Unconditional Love

All posts in the Unconditional Love category

1 January 2016

Published December 30, 2015 by rochellewisoff

happy New Year

Friday Fictioneers and Poppy

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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

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

The disc and the dragonfly

Blue Ceiling FF

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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

Copyright-Scott L. Vannatter

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.

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11 December 2015

Published December 9, 2015 by rochellewisoff

Snorkeling in St. Thomas

Undersea St. Thomas 4 Meme

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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. 

PHOTO PROMPT © Luther Siler

PHOTO PROMPT © Luther Siler

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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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.Audubon print

 

Mrs._Audubon_-_wife_of_James_Audubon

Lucy Audubon

800px-John_James_Audubon_1826

John James Audubon

4 December 2015

Published December 2, 2015 by rochellewisoff

Another Hightway

FIC

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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. 

PHOTO PROMPT © Roger Bultot

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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.”

.

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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. 

Fields Family long time ago

Jan, Mom and Joyce Mother's Day 2015

13 November 2015

Published November 11, 2015 by rochellewisoff

Another Hightway

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

JHC5

PHOTO PROMPT – © J Hardy Carroll

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.  

.

.

Clarabartonwcbbrady

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30 October 2015

Published October 28, 2015 by rochellewisoff

Thoreau NZ birds

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*A SPECIAL WORD OF APPRECIATION*

Thanks to all of your who responded to my message last week. Your words of affirmation renewed my Friday Fictioneers resolve for another year. It was also interesting to learn that others share my pet peeves and added a few of their own. 

The most often mentioned pet peeve, aside from serials and multiple prompt stories, was that of certain blogs that make it difficult to leave a comment. I personally made the switch from Blogspot to WordPress three years ago and have no regrets. 

******

The next photo is the PHOTO PROMPT. There is only one prompt per week on which to base your story. However, it is perfectly all right to add other photos to go along with your story, just not to replace the prompt. Our rules are simple and few, this one is non-negotiable. Please remember to credit the photographer. It’s not just a nice thing to do it is PROPER ETIQUETTE!

PHOTO PROMPT - © Dale Rogerson

PHOTO PROMPT – © Dale Rogerson

 

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Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

GODS AND BEASTS

                                                                                                              April 20, 1931

Dearest Brother.

            Thank you for the sugar and the ham. I wish you could be here to share my strudel as I am quite alone in the world.  

            Remember when you came to visit me in Vienna and we went shopping? It was as if a brother dropped from heaven. I still have the dear brooch you bought for me.

            How unfair of the insurance company to terminate me because of you. One day these insignificant beings will realize their mistake when your name shines and blazes over Deutschland.

                        Happy birthday,

                                    Your loving sister,

                                                Paula (Hitler) Wolff

       .       

.

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Paula HitlerFor more click here.

16 October 2015

Published October 14, 2015 by rochellewisoff

The disc and the dragonfly

Blue Ceiling FF

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The following photo is the PROMPT.  Let it speak to you, then tell us in a hundred words or less what it said. 

PHOTO PROMPT -© Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

PHOTO PROMPT -© Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

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Genre: Realistic Fiction

Word Count: 100

NIGHT AND FOG

            To escape the downpour, I duck into a musty antique shop.

            “Willkomen, sir,” says the elderly shopkeeper.  

            I walk past her to browse the cluttered shelves. A hauntingly familiar porcelain teacup catches my eye.

            “Lovely, isn’t it?” she asks.

            “My sister had one just like it until we quarreled and I broke it.”

            The shopkeeper’s eyes brim. “That was the day the train took my brother Helmond and me to Auschwitz. I thought he died.”

            “Esther!” I gasp.

            My heart pounds as her radiant smile transforms her into the mischievous child I remember. We embrace and she whispers, “Apology accepted.”              

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