WELCOME TO FRIDAY FICTIONEERS!
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.)
Make every word count.
- 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. Also, you are responsible for the content of your story and policing comments on your blog. You have the right to delete any 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 settle their disputes in private.
My story will follow the prompt for those who might be distracted by reading a story before writing their own . I enjoy your comments.
Genre: Literary Fiction
Word Count: 100
A little background music http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H9bYnzs7Zaw
Two months after my father’s death he received an invitation from my Uncle Yee in Uigeongbu. Was this the same Uncle Yee who threatened to drown me?
My parents met in a MASH unit in 1953. She was a surgical nurse. He was a wounded soldier in Syngman Rhee’s army.
Never accepted anywhere. I still hear the taunts.
“Black and yellow Jell-O. Slanty eyes. Nappy head.”
I traveled in Appa’s place to tell his evil twin how much I hated him.
Instead, upon my arrival in Panmunjom, a shriveled old man bowed and wept. “Forgive me, Tamika Ahn. Welcome home.”