25 December 2020

Published December 23, 2020 by rochellewisoff

Whatever holiday you celebrate or don’t at this time of year I wish you a season of peace and joy.

Shalom, Rochelle

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PHOTO PROMPT © Trish Nankivell

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

A DAY FOR LOVING

“Gonna to be the best Christmas ever.” Mildred wrapped the last of the children’s presents. “I was beginning to fear hope was gone.”

She would never forget that night nine years ago. Beside Richard, she woke to a blinding flashlight and a gruff voice. “Whatcha think you’re doin’?”

She pointed to the District of Columbia marriage license on the wall. “I’m his wife.”

“Not here you ain’t.” The Caroline County sheriff snarled. “Here it’s illegal for white to marry colored.”

“Thanks to the U.S. Supreme Court,” Richard Loving circled his arms around Mildred and kissed her, “I can love my wife.”

*

18 December 2020

Published December 16, 2020 by rochellewisoff

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PHOTO PROMPT © Sandra Crook

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Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

BEYOND THE YELLOW BRICK ROAD

“Here’s something you might enjoy, Raymond.” Annie handed her young son a book. “The Wizard of Oz. It teaches us that everyone has a brain, a heart and courage.”

“I love it, Mama.”

In his teens he discovered the theater. He idolized Fred Stone who originated the role of the scarecrow in the stage version of L. Frank Baum’s classic. Stone’s loose-limbed dance form intrigued Raymond.

Against his father’s wishes, the courageous youth set his mind on a career in entertainment.

As the scarecrow, with haphazard style, Ray Bolger danced across the screen in M-G-M’s classic The Wizard of Oz.

11 December 2020

Published December 9, 2020 by rochellewisoff

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PHOTO PROMPT © Roger Bultot

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Genre: Fiction

Word Count: 100

THE PEOPLE’S PLAYGROUND

My dad held my hand as we walked along the boardwalk. The sea breeze riffled through my hair and the food scents tantalized my nostrils.

“The Steeplechase was my favorite.” Daddy mused. “You mounted a mechanical horse on a rail and whoosh! Instant horserace. Too bad they tore it down years ago.”

We sat on a bench munching our Nathan’s hotdogs, replete with mustard and sauerkraut. Seagulls clambered over one another, competing for the crumbs we dropped.

Two lifetimes later, my grandson and I munch Nathan’s hotdogs and prepare to ride the new Steeplechase.

Some things change. Some things don’t.

Steeplechase then:

And now:

4 December 2020

Published December 2, 2020 by rochellewisoff

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PHOTO PROMPT © CEAyr

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Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

WHITE SWAN

On their flight to Oslo, Sonja rested against Niels’ shoulder. “My hero, my big brother taught me to fall. Leif said, ‘You fall the way a length of rope drops.’

“Good advice.” She giggled. “I fell on my bum in my first Olympic competition. Finished last. Only injured my pride.”

“I remember,” said Niels. “You were only eleven. Four years later you won your first Olympic gold medal.

“Figure eights.” She yawned. “Leaps and spins. The world was mine.”

“Still is, my love.”

“I’m so tired.”

“Sleep now.”

Fifty-seven-year-old Sonja Henie closed her eyes and skated to her final arena.

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27 November 2020

Published November 25, 2020 by rochellewisoff

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PHOTO PROMPT © Susan Eames

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Genre: Realistic Fiction

Word Count: 100

REBOOT

Last night was my first time on the dance floor since my husband died five years ago. And this happens. I’m not sure which aches more, my fractured ankle or my pride. Chuck must think I’m a klutz.

I wait for the hydrocodone to kick in.

Why’d I let my pushy sister talk me into a blind date?

“I’m not ready,” I’d insisted.

“If not now—when?”

My phone rings.

Chuck’s delicious voice caresses my ear. “Sorry about my overgrown clodhoppers. I’d like to make it up to you over dinner. May I come over?”

Perhaps I’m ready after all.

***

Happily the above story is pure fiction. 😀 He’s very much alive, for which I’m grateful! Our friends and family gave us 6 months. Happy 49th Anniversary to my first husband, Jan Wayne Fields.

20 November 2020

Published November 18, 2020 by rochellewisoff

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PHOTO PROMPT © Sarah Potter

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Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

AKA WEEGEE

Adolescent Arthur Fellig rented a pony and took pictures of neighborhood kids with his secondhand View Camera.

“I wipe their faces and give ‘em a ride.” He winked. “Then sell their folks the photos.”

Years later, armed with a police-band radio, Speed Graphic camera and a makeshift darkroom in his trunk, he lurked in the shadows of New York. His black and whites captured the city’s seamier side like no others.

“You’re always on time.” Amazed reporters shook their heads. “You must have a Ouija board or something. What’s your secret?”

“Ain’t no secret.” Weegee shrugged. “F/8 and be there.”

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This a picture of my dad at 6 in 1920 in Brooklyn NY. 😉

quote-when-you-find-yourself-beginning-to-feel-a-bond-between-yourself-and-the-people-you-weegee-54-22-54

13 November 2020

Published November 11, 2020 by rochellewisoff

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PHOTO PROMPT © Dale Rogerson

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Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

BY DESIGN

“The final Yuletide of the 19^th century is upon us. What will the 20^th hold? Perhaps we women will be allowed to vote.” Maud settled back against her pillows. “We’ll make it happen.” Light snow fell past her window. Nearby carolers sang, “Silent Night.”

Her latest illustration sat unfinished on her easel.

“Salutations, my little masterpiece.” She studied the infant in her arms. “I daresay those dark blue eyes shall turn brown. What a dear subject you’ll make, my Humphrey baby.”

“Humphrey baby indeed. Come to Papa, my son.” Maud’s husband Belmont lifted the child. “Merry Christmas, Humphrey Deforest Bogart!

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Maud Humphrey

Maud and Baby Humphrey

Humphrey Bogart.

TATS AND STATS

Published November 5, 2020 by rochellewisoff

This past week I posted a flash fiction of a granddaughter’s devotion to her grandmother who was a Holocaust survivor. I wrote it as a sequel to a story I posted the week before. One of our participants, an Israeli herself, Na’ama Yehuda, told me she knew someone who had done what the granddaughter did in remembrance. CLICK HERE TO READ

After one commenter asked about the configuration of numbers, I went to You Tube to find video footage to back my story. This video is a brilliant illustration of a phenomenon among children and grandchildren of Holocaust survivors. I’m so touched by this I must share.

6 November 2020

Published November 4, 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.

I almost never write sequels to my stories. Although I think this one stands alone, it is, indeed Chapter 2 to last week’s story N2MB3RS.

I’m blaming it on Na’ama who put the bug in my muse’s ear. Thanks, my friend. 😀

Click me! Click me!

Genre: Fiction

Word Count: 100

LEST WE FORGET

Bubbie lifted her glass. “Next year in Jerusalem!” The numbers 45457 on her arm had faded in seventy years but remained legible.

“I bought the tickets.” Beaming, Dad raised his wine. “Jerusalem!”

***

Miriam shielded her eyes from the noonday sun over the old city. “I wish you were here, Bubbie.”

Miriam remembered her argument with her grandmother over tattoos.

“My friends have them.”

“What do they know?”

Later Bubbie passed away in her sleep.

Miriam went to the tattoo parlor.

The artist frowned. “You sure? ‘45457? Just numbers?”

Back in the present Miriam studied her arm. “I’ll never forget, Bubbie.”

In the States we commemorate 9-11. The Jews commemorate 11-9. November 9 marks the 82nd anniversary of Kristallnacht, Night of Broken Glass.

30 October 2020

Published October 28, 2020 by rochellewisoff

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Genre: All-too-realistic Fiction

Word Count: 100

N2MB3RS

Miriam paged through tattoo parlor designs. “Should I get a rose or a bird?”

Eva’s faded eyes flashed. “Why blemish such beautiful skin?”

“You’ve got one, Bubbe.”

“I detest it.”

Miriam skimmed her fingertips over the numbers on her great-grandmother’s arm. “Why don’t you have it removed?”

“The needle burned into me while they carried Mama away. They silenced Papa’s pleas with a bullet.” A spectral smile spread Eva’s withered lips. “It took four of them to hold me down.”

“I get it. You keep it so you’ll always remember.”

“No, bubbeleh. I keep it so you will never forget.”