22 June 2018

Published June 20, 2018 by rochellewisoff

Please be considerate of 70 or more participants and keep your story to 100 words. Thank you.

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 © Fatima Fakier

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As you read my story, you might be thinking the woman doesn’t know her geography. However the muse took me far from this Venice. Just think Thoreau. 😉

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

ENEMY NON-ALIEN

February 14, 1943

Dear Diary,

Last night I dreamt I was back at Venice beach with my baby brother when armed soldiers snatched him away. I woke up screaming.

This morning my mother smiled a smile that couldn’t hide her sorrow. “Happy birthday, Suzuka.”

For years my parents longed for another child. Mommy prayed for a son. Last year we celebrated Hiroshi’s arrival—my 14^th birthday present—right before the ‘executive order.’

Six months ago he died of pneumonia.

Sun glints off the barbed wire fence as my classmates and I recite the Pledge of Allegiance to the American flag.

*

Pat Morita, American actor, who was sent with his parents to an internment camp.

American Actor, George Takei who spent time with his family in the camps as a child.

Red-Blooded American Propaganda

One of my favorite books on the subject, The Red Kimono, was written by our own FF’r Jan Morrill.

TURKISH DELIGHT

Published June 17, 2018 by rochellewisoff

This week Pegman takes us to Taşlıçay, Ağrı, Turkey. You’re welcome to mine street view and photo spheres anywhere within its borders to write your story. The Pegman challenge is to write 150 words or less inspired by the prompt.

As always, a hearty thank you to Karen and Josh for facilitating the fun.

I didn’t exactly go to Turkey with my story but there is a link to it in my story. 😉

Genre: Anecdote

Word Count: 150

TURKISH DELIGHT

At first glance, Mediterranean Market, with its dusty shelves, cheap souvenirs and a calendar on the wall above the cash register didn’t look like much.

The smoky baba ghanoush and succulent kabobs more than compensated for the lack of atmosphere. And who could resist flaky crusted Spanakopita stuffed with spinach?

As much as the cuisine, I enjoyed co-owners Jihan and Sinan who loved to reminisce about the homeland they had left several years before.

With a faraway look, Jihan would smile. “I miss the mountains and my mother.”

Sinan, the more outgoing of the two brothers, would serve friendly chatter along with strong Turkish tea. His slicked black hair curled just below his ears and his huge eyes never quite went the same direction.

“Best meal ever,” I told him every time.

With a wave of his hands, he’d prance around and reply, “When the womens is heppy, everybody’s heppy.”

*

I wish I’d thought to take pictures of Jihan and Sinan in all of the many times Cuz Kent and I spent three hour lunches plotting plays and laughing until we cried. The guys are still around but have closed the shop. My taste buds ache with longing.

15 June 2018

Published June 13, 2018 by rochellewisoff

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Please be considerate of 70 or more participants and keep your story to 100 words. Thank you.

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 © Jean L. Hays

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Genre: Literary Fiction

Word Count: 100

THE NIGHT BEFORE

At rehearsal dinner Daddy beamed. “Welcome to the family, Nathan.”

Nathan’s ice-blue eyes scorched me. “Til death do us part.”

The thick summer breeze did little to cool the screened-in sleeping porch. Nonetheless, Jimmy’s hot breath on my neck gave me chills.

“Nathan will kill you, Jimmy.”

“Don’t matter without you, Lucie.”

Whirring cicadas drowned out my whispered protests. Mutual desire finally had its way and I melted into Jimmy’s ebony arms.

___

No doubt Mama will swoon and Daddy will swear at the shame I’ve brought.

Miles from them, my beloved’s dark eyes consume me. “Til death do us part.”

MULTIPLICATION

Published June 10, 2018 by rochellewisoff

This week Pegman takes us caving in Texas in the United States. If you take the tour above, you can go caving. However, you’re free to visit nearby Amarillo or the Cadillac Ranch if you prefer.

Your mission is to write up to to 150 words inspired by the location. You can contribute a story, poem, or essay. Once your piece is polished, feel free to share it with others using the linkup below. Reading and commenting on others’ work is part of the fun.

Thanks to Karen and Josh for hosting the challenge.

The following story is admittedly a summer rerun. Some will remember the version entitled “Generations” I posted for Friday Fictioneers. I dusted it off, changed the title, added 50 words and, voila, a Pegman story is born. 😉 Some of you might remember it. The photo I chose is the same one I used in July 2015…has it really been three years?

Cadillac Ranch- © Jean L. Hays

Genre: Hysterical Fiction

Word Count: 150

MULTIPLICATION

“The summer of 1953. What a heatwave.” Great-Gran adjusted the thermostat. “We didn’t have air conditioning.”

“No A/C?” Fourteen year-old Megan put her DVD on pause. “You really did live in the Stone Age. What did you do for fun? Play with rocks?”

“Very funny, Missy.” Great-Gran giggled like a schoolgirl. “My boyfriend and I went to the drive-in theater on Saturday nights. If we were lucky there’d be a decent breeze and a good flick like Roman Holiday or From Here to Eternity.”

“Oh I adore those. I caught them on Netflix. Burt Lancaster was really hot in that sex scene on the beach.”

Great-Gran’s withered cheeks flushed and her eyes sparkled. “I missed that part of the movie, but I think the scene in Bobby’s Bel-Air topped it.”

“April, 1954.” Megan saw her great grandmother in a whole new light. “Does Gramps know he’s a passion pit baby?”

I think the film clips bear repeating, too. 😉

8 June 2018

Published June 6, 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 © Roger Bultot

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Genre: Speculative Fiction

Word Count: 100

DAY OF ATONEMENT

“Pardon me, Frau, what year is this?”

“Why 1889, of course.” The young mother lifts her son from his wicker pram. “5 October to be exact.”

My heart thumps. Weinstein, that lunatic genius has done it. It’s 200 years ago.

“Could you direct me to Salzburger Vorstadt 219?”

“That’s our address.”

“Frau—Hitler?”

“Ja.” She presses her cheek against the baby’s. “Adolf, let’s show the nice man the way.”

I tighten my hand around the gun in my pocket. The child gazes at me with innocent blue eyes.

What can I do? I’m doomed to let history run its course.

It’s a rhetorical question. Think hard before answering. Given the opportunity, could you pull the trigger?

*Note: October 5, 1889 was the highest of high Jewish holidays, Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement. What better day to off the future Fuehrer?

This is a bit unusual for me, but one FF’r took it upon herself to write her story as a solution to my protagonist’s dilemma. Here’s the link to Melody Pearson’s post.

1 June 2018

Published May 30, 2018 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.

get the InLinkz code

Genre: Questionable

Word Count: 100

THE CHEESE STANDS ALONE

“A dip in Farmer Gayer’s pond would feel mighty nice.” Hot from hiking, Shelley pointed at the man in overalls a few feet away and whispered to Dale. “Old buzzard’s as mean as they come.”

Dale tilted her head. “Looks harmless enough to me. Nice hat, eh? Maybe you should draw a picture of him as a peace offering.”

“Nothing doing. The wannabe art critic turned up his nose at my Winky.” Shelley opened her drawing pad to a sketch of a fawn. “That Nasal Falls curmudgeon wouldn’t know true talent if it hit him in a speeding purple truck.”

For some crackers with that cheese, click here.

AUCTION OF SOULS

Published May 26, 2018 by rochellewisoff

This week Pegman takes us to Armenia. You are welcome to use the photo provided in the prompt, or chose from among many photo spheres from across the country.

Will you dig into Armenia’s rich history? Delve into its present? Imagine its future? Or will you conjure your own alternate reality? The only rule is to keep your story, poem, or essay under 150 words.

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

Thanks to Karen and Josh for facilitating this weekly globetrotting experience.

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 150

AUCTION OF SOULS

I had just curled up on the sofa when the doorbell rang. Sore from giving birth and sleep deprived from a full-night’s worth of colic, I padded to the door. There stood my Armenian grandmother, Teddy bear in tow.

“Tatik, I just put Joseph down for his nap.”

Her brown eyes twinkled. “I come to see my great-grandson. The first boy in two generations.”

Dropping the toy on the couch, she bent over the bassinet and swept my son into her arms. Suddenly, she collapsed into the rocker clutching him to her chest and burst into tears. “He looks just like my baby brother—Joseph. The Turks ripped him from my mother’s arms, buried him up to his shoulders in the dirt and crushed his little skull under their trucks. Sixty years later I still hear the screams.

“Because we were Christians they called us infidels. I call them bastards.”

December 1915 NY Times

Rochelle Wisoff-Fields-Addicted to Purple

Growing older is inevitable. Growing up is optional.

Love and more love

All posts in the Love and more love category

22 June 2018

TURKISH DELIGHT

15 June 2018

MULTIPLICATION

8 June 2018

1 June 2018

AUCTION OF SOULS

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