14 November 2025

Published November 12, 2025 by rochellewisoff

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

In the photo we see the edge of a swimming pool at sunset. There’s a potted plant on a partial wall to the left. The sky is ablaze over trees and mountains in the distance.

TO JOIN THE FUN CLICK

Genre: Historical Fiction
Word Count: 100

EYES OF THE HEART

In her eighteenth summer, Alyana’s grandfather informed her he was giving her to Kai.

She stomped her feet. “No, Sicheii, he’s the ugliest man in our Diné. I can’t even look at him.”

Alyana wept bitterly on their marriage night and refused to share her bed with Kai.

He shrugged and flashed a lopsided smile. “I’ll wait until you’re ready.”

She cried out. “Never!”

Two summers later, Alyana gave thanks at the Navajo celebration of her baby’s first laugh.

“This child brings joy!” Sicheii proclaimed

Resting her head on Kai’s shoulder, Alyana whispered, “And he is beautiful like his father.”

25 November 2022

Published November 23, 2022 by rochellewisoff

Monday, November 28 makes 51 years of the sometimes rocky road called marriage. Happy Anniversary to my husband Jan Wayne Fields.

Like us on Facebook

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 © Sandra Crook

CLICK TO JOIN

If this photo prompt and story look familiar to you, thank you for being a Friday Fictioneer for at least seven years. It’s a rerun from 2015. This Thursday, November 24th is the holiday we in the States call Thanksgiving. Being thankful for what we have is a good thing. Celebrating with family and friends is also a good thing. I’m looking forward to spending time with family and eating the traditional bird along with trimmings.

It is also Native American Heritage Month. Let’s not forget at what cost our freedom came.

Genre: Somewhat Historical Fiction
Word Count: 100

KESHAGESH

“The Pilgrims stepped off the Mayflower onto Plymouth Rock,” Matthew read aloud. “Friendly Indians helped them plant corn and—”

“They should’ve been called Pillagers.” Rita fumed, snatched his paper and ripped it apart. “We’re indigenous and this is not India.”

“Mom, that’s my homework.”

She handed him another sheet of paper. “Write this, Matthew Thundercloud, not what you think your teacher wants to hear.

“They robbed graves, stole our land, enslaved us, murdered our children, forced their Christian religion upon us and gave us smallpox.”

“What if she gives me an ‘F’?”

Just smile and say, ‘Happy Turkey Day.’”

The following should explain my title:

A MOTHER’S GIFT

Published March 25, 2018 by rochellewisoff

This week Pegman takes us to Yellowstone National Park in the US. You’ll find both streetview and photo spheres to inspire you. Choose any place within Yellowstone and write 150 words inspired by it. Once your piece is polished, you can share it with others at the link up below:

Many thanks to our tropical travelers Karen and Josh for hosting this challenge.

There were so many gorgeous photos to choose from.

This week I took an old tale out of storage. It was one of my first Friday Fictioneers stories in 2012 (when I was still just one of the gang) and, to this day, is one of my favorites. Fifty extra words afforded me the opportunity to flesh it out a bit.

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 150

A MOTHER’S GIFT

“Walk with me now.” Wind Woman squeezed her daughter’s hand. “It’s time you meet your mother.”

Red Fawn burned with impatience. Any other time she would love to listen to Wind Woman’s many stories. They had given Red Fawn’s childhood life and song.

Today she thought only of her warrior’s raven-black hair and bronzed arms encircling her. Of all the maidens in her clan, he’d chosen her.

Following behind Wind Woman, Red Fawn pouted. “You’re my mother.”

“You must know your birth tribe. Your children must know.”

At the top of the hill the older woman pointed to two burial mounds. “When we found them, he was dead. She laid you in my arms. Then she died.”

Wind Woman’s dark eyes brimmed. She pressed her palms against Red Fawn’s cheeks. “Hair like fire. Eyes like sky. The Great Spirit gave you to me. Tomorrow I give you to Iron Wolf.”

SHIKAKO

Published April 29, 2017 by rochellewisoff

Today Pegman visits Chicago, Illinois.

Feel free to stroll around 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:

They say location is everything. Many thanks to Karen Rawson and her highly significant other, J Hardy Carroll for hosting and sharing a new location to challenge us every week.

Chicago River

Some reading might remember this story from Friday Fictioneers two years ago. I took the liberty of revisiting and adding fifty words to it.

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 150

SHIKAKO

“Place Where the Skunk Weed Grows”

Catherine DuSable walked along the shore of the Eschikagou while her beloved Jean-Baptiste slept. Today a steady stream of customers had come to their trading post to buy and sell. Usually she enjoyed the stories they shared.

One trapper eyed her. “What you want for that fine squaw, Monsieur DuSable?”

“My wife is not for sale.”

She raised her hands to the sky and danced beside the waters, shaking off the trapper’s leering image.

“Mama, I can’t sleep.”

She turned to see Susannah whose tight black curls and dark skin glowed in the moonlight. So like her father. Catherine scooped the child into her arms.

“When I was little I prayed to Kichi Muhnido, the Great Spirit, for peaceful dreams.”

“You mean St. Raphael. Papa says…”

“For him I am Catholic, but in my heart of hearts I will always be Kitihawa, of the Bodéwadmi, keepers of the sacred fire.

Click Here for a bit of Background