Fathers and Daughters

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 © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

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Genr: Memoir
Word Count: 100

ON A ROLL

My father was a cook by trade and a baker by passion.

There was nothing he loved more than cooking for a crowd or creating delicious desserts. Pineapple cheese pecan pie was his signature dish. It’s my decided opinion that the Philadelphia cream cheese company owes him for the publicity. In fact, as I was giving birth to my third son, Dear Old Dad was outside the door feeding the nurses cherry-cream-cheese muffins.

At his funeral a year later, the young rabbi delivered a beautiful eulogy.

I couldn’t help but think, “If Dad were here, he’d bake her a pie.”

My dad is the reason I became a cake decorator. We took a class together. I surprised him with this cake on his 65th birthday. 😀

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This is my fourth week taking the challenge. Perhaps it’s the lure of 50 extra words or the fun of choosing from a smorgasbord of photos. In any event, I’m back for more. Many thanks the Karen Rawson for hosting. Below are the instructions to join in:

Google Street View of Burhhanpur

Feel free to stroll around using the Google street view and grab any picture you choose to include in your post.

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.

I must confess that I’ve taken a former Friday Fictioneers flash fiction and tweaked it. Originally it was called ROYAL CONCESSION. It was fun to have the luxury of expanding it and changing it up a bit.

Word Count: 150

Genre: Realistic Fiction

NOBLESSE OBLIGE

Ellen grabbed the remote, turned off the television and climbed onto Jeff’s lap. “Tell me a story, Daddy.”

After countless life-or-death decisions and run-ins with EMT coworkers, his back and shoulders throbbed. The last fatality was Ellen’s age, a boy who breathed his last in Jeff’s arms.

He took back the remote. “Later, Doodle-bug.”

With five-year-old persistence, Ellen settled against his chest. “Once upon a time, in a castle in faraway India, lived a maharaja and his bee-yoo-tee-ful little princess. Your turn, Daddy.”

Her dark eyes held him prisoner. The remote slipped from his fingers. “Okay. The castle was called Shahi Qila. They rode jeweled elephants and swam in the Tapti River. Your turn, Doodles. What happened next?”

“They…” her voice faded into a yawn and her eyelids drooped.

Jeff’s taut muscles eased. He stroked her silken curls, kissed the top of her head and whispered, “…lived happily ever after.”