flash fiction

All posts tagged flash fiction

25 September 2020

Published September 23, 2020 by rochellewisoff

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PHOTO PROMPT © Dale Rogerson

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As fewer and fewer Holocaust survivors remain in our midst, it seems easier to forget. It’s not taught in schools and increasing numbers of misinformed believe the Holocaust never happened. 

INTERVIEW WITH PRISONER A5714

Remember Robert Clary as LeBeau of Stalag 13? Hogan’s shortest hero? The connoisseur of French cuisine.  

               He reminisces about the rabbi who helped him study for his Bar Mitzvah. “He smelled of schmaltz, herring, onion and garlic.”

             “Ah food.”

             He shrugs. “In Buchenwald we had little to eat. I sang for the prisoners and sometimes the chef in the kitchen gave me an extra piece of bread.”

             “What’s your greatest achievement? Performing?”

              “No.  I’m most proud to have spent twenty years keeping the memory of the Holocaust alive. Warning against man’s inhumanity. While I am living, I have to tell.”   

       

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

AUTUMN HOUSE CLEANING

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. 😉 

AUTUMN HOUSE CLEANING

“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.”

18 September 2020

Published September 16, 2020 by rochellewisoff

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PHOTO PROMPT © Roger Bultot

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Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

BIG RASCALS

“I was a baby when Mr. Roach hired me,” says George McFarland. “They still call me Spanky.”

Ernie grins. “I was one of the first back in the days before talkies. Sunshine Sammy, that was me.”

“I was Butch. The bully in the gang.” Tommy Bond adds with a twinkle in his eye, “Guess I had the scowl for it.”

Matthew Beard strokes his bald head, looking very much like little Stymie. “We was just kids. We went to school and played together. Black or white didn’t matter. Hal Roach loved kids.”

“Great times,” says Ernie. “I’d do it again.”

***

*Some may remember the “Our Gang Comedy”  or, as it later became known in syndication “The Little Rascals.” Some may not. For a bit of a lengthy history CLICK HERE

11 September 2020

Published September 9, 2020 by rochellewisoff

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PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

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Before continuing I have to share my happy news. My novel “Last Dance with Annie” is now under contract with literary agent Diane Nine! www.ninespeakers.com 

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

COUP D’ETAT 1898

Easter and me’s both six years old. Her daddy owns a shoe shop in Wilmington. He made my Sunday shoes. He’s really nice.

            Easter’s funny and she draws real good. Her skin is pretty. It’s as brown as chocolate so she don’t get sunburns like me.

            Day before yesterday, Easter’s daddy went to vote in the ‘lection. Someone said white men in red shirts shot him in the street. Easter cried and cried. I cried, too.

            Easter, her mama and lotsa other black folks moved away sudden like. I don’t understand why people are so mean. I miss my friend.  

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4 September 2020

Published September 2, 2020 by rochellewisoff

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PHOTO PROMPT © CEAyr

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Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

THE WOMAN WITH THE TORCH

 March 1887

Dear Father,

            The sun has long set on Glasgow. My eyes are weary from study and my heart is heavy with longing for you and my sisters.

My mind swirls with new knowledge of the human body. How fearfully and wonderfully made are we. My cup overflows.

            Precious Father. Had it not been for your encouragement, becoming a physician would be an impossibility for a wee lass in this man’s world. As God is my witness, it shall not always be so. I promise to do my best to make you proud.

            Your loving daughter,

                        Elsie Maude Inglis

With her many accomplishments, it was difficult to squeeze the magnitude of her influence into 100 words. So I chose a small but important piece of her life. To quote Elsie Inglis

“If I have been able to do anything—whatever I am, whatever I have done—
I owe it all to my Father.”

Dr. Elsie Inglis

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28 August 2020

Published August 26, 2020 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 © J Hardy Carroll

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Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

LOST IN THE BRONX

“Oy the pain.” Jonathan Charasuchin would moan when his mother gave boarders his room, relegating him to sleep on dining room chairs.

“Quit your kvetching,” his mother would say. “We need the money.”

 His sympathetic father introduced him to opera on the radio and took him to Yiddish theater productions.

The boy fell in love with the stage and dreamed of someday becoming an actor. Diligently he worked on losing his thick Bronx accent, imitating British film stars.

Forty years later, Jonathan Harris delighted Lost in Space fans with quips like “You bobble-headed booby” and “Oh the pain. The pain.”

 ***

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21 August 2020

Published August 19, 2020 by rochellewisoff

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PHOTO PROMPT © Ted Strutz

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Genre: Speculative Fiction

Word Count: 100

VISITANT

Lucinda rocked her son. “I should go downstairs and help Marion with breakfast.   

She listened to the clatter of pots and pans and hugged the baby. “How clever of your auntie to open our home to boarders when your papa didn’t return from the war.”

A nightgown-clad child with huge brown eyes stood in the doorway. “Who are you?”

“The lady of the house. Who are you?”  

“Lucinda, after my great-great grandmother.”

***

Lucinda pointed to a tintype of a woman with huge dark eyes. “I met her this morning.”  

“Nonsense,” said Mom. “She died in childbirth a hundred years ago.

14 August 2020

Published August 12, 2020 by rochellewisoff

Snorkeling in St. Thomas

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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 -Copyright-Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

PHOTO PROMPT -Copyright-Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

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Welcome to another week of SUMMER RERUNS. This week the story and prompt are from 14 November 2014. If you were with us that week, feel free to take a break and post your own rerun. 😀 

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

FIRST DRAFT

            “Can’t you imagine little Harry trying to climb the fig trees?” Ida’s eyes glittered. “He would’ve been three this year.”

            “I miss him, too,” Harvey whispered.

            Although his heart ached with loss, Harvey still counted his blessings. What could such a vibrant woman possibly see in him, a wheelchair bound invalid thirty years her senior?

            “Maybe we’ll have another son. For now we have one hundred twenty acres of prime, undeveloped California land to subdivide.” He brushed a tear from her cheek with a kiss. “What shall we call our little town? Harryville?”

            “Don’t be ridiculous. Let’s call it Hollywood.”

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Daeida Hartle Wilcox Beveridge

Daeida Hartell Wilcox Beveridge “The Mother of Hollywood”

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Harvey Wilcox

Harvey Henderson Wilcox

8 August 2020

Published August 5, 2020 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.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

PHOTO PROMPT – © Jennifer Pendergast

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Today I’m on my way to North Carolina with a supply of masks to visit my one and only brother. So once more, a SUMMER RERUNIf you wrote a story for this prompt from 10 April 2015, feel free to rerun yours. Thank you for understanding. 

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

ONLY THE MOUNTAIN REMAINS

My dearest Zhilan,

            This night my thoughts turn toward home and you. I cherish the times we invited the moon to join us as we shared rice wine. Remember how we dreamed I would find Gold Mountain?

            Now my journey is hard and my days are filled with the pickaxe and train tracks. Never will I see you again, my fragrant orchid, nor our precious son…

***

            “Fever musta took him.” Levi knelt beside the body and pried a piece of crumpled paper from its stiff hand. “Whatcha make a this?”

            Orville squinted and shrugged. “Jest some ignorant Chinee scribbles.”

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31 July 2020

Published July 29, 2020 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 © Jean L. Hays

Between finishing a novel, writing a book proposal and visiting my one and only brother, I’ll be somewhat out of pocket for the the next couple of weeks. Therefore it’s SUMMER RERUN TIMEFor those of you who recognize this prompt from 2013 and were part of Friday Fictioneers, feel free to reprise your own story. 

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Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

KIA ORA

            In March 1956, the year I turned fourteen, my best friend was murdered. They found her mangled body wedged in a rock crevice at Koutu Point.

            For days I refused to get out of bed. No amount of Mum’s tea and sympathy could ease my broken heart or stem my anger.  

            The winter wind off the Tasman Sea brought waves of loneliness.

            Never again will Opo and I swim together in Hokianga Harbour, but whenever I watch a dolphin spin above the water in gleeful abandon, I see her.

            I hope the fisherman who blew up my Opo exploded, too.   

Original artwork. Copyright -Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Original artwork.
Copyright -Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Opo_(dolphin)

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