10 June 2016

Published June 8, 2016 by rochellewisoff

Summer is the time for vacations, picnics on the beach and reruns on the telly. For me it’s a time to meet a deadline in July for my third novel in my series entitled AS ONE MUST ONE CAN. Many thanks to those of you who responded to my plea for your favorite reruns.

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The following photo is the PROMPT. This week’s retread request is from Jennifer Pendergast. If you’re one of those who wrote a story for this prompt feel free to re-post it and enjoy the respite. Remember that all photos are private property and subject to copyright. Use other than Friday Fictioneers by permission only.

PHOTO PROMPT © Douglas M. MacIlroy

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Originally posted here.

Genre: Realistic Fiction

Word Count: 99

PARENT TEACHER CONFERENCE

When other kids give Mrs. Loftis flowers she’s all giggly. But when I bring them she gets frowny.

Why don’t she like me? I read better’n anybody else in first grade and I color in between the lines. Mommy says it’s my ‘magination.

Tonight sirens and mad grown-up voices wake me up. I run to Mommy’s room. She’s crying. So’s her boyfriend.

There’s a gun on the floor and a policeman is putting handcuffs on…Mrs. Loftis? Her face is all twisty and red.

“You cheap husband stealing tramp!” she shouts.

Guess it’s not me she don’t like after all.

20 May 2016

Published May 18, 2016 by rochellewisoff

The following photo is the PROMPT. Keep in mind that all photos are the property of the contributor, therefore copyrighted and require express permission to use for purposes other than Friday Fictioneers. Giving credit to whom credit is due is proper etiquette.

A few times this week I found myself scrolling through blog posts to get to the story. Please make sure it’s your STORY PAGE URL than you link. Thank you.

PHOTO PROMPT © J Hardy Carroll

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Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

TOAST OF THE TOWN

Slouching on the bench, sixteen-year-old Ed clutched a train ticket, his dreams of being a Great War hero dashed. He hadn’t realized the draft board doctor would require a birth certificate.

“Where ya headed, kid?” asked the stubble-cheeked man next to him.

“Port Chester, New York.”

“Never heard of it. What’s there?”

“Home.” Ed traced a floor tile with his toe. “Dad’s gonna beat the hell out of me for running off. He says I’ll never amount to anything.”

***

Hours later, tears lined Peter Sullivan’s face as he joyfully welcomed his son, the future television show host, with open arms.

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13 May 2016

Published May 11, 2016 by rochellewisoff

The following photo is the PROMPT. Keep in mind that all photos are the property of the contributor, therefore copyrighted and require express permission to use for purposes other than Friday Fictioneers. Giving credit to whom credit is due is proper etiquette.

PHOTO PROMPT © CEAYR

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Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

SWINGJUGEND

In 1969 my mother packed me off to my aunt and uncle’s dairy farm in Wisconsin.

“But Mom, Uncle Otto’s weird. That eyepatch and those scars—ick.”

***

One night he took my Jefferson Airplane record from the stereo and replaced it with his own 45.

“You tink das ist protest music?”

“‘It don’t mean a thing if it ain’t got that swing,’” He sang. “The SS ransacked our nightclub, but I danced all the way to Buchenwald.”

Uncle Otto taught me more than the jitterbug that summer.

***

At his funeral last year I saluted my favorite uncle with, “Swing Heil!”

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6 May 2016

Published May 4, 2016 by rochellewisoff

The following photo is the PROMPT. Keep in mind that all photos are the property of the contributor, therefore copyrighted and require express permission to use for purposes other than Friday Fictioneers. Giving credit to whom credit is due is proper etiquette. This week’s photo is from Roger Bultot for whom there is no link. Thanks for letting us use your photos Roger.

PHOTO PROMPT © Roger Bultot

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Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

LOST BATTALION

Molly made a face at her brother. “You birdbrain.”

“Am not!” Jimmy scowled.

“That’s a compliment you know,” said Grandpop.

“Why?” asked Molly.

“You never heard of Cher Ami?”

“What’s that?”

“Not what—who. He was a hero of the Great War.” Tears stung Grandpop’s eyes. “The Krauts shot a hole in his chest, took out his eye and blew off his leg. Nothing could deter him from his mission.”

“Wowsers!” Jimmy’s jaw dropped. “He was tough.”

Molly sighed. “Was he good looking, too, Grandpop?”

“I’ll say. Two hundred of us dough boys owe that handsome carrier pigeon our lives.”

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29 April 2016

Published April 27, 2016 by rochellewisoff

KUDOS TO OUR RESIDENT AWARD WINNER SANDRA CROOK

Click Here to read more!

Best wishes go out to our friend CEAYR and hopes that he’ll be pain free soon.

The following photo is the PROMPT. Keep in mind that all photos are the property of the contributor, therefore copyrighted and require express permission to use for purposes other than Friday Fictioneers. Giving credit to whom credit is due is proper etiquette.

PHOTO PROMPT © Mary Shipman

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Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

IKH HOB DIKH TSUFIL LIB*

Beryl’s wealthy uncle paid his way to America to study medicine in exchange for help in his store. The long narrow shop smelled of leather, licorice, and chocolate, but mostly, it reeked of Uncle Sol’s cigars.

“Did you leave a sweetheart in Moldavia, Beryl?”

“Yes sir.”

“Say the word and I’ll bring her over.”

***

“Beryl, don’t go. I’ll die of a broken heart.”

“I’ll come back for you, Havah.”

***

“She perished in a pogrom four years ago.”

Sol stopped to wait on a young mother with her child.

“Beryl, meet Mrs. Gitterman from Moldavia.”

Beryl’s heart thundered her name. “Havah!”

*I Love You Too Much

Just for fun an updated traditional Yiddish melody if you’re in the mood. 😉

22 April 2016

Published April 20, 2016 by rochellewisoff

The following photo is the PROMPT. Keep in mind that all photos are the property of the contributor, therefore copyrighted and require express permission to use for purposes other than Friday Fictioneers. Giving credit to whom credit is due is proper etiquette.

Best wishes go out to our friend CEAYR and hopes that he’ll be without pain very soon.

PHOTO PROMPT © Madison Woods

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This month marks my fourth Friday Fictioneers Anniversary! To commemorate it I’m posting a rerun. At least the photo’s a rerun. If you already wrote a story to go with this prompt all those years ago, feel free to take a breather and re-post it.

As I reread the story I posted four years ago this week, I decided it needed some updating. It was, after all, the third flash fiction I ever wrote. If you’d like to read the original click HERE

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

IN MEMORY OF 24682

Between barbs and twisted wire the sun had the audacity to shine. Marushka’s stomach howled in outrage as she licked the dregs of a discarded sardine tin. She stretched her skeletal legs and longed for silk stockings to hug her once shapely calves.

She took a cracked mirror from her pocket and winced at her bald reflection. Murderer!

“I couldn’t let them hear you.” Memories of her baby gasping for breath under her palm haunted her. Employing the jagged glass, she slashed from her wrist to her tattoo. Relief flooded her as her life pooled in the grass. “Mama’s coming.”

25 March 2016

Published March 23, 2016 by rochellewisoff

The following photo is the PROMPT. Keep in mind that all photos are the property of the contributor, therefore copyrighted and require express permission to use for purposes other than Friday Fictioneers. Giving credit to whom credit is due is proper etiquette.

Please be considerate and make an effort to stay within the suggested word count.

PHOTO PROMPT – © Ted Strutz

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Due to circumstances beyond my control this past week, including an all day car repair, dental issues and a computer crash, I am posting an excerpt from my working manuscript, As One Must, One Can. While it’s just under a hundred words, it’s not a complete story. In this stage of the book, Havah, who teaches an unheard of girl’s Hebrew class, accompanied by her nephew Lev, is going to check on two of her students who live in McClure Flats which was a Kansas City Slum populated mostly by Russian Jewish immigrants.

Genre: Historical Fiction

(the year is 1908)

Word Count: 97

AS ONE MUST, ONE CAN – EXCERPT

Lev and Havah passed a row of brick hovels with lean-tos serving as porches.

Everywhere she turned she saw unkempt children whose noses leaked slimy trails to their lips.

A woman with pockmarked cheeks and sunken eyes sat beside a shanty, her blouse hanging open so her toddler could suckle from her shriveled breast.

A little girl chased a small animal crying, “Kit-kat! Kit-kat!” in Yiddish.

The creature scurried under Havah’s skirts before disappearing between the cracks of a dilapidated wall. The ground swerved beneath her when she realized it was neither cat nor dog, but a large rat.

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Lev Resnick, Havah’s nephew-Original Artwork © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Havah Cohen Gitterman -Original Artwork © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

McClure Flats, Kansas City, Missouri-Photo taken around 1910

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18 March 2016`

Published March 16, 2016 by rochellewisoff

The following photo is the PROMPT. Keep in mind that all photos are the property of the contributor, therefore copyrighted and require express permission to use for purposes other than Friday Fictioneers. Giving credit to whom credit is due is proper etiquette.

Please be considerate and make an effort to stay within the suggested word count.

PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

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Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

WHERE HEAVEN BENDS TOWARDS YOU

” March 1622

Tesoro Ansaldo,

My heart dies for your letters.

You used to liken me to the Jewish Queen Ester.

Do you now spurn me because I refuse to embrace your Christus? Does this make me a heretic? So be it! But never have I denied the eternal soul of man as you so accuse. I wrote only that the mind informs us and is where mortal and immortal are confined.

Thus, I confine myself to Gheto Vechio…”

Blinded by tears, the old monk set Sarra Copia’s letter ablaze in the candle flame. “Bless me Father, for I have sinned.”

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12 February 2016

Published February 10, 2016 by rochellewisoff

NEWS FLASH!!!

Last week we had another short story winner. Margaret Leggatt in Australia.

To read her award winning story click

HERE

CONGRATULATIONS, MARGARET!

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The following photo is the PROMPT. Keep in mind that all photos are the property of the contributor, therefore copyrighted and require express permission to use for purposes other than Friday Fictioneers. Giving credit to whom credit is due is proper etiquette.

Please be considerate and make an effort to stay within the suggested word count.

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Genre: Memoir

Word Count: 100

WHEN THE SUN CONCEIVED A WOMAN

I tasted dusty tile floor. Aware of prying stares, lying in my own filth, I wished I could dissolve between the cracks of the thrift shop floor.

A paramedic struggled to insert an IV into my collapsed vein. “What year is it?”

“1996.”

“Do you know your name?”

My doctor’s words haunted me.

“You’re going to end up dead on the bathroom floor like Karen Carpenter and there’s nothing I can do about it.”

Was this the legacy I wanted to leave my children?

Infused with renewed will to conquer the beast, I answered the EMT. “My name is Rochelle.”

****

*Footnote-This was a major wake-up call and the first day of my decision to live. The following sketch is part of a series I did to go along with an inner child story I wrote while in treatment, entitled The Magic Daffodils.

Character Study – Mendel and David Cohen

Published February 8, 2016 by rochellewisoff

Original Artwork © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Although Havah’s older brothers, Mendel and David Cohen, perished at the beginning of Please Say Kaddish for Me, they are ever alive in her heart. Two very different personalities, Havah adored them both. Her memories of them are a constant thread throughout Please Say Kaddish for Me, From Silt and Ashes, and the imminent third novel in the trilogy, As One Must One Can.

Her eldest brother, Mendel, eight years her senior, wanted to follow in his father’s footsteps as a rabbi.

***

By the tender age of twelve, Havah had developed the attributes of a young woman. Despite her disappointed protests, her father agreed with her teacher that her Heder education should come to an end. The boys would never learn Holy writ with such a comely distraction.

Her brother Mendel became her lamed, her teacher. While she missed her classmates’ challenges, she enjoyed mornings with Mendel and flourished under his tutelage. A strict teacher, he never allowed her any leeway because of her gender or kinship.

~~Taken from From Silt and Ashes

***

David, who was two years younger than Mendel, was a gifted artist. In Please Say Kaddish for Me, Havah tells Shayndel that he could paint a flower so real that you would swear you could smell its fragrance.

David was the mischievous brother who mercilessly teased his little sister. She regrets that shortly before his murder, they had quarreled.

***

With a suppressed sigh she covered the braided loaves with clean towels and set them on the back of the stove to rise. “The last time I baked Hollah, I couldn’t put raisins in it because my brother David ate all of them. I wish I hadn’t gotten so mad. I said horrid things.”

“Were they the last words you spoke to him?” Fruma Ya’el unfolded a linen tablecloth, snapping it so it billowed and dropped to cover the table.

“No.” Gathering the bowls and utensils, Havah hobbled to the sink. “I can still see him with Mama’s clean dish towel over his head, walking bent over. He sang all raspy like an old lady, too. ‘Little Bubbe Fuss Bucket. All astir over a raisin. A raisin. A shriveled little raisin. Oy, yoy, yoy.’”

She took a kettle of hot water from the stove and poured it over the dishes. “I could never stay mad at him. If only I’d known—”

Gittel grabbed a dish towel. “Would you have done anything differently?”

A soap bubble floated up from the water. Havah popped it with her finger. “No.”

~~Taken from Please Say Kaddish for Me

***

Each night of Hanukkah, Havah and her brothers took turns lighting the candles. Papa led the recitation of the blessings. To this day, when she heard distant thunder Havah swore it was Papa’s resonant voice chanting prayers in heaven.

One year, her brother David, then twelve, ate so many macaroons he spent half the night in the outhouse. The next morning, fourteen-year-old Mendel, always the teacher, seized the opportunity to expound on the evils of gluttony. David’s green-tinged cheeks flushed while six-year-old Havah giggled into her napkin.

~~Taken from As One Must One Can (2016)

Published by Argus Publishing

Represented by Loiacono Literary Agency

***

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Check out my author page on the Loiacono Website. For all of the character studies thus far, click on the link Rochelle Wisoff-Fields Art and Blogs or my website RochelleWordArt.