ASLEEP IN THE LIGHT

Published August 26, 2017 by rochellewisoff

Flash fiction is a valuable training tool for all writers. It helps promote clarity and precision by forcing the writer to be succinct.

This week WHAT PEGMAN SAW travels to North Korea. Be very careful of what you say to whom you say it.

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 for hosting this challenge to Karen Rawson and and J Hardy Carroll .

For this week’s challenge I revisited a Friday Fictioneers piece I posted two years ago, added 50 words and gave it a new title.

Genre: Realistic, Historical and All-Too-Current Fiction

Word Count: 150

ASLEEP IN THE LIGHT

At thirteen Myung Hee was three years older than the rest of my students. Despite my many scoldings, they laughed at her and called her babo.

One day I found her weeping in the schoolyard.

“What’s wrong, gongjunim?”

“I’m not princess.” A single tear trickled down her cheek. “I feel sorry for these children. They are not understand. In time a heart beats this light can be snatched from them.”

I tried to hug her but she pulled back. Her swollen eyes, old beyond their years, pierced my heart.

“My baby brother and I escaped Kim Jong-il’s prison camp, but two days later I buried him in the desert with only the stars to see. I thought South Korea would be the center of my dreams, but they lie with my brother in darkness.”

Myung Hee’s words resonated deep within me and, in that moment, the teacher became the student.

5 August 2016

Published August 3, 2016 by rochellewisoff

Summer is the time for vacations, picnics on the beach and reruns on the telly. For me it has been a time to meet a deadline in July for my third novel in my series entitled AS ONE MUST ONE CAN. These are happy times! The deadline has been met, but there are edits to do and more business ahead. So the Summer Showcase will continue for a few more Fridays. 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 CEAYR. 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- ©Ted Strutz

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Genre: Realistic Fiction

Word Count: 100

Original post from May 2013

HANAI

I met Kevin online. Our connection began with shared interests and blossomed into more.

“You should visit in person,” said my sister.

“Fat chance. He’s in Hawaii, I’m in Nebraska.”

Last week I received an airline ticket.

“Next Saturday. Icon Grill. Seattle.

Aloha,

Kevin.”

***

He slides into the booth across from me. “You bring it?”

From my purse I take a faded photograph of twins, a boy and a girl. Korean War orphans. I’ve carried it for forty years.

His almond-shaped eyes crinkle as he fishes an identical photo from his wallet.

“Jah-meh, I always hoped to find you.”

*Jah-meh – Korean for sister

24 June 2016

Published June 22, 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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Our Mantra:

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

copyright-Rich Voza

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I’m really pleased that C.E. chose this particular prompt. It’s one of my all time favorites, not because of the photo itself but because of what it meant to me. I am posting two stories with permission from Doug MacIlroy who is currently MIA and says, “Tell the FF gang I said hello and that I wish them well and that like a relative of mine once said, ‘I shall return’.”

When Doug shared his abbreviated story with me via email in February 2013 I asked what he thought about my writing the partner story. Between iPhone texts and photos we worked to make our stories exactly 200 words between the two of them. It was a labor of love and a magical experience in writing. I hope you enjoy it as much as we did.

Original posts HERE and HERE

Doug’s story is in the photo below.

Genre for both: Speculative Fiction

Word Count: 65

DEPARTURE CLEARANCE

Word Count: 135

FLIGHT STATUS

“Flight delayed.” Amelia snarled and closed the US Airways website. “Damn business trips!”

Memories of their argument right before Chase left gnawed at her. She regretted her spiteful words.

“I hate your job!”

“You like the money.”

“You’re never home. Your daughters don’t even know their father.”

“Next time, babe, you and the girls are coming with me.”

“What if—?”

“‘What if’ never happens.” He gathered her into his arms. “Flying’s safer than driving on the freeway.”

Five hours ago he’d texted from Phoenix. “Just a little turbulence. Nothing to worry about.”

“Mommy?” Four-year-old Katy tiptoed into the room. “Daddy sat on my bed.”

“It was only a dream, Kitten.”

“No it wasn’t. He talked to me!”

“What’d he say?”

“He’s sorry he can’t come home.”

Her phone chimed. Message from Chase.

“Dearest Amelia…”

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BASH

TFOA

3 June 2016

Published June 1, 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.

Like us on Facebook

Our Mantra:

The following photo is the PROMPT. This week’s retread request is from Sandra Crook. If you’re one of those who wrote a story for this prompt feel free to re-post it and enjoy the respite. The photo is from Piya Singh for whom I have no link. Remember that all photos are private property and subject to copyright. Use other than Friday Fictioneers by permission only.

Thanks to Piya Singh for this week’s photo prompt.

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Here’s my story, first posted 7 September 2012 when Madison Woods was FF Queen. I’m really appalled at how lax I was in replying to comments. I apologize to those of you to whom I didn’t reply. How rude was that?

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

CEASE-FIRE

Despite his outspoken arguments against the Confederacy, to please Father, Amelia’s twin brother James enlisted. A year later he perished at Clark’s Mill.

Afterward she spent afternoons in the abandoned slave quarters reading Andrew’s letters in secret. The last one came seven months ago.

“When the war’s over we’ll live in New York…”

Had she lost him, too?

From the corner of the shack a Union soldier stumbled toward her, his face chocolate brown beneath his rumpled cap. Her knees buckled. He caught her and crushed her against his broad chest.

Breathless, she devoured his bronze lips. “Andrew. Dearest Andrew.”

Character Study – Rabbi Shimon and Miriam Cohen

Published January 24, 2016 by rochellewisoff

Out of the corner of her eye she [Havah] saw her mother creep through the doorway and inch toward the bed with a wooden rolling pin high over her head. She slammed it down on the back of the man’s head. With a sudden jerk and a grunt he released Havah. He rolled off her and fell to the floor unconscious.

She sat up, clutching a pillow and stared down at him. Blood pooled under his head and seeped into the cracks between the floor boards. This had to be a dream. In the morning Papa would wink at her over breakfast and assure her it had all been a horrendous nightmare.

Her mother yanked her hand, dragged her from the bed and held her for a moment, her tears hot on Havah’s neck.

“Hurry, Havah. May the God of Israel go with you.” Taking Havah’s face between her hands her mother kissed her forehead.

“But Mama—”

Tugging Havah’s arm, her mother dragged her to the back door of the house and shoved her out. “No arguing. Go!”

Heart thumping, she ran. Thick smoke stung her eyes and burned her throat. She stopped and turned to look one last time. The blazing synagogue crumbled to the ground.

“No, Havah, don’t look back!”

~~Taken from Please Say Kaddish for Me by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Original Artwork © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

The Heder teacher’s face turned crimson. He narrowed his eyes and glared at five-year-old Havah as if she were a piglet about to be dumped on his doorstep. Then he clenched his tobacco-stained teeth and spat a brown glob on the doorstep.

Up until this moment she had been excited to learn to read the Torah, the words that came from Adoshem’s own mouth. Huddled against Papa’s shoulder she hid her eyes in his coat folds.

“You can’t be serious, Rabbi Shimon. She’s a girl.”

“So she is.” Papa’s arm tightened around her. “My daughter’s mind is every whit as keen as her brother Mendel’s.”

“To be certain she’s a bright one, and one day she’ll be a most excellent wife and mother. Perhaps she’ll even marry a rabbi herself but, Rebbe, to come to Heder with boys? It’s not right.”

“Where does the Torah say it’s wrong for a girl to learn?”

“Rabbi Ben Hyrcanus clearly stated in the Talmud that to teach a daughter Torah is tiflut, obscenity. And did he not also say that the words of the Torah should be burned rather than be entrusted to a woman? Rabbi, you of all people should know this.”

“As far as I’m concerned it’s opinion and rubbish! Didn’t the prophet Yo’el write ‘your sons and daughters shall prophecy’? Miriam and Deborah—were they not judges in Israel?”

“You win, Rebbe.”

“I always do.”

~~Taken from From Silt and Ashes by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Published by Argus Publishing

Represented by Loiacono Literary Agency

Original Artwork © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Until the pogrom that took them from her, Havah’s parents, Rabbi Shimon and Miriam Cohen were the two most important people her life.

Not one to be bound by law and traditions, Rabbi Cohen relied more on Torah than Midrash, the rabbinic commentaries. When questioned, he was quick to argue that the former was the irrefutable word of God while the latter was merely opinion and conjecture. He encouraged his daughter and his wife, if they so desired, to study the Holy Word.

Miriam was a gentle and loving wife who kept a clean, Kosher home. She considered her greatest treasures to be her husband, her two sons and her daughter.

Havah adored her parents and her memories of them are a constant thread throughout the series. Even though she was only sixteen when they died, their words of wisdom are always there to guide her.

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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.

1 January 2016

Published December 30, 2015 by rochellewisoff

FRIDAY FICTION CONCRIT SUBGROUP

If you want to be part of this group click the link above and follow the rules set forth by Jennifer Pendergast, the leader of this subgroup. No one is under obligation to participate nor is it necessary to dig something up to criticize for the sake of critique. Please keep it polite and friendly.

The next photo is the PHOTO PROMPT. Once more I’m taking the liberty of doing a rerun. Some of you may remember this photo and already have a story to go with it. Feel free to replay your story as well and enjoy the New Year.

Copyright Jean L. Hays

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Genre: Realistic Fiction

Word Count: 98

ILLUMINATION

With her crimson hair and freckles she could’ve been my own reflection. Although we’d never met, I knew she was my birth mother.

“Didn’t you want me?”

“With all my heart.”

Sunlight streaming through the café windows glinted off her tears. “Mother said I couldn’t care for a baby…said I’d hurt you. She never even let me hold you.”

I wrapped my arms around her waist.

“Hold me now…Mama.”

Her fingers caressed my forehead, then moved as lightly as moth wings down my nose and over my lips. Her sightless eyes glistened. “It’s good to finally see you.”

To see the original post click here.

25 December 2015

Published December 23, 2015 by rochellewisoff

FRIDAY FICTION CONCRIT SUBGROUP

If you want to be part of this group click the link above and follow the rules set forth by Jennifer Pendergast, the leader of this subgroup. No one is under obligation to participate nor is it necessary to dig something up to criticize for the sake of critique. Please keep it polite and friendly.

This week’s prompt is a rerun. We will be out of town visiting family this week so please forgive me for very slow or nonexistent response time. I hope everyone is having a wonderful holiday. If you’ve already written a story for this prompt as a few have, feel free to enjoy the respite. Look for next week’s prompt to be a retread as well. Thanks to each and every one of you who participate. I can’t begin to tell you what this group means to me.

Shalom,

Rochelle

PHOTO PROMPT – © Scott L. Vannatter

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Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 97

Here’s the original Post

FINAL DECLARATION

Like the anguished images that flashed across our television, Friday, November 22, 1963 will ever be etched into my memory in black and white.

Walter Cronkite wept on camera.

The nation mourned.

Dazed, Mom sorted Christmas ornaments at the kitchen table and mumbled empty phrases. Dad dropped to his knees, laid his head in her lap and sobbed.

“He was my hero!” I screamed.

My eleven-year-old world spun out and I kicked at the two faceless uniforms.

Their vacuous condolences pelted me like the bullets that killed my big brother in Vietnam.

***************

I’ll never forgive Mr. Kennedy.

I was in 5th grade the day Kennedy was assassinated. We had just come in from recess when the teacher greeted us with “The president’s been shot.’ and flipped on the TV. What a cold and hollow weekend followed as we all crowded around the television and wondered who would do such a horrible thing. I don’t mean to spark a controversy but the fact is that President Kennedy did send advisers to Vietnam and he did get us into the war.

Click Here for More

11 December 2015

Published December 9, 2015 by rochellewisoff

FRIDAY FICTION CONCRIT SUBGROUP

If you want to be part of this group click the link above and follow the rules set forth by Jennifer Pendergast, the leader of this subgroup. No one is under obligation to participate nor is it necessary to dig something up to criticize for the sake of critique. Please keep it polite and friendly.

The next photo is the PHOTO PROMPT. I appreciate the diverse offerings from fictioneers. Please be courteous and give credit to whom credit is due.

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Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 98

FLIGHT OF FANCY

10 February 1830

Dearest Lucy,

When I think about your advocacy of this wild man who sails from one continent to another in pursuit of his ambition I am filled with love.

The English engravers are tirelessly rendering my dream into reality. I marvel at nature when dawn presents her in richest, purest array and hope my humble paintings shall be my legacy for our two sons.

I could not do better than to travel and finish my collection of the ‘Birds of America.’

Across the ocean, ma chérie Mrs. Audubon, your devotion sustains me.

Affectionately yours,

John

To learn more click here.

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Lucy Audubon

John James Audubon

4 December 2015

Published December 2, 2015 by rochellewisoff

FRIDAY FICTION CONCRIT SUBGROUP

If you want to be part of this group click the link above and follow the rules set forth by Jennifer Pendergast, the leader of this subgroup. No one is under obligation to participate nor is it necessary to dig something up to criticize for the sake of critique. Please keep it polite and friendly.

The following photo is the PHOTO PROMPT. Roger has no website or blog but takes beautiful photos and enjoys letting us use them.

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Genre: Too Realistic Fiction

Word Count: 100

I WILL REMIND YOU

When I was a little girl my mother delighted in making birthdays memorable with shiny packages, bright balloons and colorful streamers. The cakes she decorated were works of art.

“I like red.” She looks at the birthday balloon I brought and then at me with a puzzled frown. Her eyes, once full of light, are little more than murky windows to a drifting soul.

“The eggs rolled out of the henhouse and smashed the cupcakes…” her voice trails off and the struggle to shape the words is evident. “I’m sorry, I don’t remember you.”

“It’s okay, Mom. I remember you.”

.

While my story this week is fictionalized it is based on a recent visit to my mother in law. Alzheimer’s is the cruelest of diseases for we mourn the loss of a loved one but her body still lives and breathes.

13 November 2015

Published November 11, 2015 by rochellewisoff

It is common courtesy to give credit where credit is due. The next photo in this sea of memes is the PROMPT.

FRIDAY FICTION CONCRIT SUBGROUP

Let’s give it a go for another week. Click on the line above to learn how to participate. For those who would rather not receive constructive criticism there’s no obligation. It’s also good to remember that concrit is the suggestions of the giver. There’s no pressure to agree. Personally I received some good suggestions last week.

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Wednesday, November 11 is Veterans Day here in the States. Thank you, Jan, for your twenty-eight years in the United States Navy. And thank you to all the men and women who have served in the military.

Genre:Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

Since I’ve agreed with another fictioneer’s concrit and changed a line, it’s been requested that I post my original post so everyone can see what I changed. I think it’s a good idea so here it is. No need to read if you don’t want to. It’s basically the same story with some minor tweaking. 😉

Here’s the original version:

WHERE THE GRAPES OF WRATH ARE STORED

“Water…somebody…please.”

Clara knelt next to the Union soldier and held a cup to his lips. The stench of defecation and decaying flesh made her stomach roil. Her back and neck ached from three nights without sleep.

“Don’t you remember me, Miss Clara?”

In her mind’s eye she saw the bright child in her long ago Texas schoolroom.

“Of course I do,” she whispered. “Save your strength, David. We’ll talk later.”

In one heart-stopping moment something ripped through her right sleeve, the cup dropped and David fell back, quivering in the agonies of death.

Clara Barton never mended the bullet hole.

***

Here’s the update:

WHERE THE GRAPES OF WRATH ARE STORED

“Water…somebody…please.”

Clara knelt next to the Union soldier and held a cup to his lips. The stench of feces and decaying flesh made her stomach roil. Her back and neck ached from three nights without sleep.

“Don’t you remember me, Miss Clara?”

At once she recognized the bright child from her long ago Texas schoolroom.

“Of course I do,” she whispered. “Save your strength, David. We’ll talk later.”

In one heart-stopping moment something ripped through her right sleeve, the cup dropped and David fell back, quivering in the agonies of death.

Clara Barton never mended the bullet hole.

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