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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.”
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.
This week marks my 8th anniversary as Friday Fictioneers facilitator and my 5th anniversary as a retired sign maker/cake decorator. So I’m taking the liberty of sharing a twofer.
Genre: Hysterical Faction
Word Count: 100
HONCHO DORI
My coworker and best friend was fired for saying, of all things, “Hunky Dory.” Her flippant reply to my “How’s your day going?” at her register. I kid you not. The charge was “sarcasm to a customer and, therefore, misconduct.” Seriously?
The company’s plan to purge the “old folks” put a target on my back, too.
At an emotional low I joined Friday Fictioneers. I tried it. I loved it. By October 24, I inherited the blog challenge.
Eight years later, my friend’s victorious lawsuit is a story we retell with glee. Friday Fictioneers? Yep, I’m still steering the bus.
It’s still hunky dory with us.
YEE-HAW!!!
I ran out words to tell you my friend was fired March 7, 2012 and I joined Friday Fictioneers a month later on April 12.
****
Now for the second go around as promised. 😉 I posted this 24 October 2012, after inheriting Friday Fictioneers from creator Madison Woods. This was the only time I didn’t title my post with the date. I was told by a fictioneer that it was too confusing for me to post my title because it gave the impression that my title was part of the prompt. I complied and never saw her again. Go figure. There are some fictioneers who stuck with me, even though they were here before me. You know who you are. 😉 If I list them I’m bound to leave someone out. At any rate here’s my first story as facilitator. Same photo prompt.
Genre: Realistic Fiction
Word Count: 100
OF SIGHT AND SOUND
A stunning contradiction of cropped black hair, bronzed skin and sea foam blue eyes, Aggie McKewen’s face reflected her Inuit and Scottish parentage.
Keith, who worked at his uncle’s café in Seward County, Alaska, longed to speak to her but didn’t know sign language and she was fencepost deaf. Every Saturday he served her grilled salmon in shy silence.
After six weeks of night classes he felt ready to declare himself and asked her out.
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?”
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.
Back aching, Mary boxed up a vacuum sweeper. After a lucrative evening she was weary and ready to go home.
She coaxed a smile. “You’re a lovely hostess, Mrs. Spoonemore.”
“Thank you for demonstrating Stanley products, Mrs. Rogers.” Ova handed her a jar with a penciled label. “A token of my appreciation.”
Mary opened it and sniffed. “What’s this?”
“My daddy’s hide-tanning formula. Keeps skin smooth and young-looking.”
Years later, tired of being passed over for promotions, Mary Kay bought the formula from Ova’s family for $500 and struck out on her own. The rest is pink history.
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.
“Seriously, Daddy?” Ariel jabbed her fork into a plateful of fishy-smelling seaweed. “You expect me to eat this?”
“Don’t knock it ‘til you’ve tried it. Full of antioxidants, fiber, and vitamins,” said Louis. “Expertly prepared by Yours Truly. Ever hear of Euell Gibbons?
“Who?”
“Famous 1960’s naturalist. One winter, his family was down to their last egg and a few pinto beans. He went out and picked a knapsack full of puffball mushrooms, piñon nuts, and yellow prickly pear fruits. Kept them from starving.”
Ariel lifted a green strand, sniffed and grimaced. “It looks like something a Klingon would eat.”
Euell Gibbon, who became famous promoting Grape Nuts cereal. He took a lot of ribbing. Here he is taking a poke at himself.
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.
A reminder that the Holocaust did happen. Dare we forget? This is a shortened version of a story I posted almost 4 years ago for What Pegman Saw. (Thank you, Josh and Karen). I feel it’s one that bears repeating.
Genre: Historical Fiction
Word Count: 100
PERCHANCE TO DREAM
Bedtime was Eva’s chance to escape. Tonight, she flew close to the dazzling sun. Below water cavorted over glittering shells. A mermaid with gleaming fins sat on a crystal throne in the midst of the waves. Her eyes glowed like candles, beckoning Eva. Sea spray veiled her shining violet hair that cascaded over her shoulders like a silken cape.
She sang an enticing melody. “Eva, sweet Eva, come swim with me.”
***
“Eva, wake up!”
Shira grasped her sister’s narrow shoulders. Grey light through the barrack’s filthy window illuminated Eva’s skeletal face and serene smile.
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.
As fewer and fewer Holocaust survivors remain in our midst, it seems easier to forget. It’s not taught in schools and increasing numbers of misinformed believe the Holocaust never happened.
INTERVIEW WITH PRISONER A5714
Remember Robert Clary as LeBeau of Stalag 13? Hogan’s shortest hero? The connoisseur of French cuisine.
He reminisces about the rabbi who helped him study for his Bar Mitzvah. “He smelled of schmaltz, herring, onion and garlic.”
“Ah food.”
He shrugs. “In Buchenwald we had little to eat. I sang for the prisoners and sometimes the chef in the kitchen gave me an extra piece of bread.”
“What’s your greatest achievement? Performing?”
“No. I’m most proud to have spent twenty years keeping the memory of the Holocaust alive. Warning against man’s inhumanity. While I am living, I have to tell.”
Yes. It’s me again. Double dipping. It seems my first story is only understood by a few. So I decided, by divine right of flash fiction queens, I’d write another. Thank you for understanding. 😉
AUTUMN HOUSE CLEANING
“I’m not a hoarder. I’m sentimental, that’s all.”
True to her words, Carolyn kept a clean, albeit, cluttered house.
“You could eat off my floors.”
“If we could find it.” Megan rolled her eyes as she rummaged through her mother’s kitchen cabinets. “Maybe. But baby bottles? What do you need with these?”
“Mama?” The towheaded toddler in the high chair reached out his arms and whimpered. “Ba-Ba”
Carolyn patted his hand. “Aaron. You’re too big for a bottle. Megan get your baby brother his sippy cup.”
“Mom. Stop!” Megan’s tearful voice startled Carolyn. “Aaron died fifty years ago.”
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 was a baby when Mr. Roach hired me,” says George McFarland. “They still call me Spanky.”
Ernie grins. “I was one of the first back in the days before talkies. Sunshine Sammy, that was me.”
“I was Butch. The bully in the gang.” Tommy Bond adds with a twinkle in his eye, “Guess I had the scowl for it.”
Matthew Beard strokes his bald head, looking very much like little Stymie. “We was just kids. We went to school and played together. Black or white didn’t matter. Hal Roach loved kids.”
“Great times,” says Ernie. “I’d do it again.”
***
Tommy “Butch” Bond
Matthew “Stymie” Beard
Hal Roach
Ernest “Sunshine Sammy” Morrison
*Some may remember the “Our Gang Comedy” or, as it later became known in syndication “The Little Rascals.” Some may not. For a bit of a lengthy history CLICK HERE.
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.
Before continuing I have to share my happy news. My novel “Last Dance with Annie” is now under contract with literary agent Diane Nine! www.ninespeakers.com
Genre: Historical Fiction
Word Count: 100
COUP D’ETAT 1898
Easter and me’s both six years old. Her daddy owns a shoe shop in Wilmington. He made my Sunday shoes. He’s really nice.
Easter’s funny and she draws real good. Her skin is pretty. It’s as brown as chocolate so she don’t get sunburns like me.
Day before yesterday, Easter’s daddy went to vote in the ‘lection. Someone said white men in red shirts shot him in the street. Easter cried and cried. I cried, too.
Easter, her mama and lotsa other black folks moved away sudden like. I don’t understand why people are so mean. I miss my friend.
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.
The sun has long set on Glasgow. My eyes are weary from study and my heart is heavy with longing for you and my sisters.
My mind swirls with new knowledge of the human body. How fearfully and wonderfully made are we. My cup overflows.
Precious Father. Had it not been for your encouragement, becoming a physician would be an impossibility for a wee lass in this man’s world. As God is my witness, it shall not always be so. I promise to do my best to make you proud.
Your loving daughter,
Elsie Maude Inglis
With her many accomplishments, it was difficult to squeeze the magnitude of her influence into 100 words. So I chose a small but important piece of her life. To quote Elsie Inglis
“If I have been able to do anything—whatever I am, whatever I have done—
I owe it all to my Father.”
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.
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Rochelle Wisoff-Fields-Addicted to Purple 