25 July 2025

Published July 23, 2025 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 © Dale Rogerson

Photo description: A large gnarled stump of a tree is in the foreground. Behind it is a stone building with a staircase that leads up to an entrance with double wooden doors.

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Genre: Fiction…sort of…
Word Count: 100

SLINGS AND ARROWS

“Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words can never harm me.” Elise stuck out her tongue and ran home, her playmates’ taunts echoing in her ears.

Brenda had wrinkled her nose. “I don’t want Elise on my team. She’s a lousy catcher.”

“I don’t want her either.” Mindy had scowled. “She’s slower than frozen molasses.”

Elise wrapped her arms around her stuffed lion and burst into tears. “If you were a real lion, you could rip those brats apart.” She sniffed. “When I’m a famous artist they can choke on my paintbrushes.”

Nonetheless, their words hurt like hell.

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This is unrelated to the story. It’s a painting I did of my granddaughter a few years ago. 😉

11 July 2025

Published July 9, 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 © Roger Bultot

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Genre: Historical Fiction
Word Count: 100

BLACK DEATH

Henry struggled to catch his breath. The nurse sitting on the chair beside his bed reached over and squeezed his hand. “Can I get anything for you, Sergeant Johnson?”

“Been a long time since anyone’s called me sergeant.”

In three days, fireworks would herald Independence Day 1929. Whose independence? Despite his service, he was still considered less than human in his own country.

“My brother served with you in France.” Her eyes shone. “Says you’re a hero.”

“I just fought for my life. A rabbit would’ve done that.”

Shutting his eyes, Henry heaved a ragged sigh. His broken heart stopped.

Henry was dubbed “Black Death” by the Germans

Command Sgt. Maj. Louis Wilson of the New York Army National Guard accepts the Medal of Honor on behalf of World War I Pvt. Henry Johnson, who served with the 369th Infantry Regiment, known as the Harlem Hellfighters, at the White House, Washington, D.C., June 2, 2015.

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27 June 2025

Published June 25, 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

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Genre: Anecdotal History Lesson
Word Count: 100

GAME OF CONES

Leaving childhood behind at fourteen, I entered the workforce. I was hired by the local Dairy Queen for a dollar an hour.

I became adept at swirling those curls atop cones and sundaes.

Did I ever wonder about the company’s history? Nope.

That was then. This is now.

J.F. McCullough and his son Alex invented soft-serve. They shared it with ice cream shop owner Sherb Noble who, in turn, offered ten-cent cones to a sell-out crowd of 1600.

The men partnered, and the first Dairy Queen opened on June 22, 1940, in Joliet, Illinois.

Another delicious piece of history served.

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Thanks to Yvette Prior for a lovely interview. You can read it HERE.

6 June 2025

Published June 4, 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 © David Stewart

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Genre: Anecdote
Word Count:100

CONNECTING FLIGHT

“Are you ready to go to the airport?”

I shuffled through the piles on my desk. “Daddy, I can’t find my passport.”

“Hurry!” He paced the floor.

Then I remembered I only needed my real I.D.

When we arrived at the check-in, panic set in. I’d forgotten to pack. We rushed home where I flung clothes into my purple suitcase: black swimsuits, black skirt, black pants, black…What’s with all this black?

Next-thing-I-know I’m lying in bed. I open my eyes. Somewhat relieved, I look at the clock. It’s 04:00. Dad’s been gone these past thirty years. Gee, I miss him.

*I wrote this shortly after I woke up from this very dream. Wasn’t sure what to call the genre. 😉

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And just a little something extra. 😉 It’s kind of long and has nothing to do with Friday Fictioneers. It’s an interview I did a few months ago with my author friend Diane Yates.

30 May 2025

Published May 28, 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 © Ted Strutz

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Genre: Missing-you-Ted-Fiction
Word Count: 100

TED TALK

“Ethel,” Cheryl rolled her eyes. “Are you going to play, or aren’t you?”

“I’m just not in the mood for cribbage.”

“What then, are you in the mood for?”

“Let’s talk about Ted.” Ethel whispered. “Do you think he’s forgotten us?”

“Never! We’re his ladies.” Cheryl curved her arm around Ethel’s shoulder. “I miss him, too. But y’know, he’s still snapping great photos and posting them on Facebook.”

“He’s always smiling in his pictures.”

Cheryl swallowed a rising lump. “I’m sure he misses us, too. Have you noticed the twinkle in his eyes? He still has a lot to say.”

*He is still sending photos. Ted Strutz joined Friday Fictioneers before I did. Cheryl and Ethel were his characters. He was encouraging to me when I took over the FF challenge. Four years ago he suffered a stroke. Like Cheryl said, there’s a twinkle in his eye and he still has a lot to say. ❤

23 May 2025

Published May 21, 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 © Roger Bultot

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Genre: Historical Fiction
Word Count: 100

I YAM WHAT I YAM

To the delight of Elzie and his playmates, Rocky Fiegel made his muscles dance. “I fought my way from Poland to Chester, Illinois.”

“Did you really beat up five men at once?” asked Elzie.

“Tough brutes they was, too.” Puffing on his corncob pipe, Rocky gazed at the boys through his one good eye. “I pulverized ‘em with one hand behind my back.”

Whether true or not, Rocky’s tales fascinated E. C. Segar. As an aspiring cartoonist in the 1920’s he created one of history’s most beloved characters.

“Strong to the finich ‘cause I eats me spinach—Popeye the Sailorman.”

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I was fond of canned spinach as a child. Perhaps this is why. 😉 At any rate it was interesting to find that the cartoon character was drawn from an actual person.

Frank “Rocky” Fiegel

Elzie Crisler Segar and his creation

16 May 2025

Published May 14, 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

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Genre: Historical Fiction
Word Count: 100

ANY DAY SPENT WITH YOU IS MY FAVORITE DAY

“Colebourn, you’ve got rocks in your head,” said Harry’s tentmate. “The army’s no place for a bear.”

“The beast was going to shoot her” Harry caressed the cub. “I’m calling her Winnie after Winnipeg.”

As WWI raged, he realized the best thing he could do was to find her a temporary home.

At London Zoo he buried his face in her fur. “I’m coming back for you.”

When he returned four years later, Winnie had become a children’s favorite. They loved her with treats and cuddles. She returned their affection. Harry bid her a final fond farewell. Winnie was home.

Harry Colebourn and Winnie named after Harry’s hometown of Winnipeg.

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9 May 2025

Published May 7, 2025 by rochellewisoff

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I admit this is quite similar to a story/rant i wrote five years ago February Nothing’s changed. If anything things have only gotten worse. So you may refer this as a sequel.

Genre: Anectdotal Rant
Word Count: 100

ONE PILL CAN KILL

Every day a new one appears. If you live in these Divided States, you know what I’m talking about. Prescription drug advertisements.

Who comes up with those colorful names? They’re insane, usually starting with the letters X and Z. They treat everything from obesity to bipolar disorder.

Ya gotta love ‘em—from bright and breezy to sensual and sleezy. They all make me queasy. While happy people prance across the screen celebrating life, the gentle voice over recites a list of possible side effects.

Wait! I got lost somewhere between anaphylaxis and cardiac arrest. What was this supposed to treat?

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Okay, this one starts with A. But it’s pretty much what I’m talking about.

2 May 2025

Published April 30, 2025 by rochellewisoff

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Genre: Historical Fiction
Word Count: 100

GENERATIONS RUNNIN’ WILD

Joanna checked her reflection in the full-length mirror. Her white go-go boots offset her mini dress. Swaying her hips she practiced moving to the Jerk and the Watusi. Tonight, she would dance the night away.

Granny Maybelle’s voice startled her. “In my day young ladies didn’t do such suggestive dances.”

Joanna pointed to a photo of young Maybelle in a fringed dress. “What about the Charleston in the 1920’s?”

Blushing, Granny shook her head. “That dance swept the country like wildfire. Not so different from these 1960’s I suppose. But I’ll have you know I was quite good at it!”

And a little history of the dance if you care to READ ON. 😉

25 April 2025

Published April 23, 2025 by rochellewisoff

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Genre: Novel Excerpt
Word Count: 100

BRAIN FOG

Elise’s cheeks blazed against the cold tile. The last thing she remembered was writing a check at the register when a wave of nausea and lightheadedness swept over her. The helpless feeling of losing control as she lost consciousness rushed back. She squirmed, wishing she could dissolve between the cracks. How many of those “gentle action” pink pills had she taken in anticipation of dinner?

You know you’re too damn smart for your own good,” her frustrated support group leader had snapped at her night before last. “Why do you even bother coming to meetings anyway?”

To learn new tricks…