All posts tagged Holocaust


Published July 29, 2018 by rochellewisoff

This week Pegman takes us to Kinshasa, in the Democratic Republic of the Congo.

Your mission is to write up to 150 words inspired by the location. Feel free to use the image provided in the prompt, or chose from photo spheres around Kinshasa. Once your piece is polished, share it with others using the linkup below.

Many thanks to Karen and Josh for facilitating this challenge for globetrotting writers. It’s the extra 50 words that keep me coming back. 😉

Remember – Reading and commenting on others’ work is part of the fun!

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 150


                                                                        August 12, 1896

Ma chérie,

I signed on for the Congo, eager to serve Leopold—to civilize the savage.  

I hold your face in my heart—the celestial blue of your eyes, the curve of your fair cheek and sweetness of your lips. But this vision is no longer enough to sustain me. Forgive, my love, another face has replaced yours. It is magnificent. Brown with midnight eyes. Every whit as handsome as our own Francois and no older.

I followed orders. I lopped off his right hand for not meeting our rubber quotas. What kind of savage does this to another human being?


Upon entering the tent, Andre dropped to his knees. “Dear God!”

Louis tutted and pulled a blanket over their fallen comrade.  “Why on earth did Thomas take his own life?”

Picking up a blood-spattered hatchet, Andre shuddered. “And how could he chop off his own hand?”


In 1896, a German journalist reported that 1,308 hands were collected in one day.

CLick HERE to watch the disturbing documentary.

18 May 2018

Published May 16, 2018 by rochellewisoff

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As always, please be considerate of your fellow Fictioneers and keep your stories to 100 words. (Title is not included in the word count.)  Many thanks. 

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 submitted by Courtney Wright. © Photographer prefers to remain anonymous.

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Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100


The uniformed matron smiled. “Take off your shoes and tie the laces together so you can find them more quickly after your shower.”

The doors clanked shut behind the child. No cleansing water sprayed from the nozzles. 

Cold tile chilled his bare feet. Naked, he shivered and gasped his final breaths.  

“Mama! Mama!”

His desperate, silenced voice rattles my soul.    

Could he have been another Einstein?

Perhaps he’d have been a storyteller whose words delighted thousands.  

The shoe is crumpled and the eyelets are rusted. It fits the palms of my hands—the only evidence of a candle snuffed aborning.





Published January 22, 2017 by rochellewisoff

This week Pegman has gone to Moscow. Many thanks to K Lawson for graciously hosting. To choose your own photo click here. Write your own flash fiction of 150 words or less. Click the blue frog to add your own link.

Here’s the photo I chose:


Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 150


           “I adored the stage,” said Bubbe Gittel of her time in the Moscow State Jewish Theater. “I had a crush on the director, Shlomo Mikhoels. What a performer he was!”  

            I switched off the TV. My grandmother’s stories beat summer reruns. Even in her 80’s she could still recite Shakespeare—in Yiddish.

            “During the war Mr. Stalin kept us safe from Hitler and made Shlomo the head of the Jewish Anti-Fascist Committee. The show would always go on. So I thought.”

            Bubbe’s smile faded. “The war ended and with it, Stalin’s favor.”

            “What happened, Bubbe?”

            “They called it an accident, but I saw it with my own eyes. A KGB monster shoved Shlomo in the path of a speeding truck. Other members of the committee were arrested for treason—poets and writers they were. Four years later, they were executed. Their real crime? We know what that was, don’t we?”



Click for Encore



13 January 2017

Published January 11, 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. 



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Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100


            When I was a little girl in the 1950’s, Mom used to take me to visit my aunt in St. Louis. I looked forward to those train rides. Sunlight dazzled through the trees as they whizzed by and the rhythm of the wheels clicking along the track soothed me.

            Dad, on the other hand, hated trains, but would never tell me why. Only once did he accompany us.

            As we left Union Station, tears trickled from the corners of his faraway eyes.   

            “Daddy, what’s wrong?”

            “The stench was unbearable. Fifty of us crammed into a cattle car. I alone escaped.”





Published December 26, 2016 by rochellewisoff

This is my offering for What Pegman Saw

For guidelines and rules for the What Pegman Saw weekly writing prompt, visit the home page. It’s simple: a story of 150 words or less inspired by your street view tour of the location.

This week’s location was suggested by gifted writer and photographer Graham over at grahamisjustmyname.com. Thanks Graham!

Join in and add your link!



This is the view I chose from the Google site.

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 147


Eva couldn’t wait for bedtime. Her faithful dream came every night. All day she longed for the sheer pleasure of flying amongst the cotton-soft clouds. The sky would always be a mixture of azure and cerulean. Lively music filled her ears as she flipped in midair.

This particular night she hovered above a waterfall. The thundering waters cavorted and flowed over shimmering quartz stones. A mermaid with a gleaming green tail sat on one of them in the midst of the waves. Her eyes glowed like candles. Sea spray veiled her shining violet hair that cascaded over her shoulders like a silken cape.

Holding out her arms, her melodious voice beckoned. “Eva, sweet Eva, come swim with me.”


“Eva, get up!”

Shira shook her sister’s narrow shoulders. Grey light through the barrack’s filthy window illuminated Eva’s skeletal face and serene smile.

Weeping, Shira whispered, “Arbeit macht frei.”

11 November 2016

Published November 9, 2016 by rochellewisoff

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Another HighwayThe 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

PHOTO PROMPT © Sandra Crook

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Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 98


                                                                                                                                       August 1953

Chère Maîtresse,

            Today I hold my firstborn, Lois Marie. Marie is for my mother of blessed memory who perished before I turned nine.    

            Remember how she shoved me into your tender arms at Camp de Rivesaltes? Remember how you kissed away my tears? Why did you leave your comfortable home to spit in the face of death?

            “It is my purpose,” you said.  

            Although I’ve been criticized for naming my Jewish baby after a living gentile, it’s only right to honor the American angel who combed the lice from my hair.

            Je ne t’oublierai jamais, Lois Gunden.


*Note: It is Jewish tradition to name a child after someone, usually a family member, who has passed on. To a certain extent it’s believed that the soul of the loved one lives on in the child who bears his or her name. 



Lois is one of the “righteous gentiles” honored at Yad VaShem, the Holocaust museum in Jerusalem.

lois-gundenTo learn about this courageous woman more click here. 

13 May 2016

Published May 11, 2016 by rochellewisoff

Another Hightway

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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.

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Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100


            In 1969 my mother packed me off to my aunt and uncle’s dairy farm in Wisconsin.

            “But Mom, Uncle Otto’s weird. That eyepatch and those scars—ick.”


            One night he took my Jefferson Airplane record from the stereo and replaced it with his own 45.

            “You tink das ist protest music?”

            “‘It don’t mean a thing if it ain’t got that swing,’” He sang. “The SS ransacked our nightclub, but I danced all the way to Buchenwald.”

            Uncle Otto taught me more than the jitterbug that summer.


            At his funeral last year I saluted my favorite uncle with, “Swing Heil!”




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