29 December 2017

Published December 27, 2017 by rochellewisoff

Our Mantra

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 © Ted Strutz

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The following is an edited version of a poem I wrote in the 90’s while battling severe depression and anorexia nervosa which is about control. I thought I was in control but, almost too late, realized the demon was controlling me. To sort through my confusion I wrote poetry as a means of journaling. Happily, this is no longer my reality, but at the time…

Genre: Adverse Verse

Word Count: 100

VICIOUS CYCLE

Knotted cords surround my thoughts

Like twine that binds a package;

Profusion of convolution, confusion

No solution

Seeking resolution, absolution.

I’m choking

On the dry bread of shame.

And I’m left no choice

But to savagely purge myself.

Cathartic poison,

Painful comfort.

I run a perilous race

To a fatal finish line.

Lethal, venomous humiliation besieges me.

The sins of the forefathers,

Cousins, babysitters and uncles

Devour and bury.

The demon lures and captures me

In his serpentine embrace.

Too weary to resist seduction,

I relinquish and surrender.

Profusion of convolution, confusion

No solution

Seeking resolution, absolution

To what conclusion?

26 June 2015

Published June 24, 2015 by rochellewisoff

The following photo is the PHOTO PROMPT. Tell me where it takes you in a hundred words or less.

PHOTO PROMPT – © Kent Bonham

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Genre: Realistic Fiction

Word Count: 100

BACK OUT ON THE STREET

“I wandered aimlessly down the deserted street as I had hundreds of times before. Everything was the same but it would never be the same again.”

After reading the two sentences aloud twice, Rose back-spaced them into oblivion and said, “This isn’t a story, it’s a cliché fest.”

She shut off the computer. The manuscript would have to wait.

Although she tried to sleep, Rose’s cluttered mind spun with deadlines, debts, disillusion and broken promises. She threw off the covers and put on her clothes.

“Damn you, Jeff. Why now?”

She wandered aimlessly down the deserted street…everything was the same…

9 November 2012

Published November 7, 2012 by rochellewisoff

A Friday Fictioneers’ Welcome to

SEBASTIAN JOSHUA PENDERGAST

Born 4 November 2012

to our own Elmowrites -Jen

THAT’S SOMETHING TO WRITE ABOUT!

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Now to the business at hand. If this is your first go at Friday Fictioneers, here’s how it works:

Every Friday authors from around the world gather here to share their 100-words and offer constructive crit and encouragement to each other. This creates a wonderful opportunity for free reading of very fresh fiction! Readers are encouraged to comment as well.

Writers:

Depending on your preference, leave your blog link in the comment section or use the linkz tool (or both ;)). My story follows for those who’d rather not read it before writing their own.
Please make sure your link works. There were a couple last week that didn’t. If 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 your blog requires multiple steps for visitors to leave comments, see if you can simplify it. If you can disable CAPTCHA –that wavy line of unreadable letters and numbers– please for the sake of our writerly nerves, disable it. It’s frustrating to have to leave a DNA sample, your blood type and your shoe size just to make a comment. (So I exaggerate. But hopefully you get the picture).
Challenge yourself to keep stories to 100 words. (There’s no penalty for going over or under).
Copyright – Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

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THE ICE QUEEN

In Rowena’s thirty-eighth year the flashbacks started. One by one, memories from her childhood surfaced like debris in a whirlpool. Among them were the uncle who molested her and the neighbor who raped her then threatened her with worse if she told. Both happened before her twelfth birthday.

To punish her body for its betrayal, she starved it. Reduced to bone and thinning skin, her defense against pain became her prison.

“What are you feeling?” asked her therapist.

“Nothing.”

“Does it help?” He pointed to her scarred arms.

“No.”

“Do you really want to die, Rowena?”

“I’m already there.”

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Click the following link for song.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SWaJRlG1RQE&feature=related