FLOWER AND WILLOW WORLD

Published February 19, 2017 by rochellewisoff

Today Pegman visits Tokyo.

ありがとうございました

Arigatōgozaimashita, 
thank you to Karen Rawson for hosting this unique challenge.

To enjoy other 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.

My photo choice from stroll through Google

Again, I’m late for the party, but couldn’t resist the challenge. Maybe it’s the extra 50 words or the fact that I’m merely a participant.

Genre: Realistic Fiction

Word Count: 150

FLOWER AND WILLOW WORLD

A thousand butterflies swirl in my stomach as I peer out the window, watching for the car that will bring my Hoshi-chan, my shining star, for a brief visit.

After we left her at the Okiya in Kyoto, six months ago, I cried for a week.

“It’s all for the best, Fumiko-chan,” said my husband Ichiro. “She’s following her life’s path.”

“What does she know of life? She’s only fifteen.”

“We’ve five more children and can hardly feed them.”

I cannot argue, but Hoshi is our only daughter, my ally in this man’s house.

At her Misedashi—formal presentation ceremony—my heart swelled with pride. In exquisite silk kimono, painted face and jeweled hair, Hoshi, renamed Kikuyu, was welcomed into the secret society of Geisha.

She glided to me on lacquered getas and uttered those words I will forever cherish. “Okaasan, when I come home, please cook me a hamburger.”

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Original Artwork © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

NO TENGO COCHE

Published February 12, 2017 by rochellewisoff

This week I’m late to the fiesta. I didn’t think I’d make it at all but this one just came to me.

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.

¡Muchas gracias to Karen Rawson for hosting this challenge!

Mi fóto está aquí:

Genre: Realistic Fiction

Word Count: 150

NO TENGO COCHE

Kevin couldn’t resist las señoritas. While vacationing in Mexico City he met Alicia del Flores.

“I adore men with blue eyes and yellow hair,” she said with a smile bright enough to light up an entire football field.

Every night he took her to a new café or theater.

“I wish you had a car,” she whispered in his ear, sending shivers through him. “My feet hurt from all this walking.”

All too soon Kevin’s vacation ended. He embraced her. “Will you marry me?”

“Sí.”

He quit his job in Kansas, sold his house and bought a one way ticket to Mexico.

Heart pounding, diamond in hand, he knocked on her door. Her brother opened it. “Kevin? ¿Por qué?”

“I’m here to claim Alicia.”

“She married Roberto the taxi cab driver last Sunday.”

“She promised to wait.” Tears streaming, Kevin sank down on the porch. “At least she has transportation.”

HATH NOT A JEW EYES?

Published February 5, 2017 by rochellewisoff

Hammerfest, Norway

This location was suggested by the talented Alicia over at Up From the Ashes . Thanks Alicia!

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:

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

I’ve gone ‘there’ again. It’s what I saw. Thanks to K Rawson for hosting this group. Below is the photo I chose from Pegman’s Buffet.

Genre: Realistic Fiction

Word Count: 150

HATH NOT A JEW EYES?

Do you know the word “Jew” is a common insult among Norwegian teens? Should this bother me? After all, I am a Norwegian Jew.

“If you prick us, do we not bleed?”

Reptilian? I’ve been called this. Do people seriously believe this mishegoss—that Jews are lizard creatures from another planet?

“If you tickle us, do we not laugh?”

I will never forget holding my father’s hand as we strolled along a mountain path. Two youths shoved him and shouted, “Child murderer!”

The memory of warm spittle dripping down my face sickens me still.

“If you wrong us, do we not revenge?”

Not in Norway. Instead, we hide in plain sight.

Last summer a group of Hasidim invited all of us to a Jewish gathering in Oslo. We cranked up the music and danced in front of Parliament.

I’ve heard that work makes us free, but we’re not falling for that again.

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Here is a link to the video that informed my story. It’s over 20 minutes long so I don’t expect everyone to have the time. However, if you do…

SWING SHIFT

Published January 28, 2017 by rochellewisoff

Wonder of wonders, I’m back for another round. 😉 It must be the lure of those fifty extra words. Here are the simple directions:

Today, Pegman visits Buffalo, NY. Thanks to Prior for this week’s location.

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:

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

Many thanks to K Rawson for hosting.

The following story is a rework of an old story. I thought perhaps the addition of fifty words might help it along. I also think this one will be lengthened at a later date. Still rolling it around my head.

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 150

SWING SHIFT

On Black Tuesday Pop lost his Wall Street job.

He sold everything of any value except Mom’s prized antique vase, our phonograph and his clarinet.

We moved from our Park Avenue apartment to a shabby house in Buffalo. Pop found employment as a night janitor.

One Sunday afternoon, drawn by phonograph music, I wandered into his room. Hunched over, he held a gun to his temple.

I screamed and knocked it from his grasp.

It discharged. The bullet ricocheted off the wall, whizzed through my hair and shattered Mom’s vase.

“Forgive me.” He crushed me against his chest. “I’ve forgotten what’s really important.”

After that Pop found solace playing his “licorice stick.” He delighted our neighbors at backyard barbeques.

At Mom’s urging, he auditioned for a local swing band. From 1935 to 1962 they toured the Borscht Belt.

His zest for life was contagious.

Incidentally, Mom never mentioned her vase.

Borscht Belt

Probably not Pop’s band, but thrown in for flavor.

POETIC INJUSTICE

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

POETIC INJUSTICE

“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?”

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Click for Encore

VOICE IN THE WILDERNESS

Published January 14, 2017 by rochellewisoff

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.

I wish I could call my story for this week Flash Fiction. It’s 150 words of what I’m feeling this morning.

VOICE IN THE WILDERNESS

Three young people lie on steel morgue tables while a toddler fights for his brief life.

There’s nothing new under the sun, is there? Newscast after newscast has broadcast similar incidents as I’ve tossed back a glass of wine, shook my head and said, “How awful.”

That changed when I saw the Facebook post that said, “Last night I lost the love of my life.” A couple’s obvious devotion shone from their photos.

My heart plummeted. “That’s my friend, my coworker.”

“Daddy loves you,” said his next post.

Under his words was the picture of a happy father with a smiling boy riding piggyback on his shoulders.

No words in the unabridged dictionary can express the depths of despair, rage and helplessness that drill my soul.

I want to embrace him and say something meaningful to ease his pain, but all I can do is spout clichés through my tears.

NOBLESSE OBLIGE

Published January 8, 2017 by rochellewisoff

This is my fourth week taking the challenge. Perhaps it’s the lure of 50 extra words or the fun of choosing from a smorgasbord of photos. In any event, I’m back for more. Many thanks the Karen Rawson for hosting. Below are the instructions to join in:

Google Street View of Burhhanpur

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:

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

I must confess that I’ve taken a former Friday Fictioneers flash fiction and tweaked it. Originally it was called ROYAL CONCESSION. It was fun to have the luxury of expanding it and changing it up a bit.

Word Count: 150

Genre: Realistic Fiction

NOBLESSE OBLIGE

Ellen grabbed the remote, turned off the television and climbed onto Jeff’s lap. “Tell me a story, Daddy.”

After countless life-or-death decisions and run-ins with EMT coworkers, his back and shoulders throbbed. The last fatality was Ellen’s age, a boy who breathed his last in Jeff’s arms.

He took back the remote. “Later, Doodle-bug.”

With five-year-old persistence, Ellen settled against his chest. “Once upon a time, in a castle in faraway India, lived a maharaja and his bee-yoo-tee-ful little princess. Your turn, Daddy.”

Her dark eyes held him prisoner. The remote slipped from his fingers. “Okay. The castle was called Shahi Qila. They rode jeweled elephants and swam in the Tapti River. Your turn, Doodles. What happened next?”

“They…” her voice faded into a yawn and her eyelids drooped.

Jeff’s taut muscles eased. He stroked her silken curls, kissed the top of her head and whispered, “…lived happily ever after.”

APOLOGIES TO ROBERT BURNS

Published January 1, 2017 by rochellewisoff

Feel free to stroll around using the Google street view and grab any picture you choose to include in your post. Great fun and a few more words for this Friday Fictioneers Facilitator. 😉

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.

Thanks to everyone who participated in last week’s prompt. If you’d like to suggest a location to Pegman, visit the contact page.

***

Here’s the photo that struck my fancy.

Here’s my bit ‘o’ fluff for the week. Happy New Year!

Genre: Questionable

Word Count: 150

APOLOGIES TO ROBERT BURNS

From the moment we met my heart belonged to him. His voice was like wind song and his words like tinkling bells on a sleigh.

He told me he was born 3 kilometers south of Ayr in Alloway in the year 1759.

But how could this be? This is New Year’s Eve, 2017.

Nonetheless when he recited poetry time had no meaning.

“As fair are thou, my bonie lass

So deep in luve am I,

And I will luve thee still, my Dear,

Till a’the seas gang dry.”

Lost in the depth of his blue eyes, I sipped my fourth Scotch. “I’ll stay with you always, my love.”

“Impossible, m’lady.” His cheeks flushed from pink to crimson. He dried my tears with the tip of his trunk and whispered in my ear. “Dinna fash yerself, lassie. We’ll tak a cup ‘o kindness now, but an elephant can’t stay forever.”

TO SLEEP PERCHANCE TO DREAM

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

TO SLEEP PERCHANCE TO DREAM

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.”

POSTAGE DUE

Published December 18, 2016 by rochellewisoff

Bonaparte, IA Post Office

What Pegman Saw is a new Flash Fiction challenge utilizing Google Maps by K Rawson. The assignment is to write a story –150 words or less– based upon the location provided. Use the photo or follow the Google Maps link and take your own street view tour.

Here is this week’s location.

I’m stepping out of my Friday Fictioneers comfort zone this week. Having more than 100 words to play with was actually something of a luxury.

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 149

POSTAGE DUE

“Didja check the return address?” asked Milly.

Charlie, the postmaster, pushed back his cap and scratched his head. “Ain’t got one. Jest addressed to you and James.” He unfolded a rumpled note. “It says, ‘December 20, 1914. Keep it warm and dry. Merry Christmas.’ It’s postmarked Pleasantville, Iowa. You know anyone there?”

“We went through there last January.” The vision of a young couple popped into her mind. “Grace and Elliott Tucker. She couldn’t’a been more’n fifteen. They put us up for a few days when one of our horses went lame. Nice folks. I hope they’re well.”

“Afraid Mr. Tucker done got his-self killed. Struck by lightning.” Charlie handed her an obituary included with the note. “You gonna accept the package?”

Milly lifted the month old infant from the mailing pouch, breathed in his sweetness and kissed his round cheek. “In time for Christmas dinner. Welcome home, Noel.”