All posts tagged Alzheimer’s


Published September 16, 2020 by rochellewisoff

PHOTO PROMPT © Roger Bultot

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Genre: Fiction

Word Count: 100

Yes. It’s me again. Double dipping. It seems my first story is only understood by a few. So I decided, by divine right of flash fiction queens, I’d write another. Thank you for understanding. 😉 


“I’m not a hoarder. I’m sentimental, that’s all.”

True to her words, Carolyn kept a clean, albeit, cluttered house.

“You could eat off my floors.”

“If we could find it.” Megan rolled her eyes as she rummaged through her mother’s kitchen cabinets. “Maybe. But baby bottles? What do you need with these?”

“Mama?” The towheaded toddler in the high chair reached out his arms and whimpered. “Ba-Ba”

Carolyn patted his hand. “Aaron. You’re too big for a bottle. Megan get your baby brother his sippy cup.”

“Mom. Stop!” Megan’s tearful voice startled Carolyn. “Aaron died fifty years ago.”


Published February 6, 2020 by rochellewisoff

There’s nothing more brutal than helplessly watching a loved one deteriorate in the throes of such diseases as ALS, Multiple Sclerosis, or the cancer known as Alzheimer’s. Somewhere between midnight and morning, January 24, 2020 my mother-in-law, Mary Lee Meek shuffled off her mortal coil. However, we’ve been grieving her loss for the past seven years as Alzheimer’s slowly robbed us of the woman we knew and loved. In her memory I’d like to share a flash fiction I wrote for my husband, Jan in 2013.


            “A-one and a-two…” said the man on television.

            “I hate Lawrence Welk.” I stamped my foot.

            Mom’s brown eyes flashed as she jumped from her chair to turn up the volume. I grabbed her around the waist and we fell to the floor where she tickled me into submission.

            A tower of strength, she always won. 

            Somewhere along the line, between responsibilities and business-as-usual, without my notice, the tower crumbled.  

            In semi-darkness, she stares at a blank screen. I search her listless eyes but the spark is gone.

            “Mom? I miss Lawrence Welk.”

            Her brow crinkles. “Do I know you?” 

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4 December 2015

Published December 2, 2015 by rochellewisoff

Another Hightway


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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


            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. 

Fields Family long time ago

Jan, Mom and Joyce Mother's Day 2015

29 June 2013

Published June 26, 2013 by rochellewisoff


As always, writers are encouraged to be as innovative as possible with the prompt and 100 word constraints. 

Henry David Thoreau said it best.

“It’s not what you look at that matters, it’s what you see.”



Write a one hundred word story that has a beginning, middle and end. (No one will be ostracized for going over or under the word count.)


Make every word count.


  • Copy your URL to the Linkz collection. You’ll find the tab following the photo prompt. It’s the little white box to the left with the blue froggy guy. Click on it and follow directions. This is the best way to get the most reads and comments.
  • MAKE SURE YOUR LINK IS SPECIFIC TO YOUR FLASH FICTION. (Should you find that you’ve made an error you can delete by clicking the little red ‘x’ that should appear under your icon. Then re-enter your URL. (If there’s no red x email me at I can delete the wrong link for you).
    •  Make note in your blog if you’d prefer not to have constructive criticism.
    • REMINDER: This page is “FRIDAY FICTIONEERS CENTRAL” and is NOT the place to promote political or religious views. Also, you are responsible for the content of your story and policing comments on your blog. You have the right to delete any you consider offensive.

    **Please exercise DISCRETION when commenting on a story! Be RESPECTFUL.**

    Should someone have severe or hostile differences of opinion with another person it’s my hope that the involved parties would settle their disputes in private.

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copyright – Indira  (follow the link to her first FF story) by way of Scott Vanatter

  • To post the prompt to your page simply right click on the picture and then left click “Save image as…” This will download it to your computer. Then paste it into your blog page. Please respect the copyright and use it only for Friday Fictioneers purposes. Any other usage requires permission from the photographer. Thank you. 

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            “Hard to believe you’ve been gone these many years, Alvin.” I stare at my wedding photograph taken in 1953. Or was it 1958?

            “You should see Emerson. Looks like you when we met. So handsome and sure of himself.

            “He took me to the grocery today. I got lost in the cereal aisle. Doddering old bat.

            “You’d laugh at your ‘Mrs. Intellectual’, Alvin. Can no longer understand the books I wrote.”       

            “Mom, you need your rest.” Emerson shuts off the light.

            “Please kill me.”

            “You don’t mean that.”  

            “Mean what? Tell your father to come to bed. It’s getting late.” 


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