flash fiction

All posts tagged flash fiction

12 July 2019

Published July 10, 2019 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 © Dale Rogerson

CLICK THE FROG AND ADD YOUR LINK!

Genre: Historical Fiction circa 1968

Word Count: 100

BORROWED TIME

“You stole my art,” screamed Valerie. “You scum!”   

The gun’s blast resounded in Andy’s ears.

Somewhere the Beatles sang, “We all live in a yellow submarine…”

Voices floated from the bedside television and pop art faces hovered around him.

Life mimics art.

“He had too much control over my life.” Valerie Solanas glared into the cameras.

Everyone will be famous for fifteen minutes.

“Nine of Mr. Warhol’s organs were injured,” said Dr. Rossi. “Heart massage…”

Am I really alive?

Mama prayed, “Please save my son.”

I’m dead.

“Senator Robert Kennedy has been shot,” said the newscaster.

 Life is a dream.

For more info CLICK HERE

5 July 2019

Published July 3, 2019 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

 

CLICK ME! CLICK ME!

Genre: Patriotic Fiction

Word Count: 100

UNDER RED, WHITE AND BLUE

“You’re a grand old flag…”

            In fourth grade Billy asked Nancy to be his square-dance partner.

            “…you’re a high-flying flag…”

            He invited her to the seventh grade sock hop. To his surprise she accepted.

            “And forever…”

            At senior prom he gave her a diamond.  The next week he left for Vietnam, her promise in his heart.

            “I’ll save all my dances for you, Billy.”

            He returned missing a leg, fearing the worst.  

            “…in peace may you wave…”  

            After fifty years the diamond sparkles on her finger as she squeezes his hand. “Frankly, Bill, you were never much of a dancer.”

 

HAPPY  4TH  OJULY!

(To those who celebrate it.)

Thank you to the men and women who have served their respective countries. 

 

28 June 2019

Published June 26, 2019 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 © Ted Strutz

Click the Frog and Hop Along

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

GROWING PAIN

After a day of enduring Alfalfa’s foul temper and pranks, such as sticking chewing gum in a movie camera, the frustrated “Our Gang” director pulled him aside. “Kid, I swear, the day you turn 21, I’m going to find you and beat the shit out of you.”

            By 1940 the thirteen-year-old was a has-been. Although he landed some small roles in a few pictures, he found it necessary to supplement his income by bartending or training dogs.

            A bullet ended his downward spiral in a heated dispute over $50. On January 21, 1959, Carl “Alfalfa” Switzer took his final bow.  

***

LOST IN TRANSLATION

Published June 23, 2019 by rochellewisoff

A word prompt to get your creativity flowing this weekend.  How you use the prompt is up to you.  Write a piece of flash fiction, a poem, a chapter for your novel…anything you like.  Or take the challenge below – there are no prizes – it’s not a competition but rather a fun writing exercise.  If you want to share what you come up with, please leave a link to it in Sammi’s comment section.

Word Prompt

Translation

Challenge

The following is an updated flash fiction I posted in Friday Fictioneers a few years ago. It just seemed to fit the prompt. My title is part of the word count in this case. 😉 

LOST IN TRANSLATION

A stunning contradiction of cropped black hair, bronzed skin and sea-foam blue eyes, Aggie McKewen’s face reflected her Inuit and Scottish parentage.

Every Saturday Keith, who worked at his uncle’s café in Seward, Alaska, served her grilled salmon in shy silence. He longed to speak to her but she was as deaf as a fencepost. 

He enrolled in night classes, determined to learn to express his feelings in sign language.

After six weeks of diligent practice, he felt ready to ask her out and signed his invitation.  

With a voiceless giggle she snatched his pen and order pad. There she wrote, “I’d love to but why did you call me a tampon?”

At a restaurant in Alaska – Copyright Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

 

 

21 June 2019

Published June 19, 2019 by rochellewisoff

Dear Friday Fictioneers,

While I realize my page is FF central where you come for the prompt and instructions,the lower half of the page is also my comment section. In light of this, I have a favor to ask of all of you. When you have an issue such as problems with linking in the inLinkz or have a technical question, please direct these to my email runtshell@gmail.com. I check my email as often as I look at my comments (which I also appreciate greatly). Thank you for your consideration.

Shalom,

Rochelle

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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 © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Click the Frog and Hop on board. 

Genre: Recent Memoir

Word Count: 100

SWEET FULFILLMENT

At Ben Gurion airport in Tel-Aviv my cousin and I settled in for a twelve-hour wait.

A young man clutching a colorful bouquet and heart-shaped balloon caught our attention.

“Do you suppose he’s waiting for his arranged-for bride?” asked Kent.

“Doubtful. You’d never see a Hasid in shorts.”

My curiosity piqued. What would she look like? Our hero checked his watch. We checked ours.

At last his pretty sweetheart rushed into his arms. They laughed. They cried. They kissed.

“How romantic.” I sighed. “Dontcha just love a happy ending?”

“Yeah. Now what do we do for the next eleven hours?”

Cuzzin Kent and me at the Western Wall. © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

14 June 2019

Published June 12, 2019 by rochellewisoff

Dear Friday Fictioneers,

While I realize my page is FF central where you come for the prompt and instructions,the lower half of the page is also my comment section. In light of this, I have a favor to ask of all of you. When you have an issue such as problems with linking in the inLinkz or have a technical question, please direct these to my email runtshell@gmail.com. I check my email as often as I look at my comments (which I also appreciate greatly). Thank you for your consideration.

Shalom,

Rochelle

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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 © Valerie J. Barrett

 

YOU KNOW YOU WANT TO. DO IT! CLICK THE FROG.

This week’s prompt inspired me to share an excerpt (slightly tweaked to fit) from my semi-finished novel WHAT THE HEART WANTS that’s under the scrutiny of a few of my beta readers. Asher and his friend Ilya have left Eastern Europe for the USA. After living in New York’s Lower East Side, they decide to travel west by covered wagon. After surviving a blizzard in Missouri they’ve been taken in by homesteaders. 

Genre: Historical Fiction (circa 1887)

Word Count: 100

FIRST IMPRESSIONS

With a sidelong glance at Asher, Ruth smiled at Ilya. “I’ll make you some medicine tea for your head cold. Asher, will you slice the potatoes?”

            She chopped a chunk of meat and said, “Thank you, Brother Deer for providing us with sustenance.”

            In fringed moccasins, she moved about the room with balletic grace. Her yellow calico dress, trimmed with blue beads, complimented her lithe figure and bronze complexion. Her sleek braids, bound with leather ties, hung well below her slender waist.

            Ilya’s explosive sneeze startled Asher. His cheeks flamed with the realization he had not touched a single potato.

***

  • I hope you’ll CLICK HERE and read the story I wrote for another blog challenge for Writers Unite! It’s a monthly blog challenge and quite a bit longer than the usual flash fictions. (But shorter than my novels 😉 ) 

 

THUMBNAIL SKETCH

Published June 8, 2019 by rochellewisoff

 This week Pegman takes us to the capital of England, a modern city with a history going back to Roman times.

Your mission, if you choose to accept it, is to write up to 150 words inspired by the week’s location. You can use the photo supplied with the prompt, or find your own view from the virtually endless supply of streetview or photospheres throughout the city.

Once your piece is polished, share it with others at the link up below. Reading and commenting is part of the fun!

Thanks to Karen and Josh for facilitating the challenge. 

Purple inLinkz Frog

Click the Frog to Join the Fun!

The following is an excerpt from two of my books FROM SILT AND ASHES, the second novel in my Havah Cohen Trilogy and from A STONE FOR THE JOURNEY, the coffee table companion book. The art store was established in London in 1855 and still is a successful business today.

I couldn’t decide between the two photos so I’m including them both. 😉 The second is lifted from a film shot in 1903. I used it as a visual to write the scene.

Genre: Historical Fiction Excerpt

Word Count: 150 

THUMBNAIL SKETCH

With a leather portfolio under his arm and his medical bag in his hand, Nikolai wandered London’s streets. Since his chief errand was accomplished, he had no particular destination, so he seized the opportunity for an afternoon of sightseeing.

Passengers crowded themselves into square compartments atop coaches whose side and back banners advertised such necessities as Lipton’s Teas and Nestlé’s Milk. Above all else, London’s churches fascinated him with their clock towers. A man never needed to ask the time in Britain.

Now and then, he paused to read shop signs. One particular shop caught his interest with its display of paints and drawing papers. He read the sign aloud, “L. Cornelisson and Son. Artist Colourman.”

Suddenly, a flagrant dervish of henna hair and purple feathers in chartreuse skirts swirled past him. Curious to know what a woman of her ilk would want in an artist’s shop, he followed her.

 

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