9 March 2018

Published March 7, 2018 by rochellewisoff

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 © Sandra Crook

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Please be considerate of your fellow fictioneers. Keep your word count to 100 or less. Thank you.

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

HOUSE OF LIFE

I was only a child in 1943, the year my world flipped upside down. The Germans arrested my father. What could my caro papà have done to make him a prime enemy of the Third Reich?

Our neighbor, who was a nurse, took Mammina and me to Fatebenefratelli Hospital. “Dr. Borromeo will take good care of you.”

“But I’m not sick,” I said.

“Anzi, bella, you are very sick with Syndrome K.” Dr. Borromeo assigned us to a room with a sign on the door that read, Altamente Contagioso “Any time you see Wehrmacht uniforms, cough like you are dying.”

*

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Fatebenefratelli Hospital

WOODSMOKE AT TWILIGHT

Published March 4, 2018 by rochellewisoff

There is a road some fifty-three miles NNE of New York City with a strange reputation. This week, Pegman has stranded you there.Volumes have been written about Clinton Road in West Milford, NJ, but you only need to write 150 words. The only limit is your imagination.Feel free to capture your own streetview. If you’re not up to a weird tale, feel free to wander anywhere within the state of New Jersey for your story.Once your 150 words are polished, you can share with other contributors using the Linkup below. Reading and commenting on others’ work is part of the fun!

Many thanks to Karen and Josh for hosting this challenge that gives me 50 more words to play with. 😉

While the photo below is taken from the Pegman Buffet, I must confess, despite the directives, I didn’t stay in New Jersey. I went to Rickey Road in Raytown, Missouri, where, as with Clinton Road, the stories abound.

Genre: Fictionalized Memoir

Word Count: 150

WOODSMOKE AT TWILIGHT

I looked forward to my troop’s wilderness excursions. Had it not been for scouting, I might never have seen the great outdoors beyond my backyard. My parents, while not religiously observant, adhered to the eleventh commandment—“Jews don’t camp.”

Overnights were the best. Following an afternoon of dodging poison ivy and climbing hills, we’d gather around the campfire. Our mouths and fingers gooey from roasted marshmallows, we topped off the day with ghost stories about the infamous and spooky Rickey Road.

“My uncle found a man’s head in the grass,” said Lucy in a loud whisper.

“Ooooooo,” we’d giggle. “Gross!”

Margo’s cheeks glowed in the blaze. “It opened its eyes and screamed, ‘I want my golden arm!’”

Our childish imaginations kicked into overdrive. Each storyteller sought to outdo the last.

Back home in my own bed, I wouldn’t sleep for a month without a nightlight.

I miss those good times.

*********

Troop 499-Can you find me?

2 March 2018

Published February 27, 2018 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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NOTE: Oops! Tuesday is NOT the new Wednesday. As some of you already know, I write and schedule my stories ahead. (Keeps my sanity…well…somewhat.) At any rate, I scheduled the wrong start date. At least the prompt is here…some might remember the week my page went live but the prompt didn’t show up with it. Thanks for understanding.

Please be considerate of your fellow fictioneers and keep your word-count at 100 words or less–title not included. Thank you.

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

REQUIEM FOR A HEAVYWEIGHT

“What’s your name, kid?”

Winded from his match, the coal miner’s son took a deep breath. “Volodymyr Palahniuk.”

His prospective manager punched Volodymyr’s stomach. “Tight as a drum. And you’re lightning in the ring, but that moniker’s gotta go. Whatcha think of……say… Jack Brazzo?”

“I like it.”

“Atta boy.”

Over the next year, Jack scored 15 victories and 12 KO’s. A force to be reckoned with until Joe Baksi, another coal miner’s son, outpointed him.

Years later Jack, who changed Brazzo to Palance and turned to theater, said, “You must be nuts to get your head beat in for $200.”

*

Jack Palance doing a on-armed push up at the 1992 Oscars

d711dd7e84efe88e19eaaf89449814b7--jack-palance-tv-movie

49f7f49b67c8b826376082fa2fe577bf--jack-palance-city-slickers

190px-Requiem_for_a_Heavyweight_rod_serling

THE FROZEN SEA WITHIN US

Published February 25, 2018 by rochellewisoff

This week Pegman is back in Europe, visiting the Czech Republic for the first time. You’re invited to stroll the city of Karlovy Vary and choose your own view. Take your inspiration and write no more 150 words. Once your poem, story, or essay is polished, share it with others at the link up below:

I’m a little late to the party this week, but after being MIA for the past two weeks, I’m happy to have made it. 😉 Many thanks to Karen and Josh for their dedication to their growing challenge. I’m pleased to announce that I’m rounding the bend of the final heat for A STONE FOR THE JOURNEY. Hopefully it will debut this Spring.

Here’s the photo I chose from the Pegman Buffet. My story doesn’t exactly take place here but a few kilometers away in Prague.

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 150

THE FROZEN SEA WITHIN US

Shadow monsters chased Franz. Twisted trees and thorny brambles caught his clothes. He snapped open his eyes. Demons vanished like steam over Mother’s cooking pot.

The wind blustered and howled outside, sounding like shouts of tyrants and wails of children. Franz’s tongue cleaved to the bottom of his mouth.

He cried out. “May I have a drink of water?”

“Go back to sleep, you little insect,” his father hollered.

“Please, Father, I am so thirsty.”

“Thirsty are you?” Heavy footsteps thundered down the hallway. Franz opened his eyes. Father loomed over the bed like the ominous forest creatures of his nightmare. Instead of comforting words the child longed for, Father carried him to the balcony. “Never disturb my sleep again.” The door locked behind him.

Frigid wind whipped through the boy’s thin nightgown. For the rest of his all-too-brief life, Franz Kafka despaired of ever winning his father’s love.

*

Click here for more of Kafka

23 February 2018

Published February 21, 2018 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

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Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

ABIGAIL’S ROSE

Weary from tending her feverish child, she sank into her rocking chair. The baby, who had howled with pain most of the night, finally calmed. Abigail Adams caressed her daughter’s silky head and kissed her cool cheek.

“Sleep, now, my sweet Suky.”

Suky’s four-year-old sister tiptoed into the room. Abigail stopped rocking and held out a hand to her. “Can you not sleep, Nabby?”

“I dreamt the angels plucked a rose from our garden.” Nabby patted the baby’s back. “Is she feeling better, Mother?”

“Yes, my darling. Our rose is feeling ever so much better.”

“Then why are you weeping?”

*

Although much has been written about Abigail Adams, wife of President John Adams, I could find precious little about Grace Susanna Adams who died when she was 13 months old. As a mother, I cannot imagine the agony of losing a child that young, but, my friend and fellow fictioneer, Dale Rogerson, can for she has “been there.”

***

One of life’s happy ‘accidents’ came while following the research trail came in learning that there is a rose named Abigail Adams. Who knew?

16 February 2018

Published February 14, 2018 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

Please be respectful of your fellow writers/readers and keep your stories to 100 words. Thank you and Shalom.

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Once more I’m sharing an excerpt from an excerpt from both FROM SILT AND ASHES and A STONE FOR THE JOURNEY. As I write, I’m making progress with the latter. Thank you for your patience and kind feedback.

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

GOODBYE, HELLO

Ulrich held Havah’s letter to his nose and breathed in the aroma of rose water. He pictured her at her table, black waves cascading over her shoulders.

His mind harked back to Rotterdam Harbor where they bid each other farewell. The taste of their stolen kiss lingered on his lips, even as Arel waited on the dock.

“How are things in America?” asked his housemate Nikolai.

Ulrich tossed him the letter. “Read for yourself.”

“They’re happy despite the cold winter. Good for them.”

“Yes indeed.” Biting his lip, Ulrich crumpled the envelope. “I’m delirous for them.”

“Ulrich, let her go.”

Book II of Havah’s Trilogy

Dr. Nikolai Derevenko © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Havah at her writing table © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Ulrich Dietrich © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Coming soon!

9 February 2018

Published February 7, 2018 by rochellewisoff

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“Reciprocity is the glue that holds communities together.” – Neil MacDonald

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 © JS Brand

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

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Genre: Fiction

Word Count: 100

FREESTYLE

Yellow Tangs and Blue-violet perch floated before Elise, unconcerned by her presence. Sunrays beamed through the crystal ceiling, illuminating purple fan coral that swayed to and fro like dancers. Palming the water, she somersaulted and dove deeper, chasing schools of glistening fish.

She flipped again, but before she could right herself, long tendrils of seaweed twisted around her wrists and ankles. Try and tug though she might, the plants held tight.

With a gasp, she woke amid tangled blankets and bedsheets. “Roger Miller was right. You can’t roller-skate in a buffalo herd and you can’t go swimming in queen-size bed.”

*

And Just for Fun 😉 😀

2 February 2018

Published January 31, 2018 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.

Please be considerate to your fellow writer/readers and keep your stories to 100 words. Thank you.

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The crunch is on. I’ve started putting a manuscript together for A STONE FOR THE JOURNEY. So most of my writing energy these days is going into the short stories and excerpts for the book. The following is a tweaked excerpt from FROM SILT AND ASHES that’s cut down from the version that’s going in the next book. That made perfect sense, right?

Genre: Historical Fiction circa 1904

Word Count: 100

DOORPOST

Havah traced the shin, the first letter of the word Shaddai, Almighty on the weathered tube on her door jamb with her index finger. The mezuzah was one of the few things she managed to salvage from the ruins of her village.

She remembered how David, then thirteen, spent hours carving the wood. Careful not to crack it, he hollowed out a place to insert the parchment scroll inscribed with Torah verses. How had it survived? She brought her fingertips to her lips and kissed them, remembering her brother’s face.

“Sweet David, your words have I hidden in my heart.”

*

Original Artwork © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

David and Mendel Cohen Original Artwork © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

FUROR

Published January 29, 2018 by rochellewisoff

This week Pegman visits Bristol in the southwest of England. This week’s location was suggested by the talented and inspiring Kelvin M. Knight, blogger and flash fiction ninja. If you haven’t already, wander over and check out his blog.

Your mission is to write a 150-word story, poem, or essay inspired by this week’s location. You’ll find both photo spheres and streetview to inspire you. Once your piece is polished, please share it with other Pegman contributors using the link up below.

It has been one majorly busy weekend with an unexpected trip to the ER and a whole day lost. Here it is Monday morning…still catching up on Friday Fictioneers and posting a late Pegman story. What am I meshuggeh? On the other hand, the following tweaked snippet from AS ONE MUST, ONE CAN puts me closer to having A STONE FOR THE JOURNEY completed. So it’s all good, right? Of course right!

Colston Hall in Bristol taken in 1917

Genre: Historical Fiction (Vienna 1908)

Word Count: 150

FUROR

Deep satisfaction surged through Ulrich. Four-year-old Rachel enthralled audiences across Europe, from Colston Hall in Bristol, to, just days before, in Vienna’s Musikverein.

“Rachel is a magnificent talent,” said Catherine.

“A prodigy. My little Mozart.”

The steady clop of the horses’ hooves along the cobblestones lulled Ulrich as they made their way around the circular courtyard called the Schwarzenbergplatz.

He stopped the carriage. “The famous Hochstrahlbrunnen fountain.”

“It’s simply gorgeous!”

In the midst of a large round pool, a geyser-like fountain spotlighted from below illuminated the night sky, by turns, with purple, blue, yellow, green and red.

A strident voice split through the peaceful water’s swooshing. A rail-thin youth gestured with the fervor of one addressing thousands rather than one equally scrawny youngster.

“These strange ones with their ugly language that sounds like snuffles and squeaking and their odd dress have no place here. We are Germans. ‘Deutschland über alles!’”

Catherine Dietrich © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Hochstrahlbunnen fountain © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

26 January 2018

Published January 24, 2018 by rochellewisoff

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Saturday, January 27th is the 73rd anniversary of the liberation of Auschwitz. The following story is one that I discovered a few years back and never ceases to fascinate me.

Genre: Realistic Fiction based on a True Story

Word Count: 100

RENOVATION

As he did every morning, Dov Ben Avraham recited the Sh’ma, “Hear O, Yisrael, Adonai is our Lord, Adonai is one.” The Hebrew words from Deuteronomy 6 were sweet to his tongue and uplifting to his heart. After saying his final amen, he added, “Thank you for making me a Jew.”

Later that night, at the synagogue he prepared to tell his story at a memorial dinner to honor those who perished at Auschwitz.

Gazing at a few survivors among the guests, Dov, Dr. Bernd Wollschlaeger, said, “Please forgive me for the sins of my father, a Nazi tank commander.”