8 September 2017

Published September 6, 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 © Danny Bowman

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Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

TO BOLDLY GO

Dora wreathed her arms around her son’s neck. “What’s in California? No mishpokhah—you’ll be a stranger in a strange land.”

“Like you were when you came to America, Mama.” The youth bristled with determination. “I won’t be an alien for long. You’ll see.”

Dora’s husband Max frowned. “You’re only eighteen. Forget this acting mishegoss.”

***

Leonard, now an old man, strolled along the West End’s changing streets remembering his mother’s tears as he boarded the train.

A passerby grinned, raised his hand, spreading his fingers, two to the left and two to the right. “Live long and prosper, Mr. Nimoy.”

*Mishpokha-Family

*

How did this tradition get started?

1 September 2017

Published August 30, 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 Bulltot

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Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

TOUR GUIDE AT ROOSEVELT ISLAND

Edith studied the yellowed photograph of a young mother cradling a toddler with dark curls on her lap. She had arrived at Castle Garden from Poland only to be diagnosed with the dreaded disease.

Surveying the overgrown, supposedly haunted ruins, Edith imagined her 19-year-old great-grandmother, stricken with smallpox and imprisoned behind the granite hospital walls.

“Left to die without her child. It must’ve been terrifying,” Edith whispered to the sobbing girl beside her. “But haunted? Nonsense.”

“Iz es itst, grandoter?”

Edith whipped around in time to see Great-Grandma Edith, pockmarked cheeks wet with tears, vanish like smoke through a keyhole.

CLICK

Note – The translation for the Yiddish is “Is it now, Granddaughter?”

25 August 2017

Published August 23, 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© Jan Wayne Fields

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Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

THE FINAL FRONTIER

“History in the making.” Keela’s upturned eyes glittered in the starlight. “Can you believe they’ve actually sent an astronaut to the moon?”

Jono ached with love for her and their unborn child. “Maybe one day he’ll go camping like this with his offspring. Only on some distant world.”

“Do you suppose there’s life on other planets?”

“Doubt it.”

She pressed one hand against her stomach, seized his wrist with the other and gasped. “It’s time. Listen.”

A crunching sound followed by a high-pitched shriek emanated from inside the tent.

Jono’s hearts leaped.

Keela’s antennae quivered. “Our hatchling’s here at last.”

*

18 August 2017

Published August 16, 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 © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

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A little teaser this week from my second novel FROM SILT AND ASHES

Genre: Historical Fiction circa 1904

Word Count: 100

LACK OF VISION

“I’ve been reading.” Arel peered over his newspaper at seven-month old Rachel in her highchair. “There are places for people like her.”

“She’s a person.” Havah seized the paper and ripped it in half.

“In one of those schools she can be with other persons who are…” he lowered his voice, “…blind.”

Choking on her anger, Havah hobbled to their bedroom where she hauled a suitcase from the closet. After stuffing it with his clothes, she shoved it down the stairs.

“Havah, listen to reason.”

“I will when I hear it. Come back when you decide to be a father!”

Original Artwork – © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Havah Cohen Gitterman -Original Artwork © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

11 August 2017

Published August 9, 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© CEAyr

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Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

FORWARD PASS

On an early November morning in 1909, Charles Stewart walked the deserted Kansas City cross-streets of Locust and Eighth. Weary after his team’s defeat, he reached his hotel. Throat raw, loyal fan that he was, he entered his enclosed hallway and cut loose.

“Rock chalk Jayhawk…!”

The next day, expecting the usual chastisement for his rowdy behavior, he met instead with cheers from other guests proclaiming him a hero.

Mr. Blank slapped the bewildered youth’s back. “Had it not been for your caterwauling, a burglar and his buddy would’ve robbed us all blind. You scared the bejabbers out of them.”

*Originally the cheer was created for KU’s (Kansas University in Lawrence, Kansas) science club by chemistry professor E. H. Bailey in 1886. Former President Theodore Roosevelt proclaimed it the greatest college chant of all time. Give a listen to what some have referred to as chilling. 😉

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4 August 2017

Published August 2, 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 © Dale Rogerson

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Genre: Realistic Fiction

Word Count: 100

PERSPECTIVE

Linda sat at Bridgette’s kitchen table and pointed at two floral arrangements. “Who are they from?”

Bridgette’s aquamarine eyes sparkled. “One’s from Noah and the other’s from Frank.”

Even in her late 40’s Bridgette maintained her slender form and vibrant red hair.

“You’re such a femme fatale.” Linda sighed and gulped her espresso. “Me? I’m just fatal.”

“Nonsense, ma chère! You’re adorable. I just haven’t found my Prince Charming like you. I’m jealous. You have it all.”

Linda fingered the crumpled divorce papers in her pocket served by her adulterous Prince Charming that morning. “Yes, I’ve certainly had it…all.”

PEDIGREE

Published July 31, 2017 by rochellewisoff

This week Pegman takes us to Cape Town, South Africa.

Feel free to stroll around the area using the Google street view and grab any picture you choose to include in your post.

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

For guidelines and rules for the What Pegman Saw weekly writing prompt, visit the home page.

Once more I’m late to the party. Many thanks to K Rawson and J Hardy Carroll for hosting this prompt.

Although I chose a photo from Cape Town, I traveled far afield. The architecture puts me in mind of the old part of Charleston, SC. So I took a story I wrote for Friday Fictioneers a couple of years ago and, as Karen graciously put it, breathed new life into it. At the same time, when South Africa comes to mind, I think of Apartheid. So there’s kind of connection…right? That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 150

PEDIGREE

I adored our handsome houseboy “Black-Jack.” Mama had a special smile just for him. Nobody told a better story. Sarah and I shared his lap, laughing and crying by turns.

One night I kissed his bronze cheek. “I wish you were my daddy, too.”

“So does I, my sweet li’l magnolia.”

When Sarah and I turned eight, Grandma sold him.

Mama swooned. I dried Sarah’s tears with my lace petticoat.

“Stop that, Emma.” Grandma snapped. “She’s your slave.”

“No! She’s my best friend. My sister.”

“Never!”

I still feel the sting of Grandma’s hand across my lips.

A month later the old biddy sold Sarah.

On my seventeenth birthday I was married off to a plantation owner near Charleston.

This morning I gave birth to a beautiful baby girl who bears no resemblance to either her blond father or me. In fact, she’s the spitting image of her Aunt Sarah.

Real life twins.

28 July 2017

Published July 26, 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.

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

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Genre: Historical Fiction from the 1980’s

Word Count: 100

DIAL TONE

The phone rang.

Tammy pouted. “It’s probably for Bobbie.”

“She’s on a date,” said Grandma. “Go answer the Ameche.”

“The A-what-chee?”

The ringing stopped.

“That’s what we called the telephone when I was a girl.” Grandma popped a VHS tape in the VCR. “Sit. I’ll make popcorn.”

“‘The Story of Alexander Graham Bell?’” Tammy read the case and groaned. “This movie’s older than dirt.”

Bobbie came home just as Don Ameche and Loretta Young exchanged loving smiles. “What’s with the black and white moldy oldie?”

The phone rang.

“Rad flick.” Tammy brushed a stray tear. “Better answer the Ameche, sis.”

Henry Fonda, Loretta Young and Don Ameche

And just for fun…

HOW IS MY DRIVING?

Published July 19, 2017 by rochellewisoff

Kent’s photo put me back on that tour bus with Zvi. Normally I eschew Friday Fictioneers sequels or double dipping. With red, although unapologetic, countenance I am doing both this week. 🙄

Genre: Memoir/Anecdote

Word Count: 100

HOW IS MY DRIVING?

A rather shy man, our Israeli bus driver, Gabi had a welcoming smile for everyone. Every day we spoke, he in halting English and I in limited Hebrew.

What a driver! He maneuvered that behemoth through narrow streets I wouldn’t dare attempt to navigate in my Saturn. I was reminded of cartoon car chases where vehicles curved around corners like Gumby.

My seatmate grasped the armrest, her knuckles white. “He must ride a motorcycle.”

“Ahtah rokhev al ofanoah?” I asked him.

His sunny expression gave way to horror. “Lo! Mesukahn! Mesukahn!” He flashed his pocket translator which read, “Dangerous! Perilous!”

****

Aych ahnee noheg? How is my driving?

Gabi

21 July 2017

Published July 19, 2017 by rochellewisoff

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

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Genre: Anecdote

Word Count: 100

INCARNATE

Most people I know have fond memories of their first automobile. Mine was a used 1971 royal blue Volkswagen Beetle. Fun size—like me.

My father hated it. “A Jew has no business driving a Nazi-mobile.”

The kids loved to sit in the ‘back-back,’ a mini cargo hold behind the rear seat and the bug was easy to maneuver. I enjoyed tootling around in it until the clutch went out. The heater worked great—all summer. Other quirks included slowing to a crawl at busy intersections while I floored the gas pedal and prayed.

Could Dad have been onto something?