Friday Fictioneer

All posts tagged Friday Fictioneer


Published February 6, 2020 by rochellewisoff

There’s nothing more brutal than helplessly watching a loved one deteriorate in the throes of such diseases as ALS, Multiple Sclerosis, or the cancer known as Alzheimer’s. Somewhere between midnight and morning, January 24, 2020 my mother-in-law, Mary Lee Meek shuffled off her mortal coil. However, we’ve been grieving her loss for the past seven years as Alzheimer’s slowly robbed us of the woman we knew and loved. In her memory I’d like to share a flash fiction I wrote for my husband, Jan in 2013.


            “A-one and a-two…” said the man on television.

            “I hate Lawrence Welk.” I stamped my foot.

            Mom’s brown eyes flashed as she jumped from her chair to turn up the volume. I grabbed her around the waist and we fell to the floor where she tickled me into submission.

            A tower of strength, she always won. 

            Somewhere along the line, between responsibilities and business-as-usual, without my notice, the tower crumbled.  

            In semi-darkness, she stares at a blank screen. I search her listless eyes but the spark is gone.

            “Mom? I miss Lawrence Welk.”

            Her brow crinkles. “Do I know you?” 

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18 March 2016`

Published March 16, 2016 by rochellewisoff

Flowers from the Hill Thoreau

Erie Canal

The following photo is the PROMPT. Keep in mind that all photos are the property of the contributor, therefore copyrighted and require express permission to use for purposes other than Friday Fictioneers. Giving credit to whom credit is due is proper etiquette. 

Please be considerate and make an effort to stay within the suggested word count. 

PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

get the InLinkz code

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100


                                                                                                                       ” March 1622

Tesoro Ansaldo,

My heart dies for your letters.

You used to liken me to the Jewish Queen Ester.

Do you now spurn me because I refuse to embrace your Christus? Does this make me a heretic? So be it! But never have I denied the eternal soul of man as you so accuse. I wrote only that the mind informs us and is where mortal and immortal are confined.

Thus, I confine myself to Gheto Vechio…”

 Blinded by tears, the old monk set Sarra Copia’s letter ablaze in the candle flame. “Bless me Father, for I have sinned.”









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