Smallpox

All posts tagged Smallpox

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.

 

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

25 January 2013

Published January 23, 2013 by rochellewisoff

You’re calling from WHERE???image Sorry…wrong number!

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LOOKING FOR FRIDAY FICTIONEERS? YOU’RE IN THE WRITE PLACE!

We are a growing community of blogging writers who come together each week from all parts of the globe to share individual flash fictions from a single photo prompt. The prompt goes up early Wednesday morning  CST to give each writer time to compose a story by Friday. Some use the photo as a mere inspiration while others use it as an illustration. Use your imagination and think outside the box.

WARNING! This is an addiction for which there is no 12 step recovery program.

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THE CHALLENGE:

Write a one hundred word story that has a beginning, middle and end. (No one will be ostracized for going over or under the word count.)

THE KEY:

Make every word count.

THE RULES:

  • Copy your URL to the Linkz collection. You’ll find the tab following the photo prompt. It’s the little white box to the left with the blue froggy guy. Click on it and follow directions. This is the best way to get the most reads and comments.
  • MAKE SURE YOUR LINK  IS SPECIFIC TO YOUR FLASH FICTION. (Should you find that you’ve made an error you can delete by clicking the little red ‘x’ that should appear under your icon. Then re-enter your URL. (If there’s no red x email me at Runtshell@aol.com. I can delete the wrong link for you).Thanks to Blogspot bloggers for disabling their  CAPTCHAs.  
  • Make note in your blog if you’d prefer not to have constructive criticism.
  • ***************
  • THIS PAGE  IS “FRIDAY FICTIONEERS CENTRAL” AND IS NOT  THE PLACE TO PROMOTE POLITICAL OR RELIGIOUS VIEWS.  

YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR THE CONTENT YOUR STORY AND POLICING  COMMENTS. YOU HAVE THE RIGHT TO DELETE  THE ONES YOU CONSIDER OFFENSIVE.  

  PLEASE EXERCISE DISCRETION  WHEN COMMENTING ON A STORY! BE RESPECTFUL.

SHOULD SOMEONE HAVE SEVERE OR HOSTILE DIFFERENCES OF OPINION WITH ANOTHER PERSON IT’S MY HOPE THAT THE INVOLVED PARTIES WOULD TAKE IT TO EMAIL OR ANOTHER METHOD OF PRIVATE MESSAGING.

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This week’s PHOTO PROMPT is from Renee Heath. A pleasant picture for those of us in cold winter climates.

Copyright-Renee Homan Heath

Copyright-Renee Homan Heath


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*Genre: Historical Fiction*

PENANCE

                                                3 December in the year of our Lord 1765

Dearest Catherine,

            It is with deep regret I write that I shan’t return to England. I cannot for I would not have you plight your troth to a murderer.

            Now I must remain to make amends.  

            At the first the savage misliked me and I feared him. But over time we became friends. Together we laughed and fished the Seminole way.

            Surely these people threaten us with war. Yet it was neither my musket nor my dagger that felled my warrior brother, but my white man’s curse—smallpox. 

            Penitently yours,

                        Jonathan 

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