SWING SHIFT

Published January 28, 2017 by rochellewisoff

Wonder of wonders, I’m back for another round. 😉 It must be the lure of those fifty extra words. Here are the simple directions:

Today, Pegman visits Buffalo, NY. Thanks to Prior for this week’s location.

Feel free to stroll around using the Google street view and grab any picture you choose to include in your post.

To enjoy stories inspired by the What Pegman Saw prompt or to submit your own 150-word story, visit the InLinkz button:

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

Many thanks to K Rawson for hosting.

The following story is a rework of an old story. I thought perhaps the addition of fifty words might help it along. I also think this one will be lengthened at a later date. Still rolling it around my head.

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 150

SWING SHIFT

On Black Tuesday Pop lost his Wall Street job.

He sold everything of any value except Mom’s prized antique vase, our phonograph and his clarinet.

We moved from our Park Avenue apartment to a shabby house in Buffalo. Pop found employment as a night janitor.

One Sunday afternoon, drawn by phonograph music, I wandered into his room. Hunched over, he held a gun to his temple.

I screamed and knocked it from his grasp.

It discharged. The bullet ricocheted off the wall, whizzed through my hair and shattered Mom’s vase.

“Forgive me.” He crushed me against his chest. “I’ve forgotten what’s really important.”

After that Pop found solace playing his “licorice stick.” He delighted our neighbors at backyard barbeques.

At Mom’s urging, he auditioned for a local swing band. From 1935 to 1962 they toured the Borscht Belt.

His zest for life was contagious.

Incidentally, Mom never mentioned her vase.

Borscht Belt

Probably not Pop’s band, but thrown in for flavor.

27 January 2017

Published January 25, 2017 by rochellewisoff

Note: You can call me crabby or controlling if you like, but…over the past few weeks some writers are going way over the word limit. No one will be kicked out for doing so, but the challenge is to write a story in 100 words or less. While I don’t take issue with a word or two over, last week one of them went over 200 words.

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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 © Al Forbes

Think you’ve seen this photo before? You have. It’s been pointed out that I posted this prompt in February. 😯 A repost was unintentional, but is what it is. If you have a story for it you were happy with, feel free to use it. 😉 Thank you Dawn and Suzanne for pointing it out. This is a first. What was I thinking?

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Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

Not exactly a flash fiction and not exactly an excerpt. Here’s a scene from AS ONE MUST, ONE CAN.

OLIVE BRANCH

Nikolai Derevenko and his father had hardly spoken in twenty years so Sergei’s sudden appearance in Kansas City for his grandson’s graduation mystified him.

Sergei rotated the crank on the front of the car, starting the motor, and climbed into the driver’s seat. “It’s a Ford. Almost new—Model N, made in 1906,” he shouted over the clatter. “My gift. Tomorrow you learn to drive it.”

Nikolai scowled. “Thanks, but no thanks. God gave us legs and there are streetcars. With all of your frivolous spending you won’t have enough for your fare back to Russia.”

“I’m not going back.”

*

Dr. Nikolai Derevenk0 © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Sergei Derevenko © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Vasily Derevenko © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

***

If you’ve made it this far down the page I hope you’ll take the time to watch the short video. Perhaps this is the reason I’ve been impressed of late to write so many Holocaust themed stories. I plan to post my picture on Twitter and Facebook. When push comes to shove there is one race…THE HUMAN RACE #WeRemember

20 January 2017

Published January 18, 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 © Dale Rogerson

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Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

I’ve gone ‘there’ again. When the muse leads, I follow. But as EagleEye so aptly coined last week, “It’s a time too horrible to remember, too vile to forget.”

THE SONG’S STILL HEARD IN SELVINO

“It’s almost sundown,” said “Uncle” Moshe Ze’iri.

Clenching his fists, David followed the others to the huge Sciesopoli dining room. The familiar aroma of chicken soup filled his nostrils. It stirred memories of home and his parents, slaughtered before his eyes. After three years of lice and torture, why should he trust this smiling stranger or the Italians who had allied themselves with the monster?

“Shalom aleynu,” sang Uncle Moshe, his face aglow in the Sabbath candles, his voice tender and melodious. “Peace upon us…”

In that sweet moment the stone in David’s chest softened and beat once more.

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CLICK

VOICE IN THE WILDERNESS

Published January 14, 2017 by rochellewisoff

To enjoy stories inspired by the What Pegman Saw prompt or to submit your own 150-word story, visit the inLinkz button:

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

I wish I could call my story for this week Flash Fiction. It’s 150 words of what I’m feeling this morning.

VOICE IN THE WILDERNESS

Three young people lie on steel morgue tables while a toddler fights for his brief life.

There’s nothing new under the sun, is there? Newscast after newscast has broadcast similar incidents as I’ve tossed back a glass of wine, shook my head and said, “How awful.”

That changed when I saw the Facebook post that said, “Last night I lost the love of my life.” A couple’s obvious devotion shone from their photos.

My heart plummeted. “That’s my friend, my coworker.”

“Daddy loves you,” said his next post.

Under his words was the picture of a happy father with a smiling boy riding piggyback on his shoulders.

No words in the unabridged dictionary can express the depths of despair, rage and helplessness that drill my soul.

I want to embrace him and say something meaningful to ease his pain, but all I can do is spout clichés through my tears.

13 January 2017

Published January 11, 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 © C.E. Ayr

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Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

THE HEAVIEST WHEEL ROLLS ACROSS OUR FOREHEADS

When I was a little girl in the 1950’s, Mom used to take me to visit my aunt in St. Louis. I looked forward to those train rides. Sunlight dazzled through the trees as they whizzed by and the rhythm of the wheels clicking along the track soothed me.

Dad, on the other hand, hated trains, but would never tell me why. Only once did he accompany us.

As we left Union Station, tears trickled from the corners of his faraway eyes.

“Daddy, what’s wrong?”

“The stench was unbearable. Fifty of us crammed into a cattle car. I alone escaped.”

.

NOBLESSE OBLIGE

Published January 8, 2017 by rochellewisoff

This is my fourth week taking the challenge. Perhaps it’s the lure of 50 extra words or the fun of choosing from a smorgasbord of photos. In any event, I’m back for more. Many thanks the Karen Rawson for hosting. Below are the instructions to join in:

Google Street View of Burhhanpur

Feel free to stroll around using the Google street view and grab any picture you choose to include in your post.

To enjoy stories inspired by the What Pegman Saw prompt or to submit your own 150-word story, visit the inLinkz button:

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

I must confess that I’ve taken a former Friday Fictioneers flash fiction and tweaked it. Originally it was called ROYAL CONCESSION. It was fun to have the luxury of expanding it and changing it up a bit.

Word Count: 150

Genre: Realistic Fiction

NOBLESSE OBLIGE

Ellen grabbed the remote, turned off the television and climbed onto Jeff’s lap. “Tell me a story, Daddy.”

After countless life-or-death decisions and run-ins with EMT coworkers, his back and shoulders throbbed. The last fatality was Ellen’s age, a boy who breathed his last in Jeff’s arms.

He took back the remote. “Later, Doodle-bug.”

With five-year-old persistence, Ellen settled against his chest. “Once upon a time, in a castle in faraway India, lived a maharaja and his bee-yoo-tee-ful little princess. Your turn, Daddy.”

Her dark eyes held him prisoner. The remote slipped from his fingers. “Okay. The castle was called Shahi Qila. They rode jeweled elephants and swam in the Tapti River. Your turn, Doodles. What happened next?”

“They…” her voice faded into a yawn and her eyelids drooped.

Jeff’s taut muscles eased. He stroked her silken curls, kissed the top of her head and whispered, “…lived happily ever after.”

6 January 2017

Published January 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 © Sandra Crook

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Genre: I’ll take Historical Fiction for 100, Alex

WORDS OF LOVE

Hemda mourned when her sister succumbed to consumption, but how could she honor Devorah’s final wish to go to Jerusalem to marry her grieving widower, Eliezer the heretic?

“Israel,” he insisted, “must have one language.”

The rabbis seethed. “One uses the holy tongue for prayer—not idle chitchat.”

Nonetheless, Hemda dedicated herself to her husband as, side-by-side, they activated the wheels of change. Together they developed a modern Hebrew dictionary.

Her heart swelled when 30,000 attending his funeral proclaimed him a national hero.

British historian Cecil Roth later wrote: “Before Eliezer Ben-Yehuda Jews could speak Hebrew; after him they did.”

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APOLOGIES TO ROBERT BURNS

Published January 1, 2017 by rochellewisoff

Feel free to stroll around using the Google street view and grab any picture you choose to include in your post. Great fun and a few more words for this Friday Fictioneers Facilitator. 😉

To enjoy stories inspired by the What Pegman Saw prompt or to submit your own 150-word story, visit the inLinkz button:

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

Thanks to everyone who participated in last week’s prompt. If you’d like to suggest a location to Pegman, visit the contact page.

***

Here’s the photo that struck my fancy.

Here’s my bit ‘o’ fluff for the week. Happy New Year!

Genre: Questionable

Word Count: 150

APOLOGIES TO ROBERT BURNS

From the moment we met my heart belonged to him. His voice was like wind song and his words like tinkling bells on a sleigh.

He told me he was born 3 kilometers south of Ayr in Alloway in the year 1759.

But how could this be? This is New Year’s Eve, 2017.

Nonetheless when he recited poetry time had no meaning.

“As fair are thou, my bonie lass

So deep in luve am I,

And I will luve thee still, my Dear,

Till a’the seas gang dry.”

Lost in the depth of his blue eyes, I sipped my fourth Scotch. “I’ll stay with you always, my love.”

“Impossible, m’lady.” His cheeks flushed from pink to crimson. He dried my tears with the tip of his trunk and whispered in my ear. “Dinna fash yerself, lassie. We’ll tak a cup ‘o kindness now, but an elephant can’t stay forever.”

30 December 2016

Published December 28, 2016 by rochellewisoff

As in years past, our mantra in 2017:

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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.

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Genre: Biting Satire

Word Count: 99

QUAFF A CUP TO THE DEAD

“Those eyes,” she whispered. “They set my eighteen-year-old heart aflame.”

My grandmother, an actress and fashion model in the 1930’s, fascinated me. She turned 87 on New Year’s Day 2000. Even in her illness, she insisted her silver hair be perfectly coifed.

“He’s coming for me today. I must be ready to greet him.”

I kissed her rouged parchment-thin cheek. “Nana, he passed away in 1956.”

“Lies! Dracula never died.”

On the television screen, in black and white, Bela Lugosi bent over the ill-fated Mina. A wheezing sigh escaped Nana’s crimson lips as they spread into a peaceful smile.

If you’d like to know more about Mr. Lugosi click HERE.

TO SLEEP PERCHANCE TO DREAM

Published December 26, 2016 by rochellewisoff

This is my offering for What Pegman Saw

For guidelines and rules for the What Pegman Saw weekly writing prompt, visit the home page. It’s simple: a story of 150 words or less inspired by your street view tour of the location.

This week’s location was suggested by gifted writer and photographer Graham over at grahamisjustmyname.com. Thanks Graham!

Join in and add your link!

This is the view I chose from the Google site.

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 147

TO SLEEP PERCHANCE TO DREAM

Eva couldn’t wait for bedtime. Her faithful dream came every night. All day she longed for the sheer pleasure of flying amongst the cotton-soft clouds. The sky would always be a mixture of azure and cerulean. Lively music filled her ears as she flipped in midair.

This particular night she hovered above a waterfall. The thundering waters cavorted and flowed over shimmering quartz stones. A mermaid with a gleaming green tail sat on one of them in the midst of the waves. Her eyes glowed like candles. Sea spray veiled her shining violet hair that cascaded over her shoulders like a silken cape.

Holding out her arms, her melodious voice beckoned. “Eva, sweet Eva, come swim with me.”

***

“Eva, get up!”

Shira shook her sister’s narrow shoulders. Grey light through the barrack’s filthy window illuminated Eva’s skeletal face and serene smile.

Weeping, Shira whispered, “Arbeit macht frei.”