Life’s Ephemeral Nature

All posts in the Life’s Ephemeral Nature category

12 October 2018

Published October 10, 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 © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

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Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

CRY OF THE HUMAN SPIRIT

Ten-year-old Annie had never ridden on a train. Cousin Anastasia said it would take her and her brother to Springfield.  How odd. Stasia never kissed her before. What did Uncle John mean when he muttered, “Almshouse”?

            “D’ya think Nellie and Mama and Johnny are happy in Heaven, Jimmie?” Annie asked.

            His feverish snoring answered her. She wished she could see the scenery whizzing by.  

            “Not to worry, little one,” said her invisible faerie friend with an Irish brogue. “Someday you’ll do great things.”

            “Me? How? I’m only an ignorant blind girl nobody wants.”

            “Trust me, darlin’ Annie Sullivan. You will.”   

 

Helen Keller with Annie Sullivan Macy (Teacher)

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5 October 2018

Published October 3, 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 © Sandra Crook

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Genre: Memoir

Word Count: 100

SHELL GAME

We flocked to the record racks to buy his LP’s. I did my best to memorize those monologues. Remember the slush ball?

            “Junior Barns, you gunky.” That one made me laugh until tears rolled.

            I spied Scotty, partner of undercover tennis bum Kelly. With humor, they solved crime after crime.

            Every time I drove my Beetle, I heard him say to a raucous audience, “When the fan belt breaks we use a rubber band.”

            The accusations rocked my world as Bill Cosby plummeted from his pedestal. A deep sense of loss floods me.

            The jokes aren’t funny anymore, are they?  

 

FLIGHT THROUGH HELL

Published September 30, 2018 by rochellewisoff

Pegman did not get enough of this lovely region of Europe, so this week Pegman heads a little further west to the Douro Valley of Portugal.

This week’s suggestion comes from the talented Lish over at Up From the Ashes. Be sure head over to her blog and enjoy not just this week’s story, but her excellent poetry and other entertaining stories.

Your mission on Pegman, as always, is to write up to 150 words inspired by the prompt. Feel free to use the image supplied above, or visit the Douro Valley yourself via Google maps and find your own street view or photo sphere for inspiration. Or better yet, visit it in person, and take the rest of us Peg-people with you!

Once your story/essay/poem is finished, share it with others using the link up below. Reading and commenting on others’ work is part of the fun!

It has been a busy week and I really didn’t think I’d post a story this time. Once more, the Google trail and my muse conspired against my plans. And just when I think I’ve sussed out all “those stories,” another comes to light. 

Many thanks to Karen and Josh for keeping this challenge afloat.

Synagogue in Douro…yep, I found one.

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 150

 

FLIGHT THROUGH HELL

Mue amigo, my position in the Portuguese consulate gives me the power to grant you and your wife and children visas,” said Aristides de Sousa Mendes, “and safety from the German Madman.”

            Rabbi Chaim Kruger twined the end of his beard around his index finger. “Can you do the same for my brothers and sisters stranded here on the streets of Bordeaux?”

            Tortured by his inability to grant his friend’s request and other personal issues, Sousa Mendes suffered a breakdown. Following a rapid recovery, he threw off the bedclothes and proclaimed, “From now on I’m giving everyone visas.”

            When faced with charges of “disobeying during higher service” by the Portuguese government in 1940 he responded. “I could not differentiate between nationalities as I was obeying the dictates of humanity.”

            In 1966, Sousa Mendes became the first diplomat to be recognized by Israel as one of the Righteous Among the Nations.

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28 September 2018

Published September 26, 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 © Yvette Prior

get the InLinkz code

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

THE BUTLER DID IT

Six-year-old Billy earned a bit here and there on the Post-Civil War streets of Richmond dancing for anyone who’d watch.  

            A passerby tossed a penny at the boy’s feet. “Cute little darky.”

            Determined to be more than a ‘pickaninny,’ Billy tapped his way from Vaudeville to the Harlem, and, ultimately, to Broadway. Top hat and tails became his trademarks.

            Hollywood relegated him to servant roles.

            “Everything’s copacetic.” He said as he instructed his diminutive partner. “Take small steps or you know what happens.”

            Slipping her lily-white hand in Bill “Bojangles” Robinson’s, Shirley Temple giggled. “Yeah, I fall on my keester.”

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Here’s a taste of what I’m talking about:

WHO NU?

Published September 16, 2018 by rochellewisoff

This week Pegman is on the continent of Africa, in Bamboi, Ghana. There is not a lot of streetview available in this area, but you are free to roam within the borders of Ghana for your inspiration.

Your mission is to write up to 150 words inspired by the prompt. Once your piece is polished, share it with others using the link up below.

Reading and commenting on others’ work is part of the fun! Thanks as always to Karen and Josh for facilitating.

This week, while I stayed in Ghana, I went to a different village. I had to go where the muse took me. A familiar theme for me, but there’s always something new to learn. New people to meet. 

Genre: Realistic Fiction

Word Count: 150

WHO NU?

When I was a child in an Orthodox home, Shabbos as it was called by my Polish immigrant grandparents, was a non-negotiable. All work ceased on Friday night. This included tearing toilet paper and flipping light switches. We spent every boring Saturday in shul, synagogue. Havdalah, the separation between Shabbos and the rest of the week, between the holy and the mundane, marked the end of my torture.

            As soon as I was old enough, I joined the Peace Corps. I loved the feeling of helping people less fortunate than myself. I was making a difference. As much as I hated to admit it I was homesick. I even missed Shabbos.

            In a village called Sefwi Wiawso, Ghana I met a group of Jews who invited me to spend Shabbat with them. After a Kosher dinner, I joined my new mishpokhah for Havdalah. Fragrant spices and candlelight replaced my loneliness.

*Mishpocha – family

*Nu? -Yiddish for ‘so?’ 

CLICK here to watch Havdalah, Sefwi style. 

COLLATERAL ORANGE DAMAGE

Published September 9, 2018 by rochellewisoff

This week Pegman takes us to Hanoi, Vietnam. Your mission is to write up to 150 words inspired by the location. Feel free to use the image supplied with the prompt or take your own tour of Hanoi. You’ll find photosheres and a limited amount of street view in Hanoi.

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

I hated to miss another week so I hope no one minds that I’m sharing something of a rerun.  Not enough brain cells this morning to come up with something new. 😉 Thanks to Karen and Josh for keeping Pegman going.

This isn’t a fun piece by any stretch. Some may remember the shorter version I posted in Friday Fictioneers in February of 2016. Once more I dedicate this story to my brothers in law who both served in Vietnam and suffer the effects of Agent Orange. 

Genre: Realistic Fiction

Word Count: 100

COLLATERAL ORANGE DAMAGE

(Expanded)

            “Farewell, Rob” was all I could muster as I laid my battered dog tags on his grave.

            We’d been through a lot together, but in the end it wasn’t a Viet Cong bullet, but prostate cancer that got him. Doc says I’m next on the hit parade.  

            Please try to understand. We were soldiers following orders.

            “A little defoliating agent to clear the jungle and expose the enemy.” Our commanding officers assured us. “Nothing that will harm a human.”

            I’d read of the far reaching effects and wanted to check it out for myself. I booked a flight and a room in beautiful downtown Hanoi.

            Last night, after taking in the sights, I visited a children’s hospital in Ho Chi Minh City. There the fruits of our labors languish with twisted or missing limbs and eyes that bulge from enlarged skulls.           

            We have exposed the enemy, and he is us.

Click Here for a Disturbing Illustration

 

7 September 2018

Published September 5, 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 © Gah Learner

get the InLinkz code

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

BEAUTIFUL DREAMER

             Minnie stared out her window at the rising moon and yawned.

            “Girl,” said Mama Mary, Minnie’s great-grandmother. “You ain’t gonna learn to read stayin’ up all night.”

            “I hate school. The kids call me Minnie Crazy.”

            “Tell me what’s in them visions, child?”

            “I see my great-great-grandma being brung here on a slave ship. I see elephants and birds and angels.”

            Minnie Evans’ visions continued to haunt her. One day, paintbrush or crayon in hand, she recreated her dreams.

            Her husband Julian frowned. “Pictures don’t put food on the table.”

            Minnie trembled. “God told me I havta paint or die.”

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