flash fiction

All posts tagged flash fiction

17 November 2017

Published November 15, 2017 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: Realistic Fiction

Word Count: 100

LAST RITES

Grandma Tollard met Jeannie at the front door, her long grey hair askew. She seized Jeannie’s arm with one bony hand. “Thank you for coming, dear.”

“What happened?”

“I…we, that is…he…he had a heart attack and—”

“Did you call 911?”  

“—he’s dead. I called Fr. Jenson.”

Grandma clutched her lace peignoir robe at the neck and led Jeannie to the bedroom. Biting her quivering lip, Jeannie pulled the sheet over her grandfather’s grinning countenance.

She wrapped a comforting arm around her weeping grandmother.

Grandma sniffed. “I’ll never forget his final words to me.”

“What were they?”  

“‘Hi-ho Silver!’”

Many thanks to my BFF Jeannie O’Hare for her generosity in allowing me to share her strange but true family stories. Some things just can’t be made up…but they can be embellished. 

Jeannie and me

To hear my interview on Impact USA radio last week  CLICK HERE

10 November 2017

Published November 8, 2017 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 © Marie Gail Stratford

Please be respectful to your readers and keep your stories to 100 words. Thank you. 

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Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

FOR THE DEAD AND THE LIVING, WE MUST BEAR WITNESS *

            I remember it like it was yesterday—November 9, 1963 in Chicago, my father took me downtown to celebrate my 10th birthday.

            His German accent sounded like music. “Vhere shall ve go, schatzi?”

            “The Art Institute.”

            I skipped along the sidewalk, holding his hand. He stopped and went to his knees in front of a synagogue. Slipping off his hat, he covered his face. The sun limned his blond waves.  

            “What’s wrong, Vati?”  

            “Meine Schande. Those magnificent windows—shattered! 25 years ago today. Schweinehund!  Jewish businesses—destroyed! What did I do? Die Nill!  I—I stood by and did nothing.”

*Quote from Elie Wiesel 

 79 years ago this week. 

LEGACY

Published November 5, 2017 by rochellewisoff

Today Pegman walks through  Córdoba, Argentina.

Feel free to stroll around the area using the Google street view and grab any picture you choose to include in your post. Use it to inspire you however you like. We ask that as a token of respect for your readers that you keep your piece to 150 words or less.

To enjoy stories inspired by the What Pegman Saw prompt or to submit your own 150-word story, visit the inLinkz button:

I didn’t think I’d have time to write for Pegman this week, but when the muse says “write it” I must obey. This week marks the 79th anniversary of Kristallnacht so it’s where my mind and heart went this week. The following story is based on the experience many Jewish descendants (myself included) have had. 

Shalom

This picture from the Cordoba, Argentina speaks ‘olive branch of peace’ to me.

Genre: Realistic Fiction

Word Count: 150

LEGACY

            Rosita’s grandparents had managed to survive Ravensbrück and Auschwitz. In 1945 they immigrated to South America where they built a new life. Ingrid’s grandfather emigrated from Germany the same year.

            With a myriad of conflicting emotions, Rosita watched the newscast beside her best friend. A bunker had been unearthed in the Argentinian jungle loaded with Nazi artifacts, not too far away.

            Although the apprehension of war criminals in Argentina was hardly news to the twenty-year-old college student, the discovery of the hideout unearthed a hidden truth.  The direct descendant of one of her grandparents’ torturers now begged for absolution.

            “Lo siento con todo mi corazón,” said Ingrid, her fair cheeks wet with tears streaming from her ocean-blue eyes.  

            What an esqueleto to tumble from the armario. Rosita’s heart ached for her friend who was as much a victim as the Jews. What could she say?

            “Perdono con todo mi corazón.”      

Glossary:

Lo siento con todo mi corazon. – I’m sorry with all of my heart. 

Esqueleto – skeleton

Armario – Closet

Perdono con todo mi corazon. – I forgive with all of my heart. 

 

 

 

 

3 November 2017

Published November 1, 2017 by rochellewisoff

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PHOTO PROMPT © Sarah Ann Hall

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Once more another excerpt from my trilogy as I prepare the coffee table companion book, A STONE FOR THE JOURNEY. Designed for those who like art and very short stories. 😉 This is an excerpt from the third in the series, AS ONE MUST, ONE CAN. A little background for those unfamiliar. The menorah in the story is a ‘character’ of sorts. Crafted by Yussel’s father, it has survived the pogroms and the long journey to America.

Genre: Historical Fiction circa 1907

Word Count: 100

FAMILY HEIRLOOM

            Arel scowled. “Lev, where’ve you been?”

            “The library, I—” 

            “You missed supper.”  

            Havah grasped Arel’s arm and whispered, “Please let him explain.”

            “My house. My rules.” Arel slapped Lev, knocking Yussel’s menorah off the table.

            The ground listed beneath Havah’s feet.

            Lev gasped.      

            Yussel cried out, dropped to his knees and searched with trembling hands until he found the broken pieces. He hugged them to his chest.  Tears quivered in his sightless eyes.

            “It’s only one branch, Papa.” Havah knelt beside him. “Surely it can be fixed.”

            “Once a limb is severed can the tree be made whole again?”

27 October 2017

Published October 25, 2017 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 © Roger Bultot

Please be considerate and keep your stories to 100 words. Thank you. 

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Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

FINAL CURTAIN CALL

“Sunrise, Sunset…” Will sang as he combed his thinning white hair, grinning at his reflection. “One season following…”

A sudden wave of exhaustion and chest pain whelmed him. Breathless, he sank into a chair, closing his eyes.

“Willie, you’ll be late for Hebrew school.”

“Let me rest a moment, Mama.” He opened his eyes and glanced at his watch. “Oy! I will be late for the show.” He kissed her faded photograph. “See you soon.”  

Later costar Carol Spinney, wearing his Big Bird feet, wrapped his arm around Will. “I love you, Mr. Looper.”

Will returned the hug. “Hooper! Hooper!”  

Carol “Big Bird” Spinney and Will Lee  

MORE INFO ON WILL LEE

RIGHTEOUS AMONG NATIONS

Published October 21, 2017 by rochellewisoff

Today Pegman ventures to the Balkans to spend some time in Bulgaria. Feel free to use the prompt to inspire you in any way you see fit, be it historical fiction, poetry, a personal narrative, fantasy or whatever you like. The only requirement is to keep your post to 150 words or less as a gesture of respect for your readers.


Today, thanks to J Hardy Carroll and K Rawson, I’ve learned another bit of WWII Jewish history I didn’t know.

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 150

RIGHTEOUS AMONG NATIONS

            My grandmother and I strolled beside the spring, arm in arm. We’d had a picnic, just the two of us, to celebrate her 80th birthday and my 13th.

            “I wish my Papa could’ve been here to enjoy your Bar Mitzvah. He was a rabbi, you know.”

            “I know, Nana.”  

            “So I’ve told you.”

            With her intense dark eyes she could take you captive until she decided to let you go. I didn’t mind.

            Tears trickled down her weathered cheeks. “They closed the Jewish schools. We wore yellow stars. March 9, 1943, my 13thth birthday. They rounded us up like cattle. We waited to be deported. It was inevitable. I would never see my beloved papa again. He held me and wept like a child. Then the miracle happened—”

            “At the last minute Dimitar Peshev, the Vice President of the Bulgarian Parliament, got the order reversed.”

            “So I’ve told you.”

 

From Wikipedia, After the war, the Communists brought forth charges on the Old Bulgarian Parliament for collaboration with the Germans. Peshev was tried for being both an anti-Semite and anti-Communist and was even accused of having been bribed by the Jews in exchange for halting the deportation.[2] However, his Jewish friends from the Kyustendil delegation, led by Joseph Nissim Yasharoff, testified on his behalf and saved him from a death sentence. He was sentenced to 15 years of imprisonment but was released after one year.

UNRESOLVED

Published October 15, 2017 by rochellewisoff

This week Pegman is on the lush tropical island of Mauritius. WHAT PEGMAN SAW is a growing prompt challenge hosted by the talented writing team of Rawson and Carroll whom I appreciate as time goes by.

Link to this week’s stories here:

As I began my research trail on the Island of Mauritius, I was led far afield by a documentary on the History channel. 😉 Blame it on my husband who turned it on. The photo I chose is from Mauritius, but that’s as close as I came.

Genre: Realistic Fiction

Word Count: 150

UNRESOLVED

            “Look, Vovô. I bring  a present for you,” Marina held up a glistening seashell.

            Clarence hoisted his great-granddaughter onto his lap, took the shell from her and kissed the top of her head. “Belíssimo, like you, my little mermaid.”

            “Tell me a story, Vovô. About when you and Tio John stole away from the island on the big rock.”

            “1962.” He gazed at the sea and squinted at the setting sun, a brilliant ball against the amber sky, reflecting off the waves. “A whole lifetime ago.”         

            “Two lifetimes. Nearly fifty years.” Clarence’s brother John sank into a beach chair beside them. “Wonder if they still remember us. Wish we’d had a chance to say goodbye.”

            “I shore do miss Mama’s fried chicken, ain’t nothin’ in Brazil holds a candle to it.” Clarence could still hear the prison bars clank behind him. He pressed his cheek against Marina’s. “Inescapable Alcatraz. Ha!”  

*

*

*

Anglin Brothers in 1960

Could this be them in Brazil in 1972?

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