient Temple Menorah lit for one day and it burned for eight.”

Bubbie brushed a tear from her withered cheek. I knew where her mind had gone.

“We were young and brave.” She shrugged. “Or maybe just foolish. Leo lit the candles on the menorah. The light gave us hope in a very dark place. A great miracle indeed.”

*Hebrew letters read from right to left.

5 December 2025

Published December 3, 2025 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.

The photo shows a small grocery store with rows of jars and some decorations. In the background are some refrigerator cases. To the left are to square tables with folding chairs.

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Genre: Memoir
Word Count: 100

TURKISH DELIGHT

Shelves lined with souvenirs and jarred delicacies; Mediterranean Market didn’t look like much. However, the smoky baba ghanoush and succulent kabobs more than compensated for the lack of ambience.

My cousin Kent and I enjoyed long lunches and chatting with the Turkish co-owners.

“I miss the mountains,” Jihan would say with a faraway gaze, “and my mother.”

Sinan, the more gregarious brother, with black hair curling below his ears and huge eyes that didn’t quite go the same direction, would ask me, “You like the food?”

“The best.”

He would grin and giggle. “When the womens is heppy, everybody’s heppy.”

This is a true story. I only wish I’d gotten pictures of the Sinan and J’han. I really miss this little market where Kent and I spent a lot of time writing together.

28 November 2025

Published November 26, 2025 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.

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This Friday, November 28, Jan and I will celebrate our 54th Wedding Anniversary so I took the easy route and wrote a little reflection.

Genre: Anecdote
Word Count: 100

DESTINY

The saying goes that hindsight is 20/20. In other words, if I’d only known then what I know now, would I tell the eighteen-year-old child bride to run?

And what if she’d listened?

Perhaps she would have married someone else—someone without the same rough edges—or fierce loyalty.

Would she trade three handsome sons for what might have been?

Silly questions change nothing.

I’m thankful for my children and the man I married fifty-four years ago. His smile warms my heart more now than it did when I walked down the aisle to him. Two became one. My destiny.

21 November 2025

Published November 19, 2025 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.

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Genre: Historical Fiction
Word Count: 100

JULY 10, 1945

Teresa Fletcher breathed in the aroma of apple pie. “Do you think they’ll like my fried chicken?”

“Considering the slop they’ve probably had to eat; your cooking will seem like fine dining.” Bob grinned.

She beamed at her new husband with pride. For three years he’d taken care of Al and Mary’s farm ignoring slurs, threats, and even attacks from the townspeople.

When the Tsukamotos entered, Teresa opened her arms wide and cried, “Welcome home!”

“Our house looks better than when we left!” Mary hugged the newlyweds. “Why’d you do this for us?”

Bob shrugged. “It was the right thing.”