Life’s Ephemeral Nature

All posts in the Life’s Ephemeral Nature category

COUNTRY ROADS

Published October 8, 2017 by rochellewisoff

This week Pegman returns to the Western Hemisphere to take us on a tour of Littleton, West Virginia. Although I missed the challenge last week, a story formed pretty quickly for this one. I’m a day late and see that this group is growing. Nice to see. Thanks to Karen and Josh for hosting. I so appreciate the two of you on more than one level. 😉

To enjoy this week’s stories or to submit your own, visit the inLinkz button:

Genre: Realistic Fiction

Word Count: 150

This story is dedicated to the forgotten veterans, the women who unassumingly served as nurses and ‘Donut Dollies.’

COUNTRY ROADS

“My dearest Jimmy,

Remember 1971?  We came home from Vietnam that year—the same year John Denver’s song became a hit. I think he must’ve written it with you in mind.  

‘Littleton,’ you laughed, your eyes shining like the stars over the Shenandoah River. ‘It’s just a Podunk town in the middle of nowhere.’

Nonetheless, to you it was home…’almost heaven’.”

Sharon set aside her pen and paper. Picking up Jimmy’s guitar, she strummed the melody and sang, “…West Virginia, Blue Ridge Mountain…” She closed her eyes. “Life is old there, older than the trees, younger than the mountains…”

A gentle breeze riffled her hair. “You promised to bring me here after the war. And so you have.”

She folded the note, tucked it inside the guitar and propped it against his headstone. Forever she would carry his face and hear his last words, “Nurse, please don’t let me die.”

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In this image provided by the U.S. Army, the 2nd Brigade was faced with a new problem at their Bien Hoa, Vietnam base: from Fort Rilay to Vietnam come the 93rd Evacuation Hospital complete with nurses on Dec. 19, 1965. The problem of getting a private shower for the girls fell to Company B 1st Engineer Battalion. In the interests of the health, welfare and cleanliness of the nurses, the men of Company B decided to give up their own air-conditioned shower. The dressing area of the shower was boarded up and the entrance-way closed off. An appropriate “Off Limits” sign was made and posted. (AP Photo/U.S. Army)

6 October 2017

Published October 4, 2017 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 © Ted Strutz

This lovely photo shows the moon rising over the trees as viewed from a ferry boat. What story does it tell you? Can you share it in 100 words or less? 

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Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

FULL MOON FEVER

            “The year I turned 10,” he lay back in his hospital bed, staring at his bandaged hand, “my uncle invited me to the movie set. I’ll never forget it. There he was. The King. At that moment I knew what I wanted to be.”

             “A rock star with a nasty temper?” The nurse adjusted his IV. “The morphine should kick in soon.”

            His fingers throbbed. “The doc says I broke five bones and I might never play guitar again.”

            The nurse’s eyes brimmed. “I’m truly sorry, Mr. Petty.”

            “Don’t be.” He murmured as he drifted off. “I won’t back down.”

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The story in his own words:

NO MORE DANCES WITH MARY JANE 

R.I.P. TOM

 

29 September 2017

Published September 27, 2017 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 © J Hardy Carroll

With its battered tin roof it looks like an old warehouse that has been abandoned. The windows aren’t broken and the concrete walls look rough. What story does this old shell of a building with its brick chimney tell you? Can you tell the rest of us in 100 words? 

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Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

RADIUM DIAL

            “Jinny was barely growed. 1914-1934” Her lower lip quivered as she traced the dates on the headstone with a frail finger. “She earned $17.50 a week painting them glow-in-the-dark clock numbers.”

            Wind gusting across St. Columbus Cemetery chilled me. “Let’s get you home, Mrs. Abbot.”

            “Not yet. I want you to see.” She seethed and brandished a Geiger counter probe over her sister’s grave. “Jinny took sick. Strange. Her jaws done crumbled. Died like the other girls at her factory. The doctors made lame excuses. Damned liars is what they was.” The machine sputtered. “That sound like Diphtheria to you?”

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It’s a long read, but if you want to know more of the story 

CLICK HERE

22 September 2017

Published September 20, 2017 by rochellewisoff

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PHOTO PROMPT © Sarah Potter

It may look like it’s just a dusty pair of shoes, full of cobwebs. But does it say anything else to you? What story do these shoes tell?

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Because the time to work on the content to go with the artwork, I’m using Friday Fictioneers as a proving ground. My plan is take excerpts from the book continue to distill them into standalone flashes. This doesn’t mean all my stories will be book related, it just means that you might be seeing more of them. 

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

 

SACRED PROMISE 

          Although he had closed his shop for the day, Gavrel could not go back on his word to finish Reuven’s new shoes. He buffed them until they glowed in the lamplight.

          Gavrel pulled off his young brother-in-law’s tattered shoes. “Just in time, my little apple. You’re growing so fast I’d better start your next pair tomorrow.”

            A frown darkened Reuven’s ruddy face. “Papa, Lev says someday you’ll have a son of your own and won’t want me anymore.”

            Heart racing, Gavrel crushed the boy against his chest. “If I have ten more sons, not one will ever take your place.

 

 

ELEGY

Published September 16, 2017 by rochellewisoff

This week Pegman takes us to St. Petersburg, Russia.

There’s an abundance of both street view and photo spheres in this beautiful city. Feel free to stroll around the area using the Google street view and grab any picture you like for your post.

Your job is to write a 150-word (or less) story about this week’s chosen location. Where will you take your readers? You’re invited to join the talented writers of Pegman this week in St. Petersburg, Russia.

To enjoy this week’s stories or to submit your own, visit the inLinkz button:

For guidelines and rules for the What Pegman Saw weekly writing prompt, visit the home page.

Thanks to Karen Rawson and J Hardy Carroll for facilitating this interesting and unique challenge.

As you may already know, I’m currently working on getting my fourth book A STONE FOR THE JOURNEY ready for publication. It will be a collection of illustrations and excerpts depicting characters and scenes from my novel trilogy. These excerpts seem to lend themselves to 100-150 word flashes. This week’s location was the perfect opportunity. Thank you for your indulgence and your help. 😉 

St. Petersburg Philharmonic

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 149

ELEGY

                With the unpleasant task of delivering bad news to a dear friend and former patient behind him, Dr. Nikolai Derevenko settled back for the evening. In an attempt to cheer himself, he picked up his flute from the table, brought it to his lips and played a Bach sonata. Usually the music would lift his spirits, but tonight it only intensified his loneliness as he reflected on his life, beginning with the day he informed his father he had chosen to go to medical school.

            Sergei Derevenko, a prominent violinist in the St. Petersburg Philharmonic, eyed Nikolai with a mixture of anger and hurt.

            “You’d rather slice people open and wallow in their blood and bile than delight thousands of patrons with your talent? I don’t understand you, Kolyah.”

            “You never have. Why start now?”

            “But how can you abandon your dreams?”

            “Don’t you mean your dreams, Tatko?”

For your listening pleasure.

 

15 September 2017

Published September 13, 2017 by rochellewisoff

 

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Please be considerate and keep your stories to 100 words. Thank you. 

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Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

THE HEART OF A CLOWN

             Danny grabbed five-year-old Joey by the hand and led him onto the stage.    

            “Sing it like we practiced,” Danny whispered.

            Gazing at the sea of strangers, Joey bit his lower lip and nodded. “Okay, Poppa.”

            Mama played the opening notes on the piano.   

            Joey burst into a rousing rendition of “Brother Can you Spare a Dime,” imitating Al Jolson.

            When he took his final bow to resounding applause, he tripped into a footlight which exploded and startled him. The fickle audience laughed.

            Sixty years later, Jerry Lewis told an interviewer, “I decided then and there I preferred laughter to applause.”

 

Thanks for the Laughter, Mr. Lewis

1926-2017           

 

           

 

 

8 September 2017

Published September 6, 2017 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 © Danny Bowman

Please be considerate and keep your stories to 100 words. Thank you. 

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Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

TO BOLDLY GO

            Dora wreathed her arms around her son’s neck. “What’s in California? No mishpokhah—you’ll be a stranger in a strange land.”

            “Like you were when you came to America, Mama.” The youth bristled with determination. “I won’t be an alien for long. You’ll see.”

            Dora’s husband Max frowned. “You’re only eighteen. Forget this acting mishegoss.

***

            Leonard, now an old man, strolled along the West End’s changing streets remembering his mother’s tears as he boarded the train.

            A passerby grinned, raised his hand, spreading his fingers, two to the left and two to the right. “Live long and prosper, Mr. Nimoy.”

*Mishpokha-Family

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