Casualty of war

All posts tagged Casualty of war

7 October 2022

Published October 5, 2022 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 © David Stewart

Genre: Realistic Fiction
Word Count: 100

SET FIRE TO THE RAIN

Rain pelted the restaurant window. Why had he come back to Nam anyway? Curiosity? His therapist called it “coming to terms.”

Anthony unfolded the yellowed stationery.  

                                    “October 3, 1968

“Dearest Tony,

Sweetheart, I feel like a rat, since you’re off in Vietnam. But I’m afraid you’ll get killed and I won’t have no one. I met this really nice guy named Ted. You’d really like him. We got married last night. I hope you understand.

                        All my love,

                                    Caroline”

“‘You’d really like him.’” Anthony held his lighter to a corner of the letter. “Why the hell did I keep it?”

*****

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20 September 2013

Published September 18, 2013 by rochellewisoff

WELCOME TO FRIDAY FICTIONEERS. 

😀 A hearty congratulations goes out to Madison Woods, Friday Fictioneers creator, who is marrying her beloved on the 22nd of this month! A blessing on your head! Mazel tov! Mazel tov! 😀

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.”

THE CHALLENGE:

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

THE KEY:

Make every word count.

THE RULES:

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Genre: Swap Meet

Word count: 99

IF WORDS COULD MAKE WISHES COME TRUE

“This looks real old, Grandpa,” said nine-year-old Noah.

Edmond set down a piano-shaped teapot to look at a dog-eared book his grandson was leafing through. “Well, I’ll be! It’s Tom Swift and his Airship.

“Seventy years ago Pop got me an almost identical copy at a flea market like this. It was old even then.” Edmond took it from him. “His last day of leave. A month later the telegram came from the war department.”

He opened to the first page. The cramped handwriting blurred.

Dear Eddie

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