Nazis

All posts tagged Nazis

23 November 2018

Published November 21, 2018 by rochellewisoff

 

Fun times with Russell Gayer at Ozarks Writers League Conference. November 17, 2018 (Not the prompt 😉 )

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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 © Dale Rogerson (Many thanks for the gracious loan of your photo. 😉

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Genre: Historical Fiction based on an actual survivor’s account.

Word Count: 100

PERSPECTIVES

Holding her granddaughter’s hand, Marta shut her eyes. “Doesn’t the water make a beautiful sound?”

            Barely six, Segol fidgeted beside her. “It’s just water, Savta.”

            “No. It sings the song of eternity.” Opening her eyes, Marta pointed to Segol’s new dress. “Your ema tells me you couldn’t decide between this blue one or the green one. She said you cried and cried.”

            Segol hung her head and muttered. “Yes.”

            “Such a choice. When I was six, I had to make a choice, too. Should I go with my mother to Auschwitz or flee to the convent? I cried and cried.”

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Happy Thanksgiving this week to my American friends. I thought of reposting this story I shared 3 years ago. It’s a different perspective re Thanksgiving. The story is called “Keshagesh” which is a Cree word for “Greedy Guts.” Since many of you read and commented on it then, I’m just posting the link for the curious. https://rochellewisoff.com/2015/11/25/27-november-2015/

 

 

 

10 November 2017

Published November 8, 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 © Marie Gail Stratford

Please be respectful to your readers and keep your stories to 100 words. Thank you. 

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Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

FOR THE DEAD AND THE LIVING, WE MUST BEAR WITNESS *

            I remember it like it was yesterday—November 9, 1963 in Chicago, my father took me downtown to celebrate my 10th birthday.

            His German accent sounded like music. “Vhere shall ve go, schatzi?”

            “The Art Institute.”

            I skipped along the sidewalk, holding his hand. He stopped and went to his knees in front of a synagogue. Slipping off his hat, he covered his face. The sun limned his blond waves.  

            “What’s wrong, Vati?”  

            “Meine Schande. Those magnificent windows—shattered! 25 years ago today. Schweinehund!  Jewish businesses—destroyed! What did I do? Die Nill!  I—I stood by and did nothing.”

*Quote from Elie Wiesel 

 79 years ago this week. 

16 June 2017

Published June 14, 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: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

COMMISSION NUMBER 3

           Trina wasn’t forced to wear a yellow star like her friend Hanna, but she was ostracized by the other children who called her schwarz schimpanse.

            One day a uniformed woman entered the classroom. “Trina Azikiwe, I’m here to take you to the doctor.

            “I’m not sick.”

            The officer dealt Trina’s cheek a stinging blow. “Silence, Rheinlandbastard!”

            Trina would never forget the cruel procedure that rendered her forever childless or the doctor’s admonition. “Never have sexual relations with good Germans.”

            Good Germans? There were none better than her golden-haired mother and handsome bronze father who perished for their ‘sin’ in Dachau.

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NOTE -Schwarz schimpanze – Black chimpanzee…(Do I need to translate ‘Rheinlandbastard?’)

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5 May 2017

Published May 3, 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. 

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

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FOUNT OF LIFE

            “Andrea should know the truth,” said Myron. “May her father’s memory be blessed.”

            “The truth is she’s an American citizen now.” Cerulean eyes brimming, Gabrielle stroked her slumbering daughter’s golden curls. “Forget her father. Forget France.”

            Myron embraced his bride and drank in her fragrance. “Your survival is miracle.”  

            “A ‘miracle’ based on lies—forged papers and a fiancé in the Wermacht. Could’ve fooled Himmler himself.” She sniffed. “I should’ve died with my brunette sisters at Auschwitz.”

            Myron’s breath caught in his throat. “Fiancé?”   

            “The truth is my Albrecht loved me no matter what. I…willingly gave birth to his Lebensborn.”  

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QUEEN OF THE ILLYRIAN SEA

Published April 9, 2017 by rochellewisoff

Today Pegman takes us to Dubrovnik, Croatia.

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.

Many thanks to Karen Rawson and her highly significant other J Hardy Carroll for hosting this refreshing prompt challenge.

Below is my prompt of choice. 🙂

Word Count: 150

Genre: Speculative Fiction

QUEEN OF THE ILLYRIAN SEA

            The sea laps against the shores of former Ragusa, Yugoslavia, now Dubrovnik, Croatia.

            In the words of exiled sixteenth century Portuguese poet, Yeshaya Cohen, “If I had to find a peaceful place to rest in my old age, above any other city I would fancy only Ragusa.”

            Although it sounds boastful, I must tell you I have survived two earthquakes and several major wars.

            Torah scrolls within my Holy Ark, Moshe Rabaynu’s words inscribed on lamb skin, are centuries old. A handful of the faithful still worship the God of Avraham, Yitzhak, and Ya’akov within my formidable 700-year-old walls.

            Humans can’t see my tears, but I’ve shed many. They seeped between the stones and juddered my walls when I helplessly watched beloved Rabbi Baruch being taken captive by swastika-ed guards. Babes in arms perished with him on the Island of Rab.

            Despite harassment and persecution, like my people, I stand.  

 

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20 January 2017

Published January 18, 2017 by rochellewisoff

Erie Canal

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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

PHOTO PROMPT © Dale Rogerson

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Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

I’ve gone ‘there’ again. When the muse leads, I follow. But as EagleEye so aptly coined last week, “It’s a time too horrible to remember, too vile to forget.”

THE SONG’S STILL HEARD IN SELVINO

            “It’s almost sundown,” said “Uncle” Moshe Ze’iri.  

            Clenching his fists, David followed the others to the huge Sciesopoli dining room. The familiar aroma of chicken soup filled his nostrils. It stirred memories of home and his parents, slaughtered before his eyes. After three years of lice and torture, why should he trust this smiling stranger or the Italians who had allied themselves with the monster?

            “Shalom aleynu,” sang Uncle Moshe, his face aglow in the Sabbath candles, his voice tender and melodious. “Peace upon us…”

            In that sweet moment the stone in David’s chest softened and beat once more.

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13 January 2017

Published January 11, 2017 by rochellewisoff

 

Friday Fictioneers Farm Path

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Flowers from the Hill Thoreau

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 © C.E. Ayr

PHOTO PROMPT © C.E. Ayr

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Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

THE HEAVIEST WHEEL ROLLS ACROSS OUR FOREHEADS

            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.”

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