WELCOME TO FRIDAY FICTIONEERS.
As always, writers are encouraged to be as innovative as possible with the prompt and 100 word constraints.
Henry David Thoreau said it best.
“It’s not what you look at that matters, it’s what you see.”
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. However, I respectfully ask for your consideration. Please refrain from taking the liberty of posting 200 words or more as a Friday Fictioneers story. Thank you.)
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).
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Special thanks to those who have contributed photos. I’m building up quite a library. And on that note, I have a request. Please when emailing your jpgs (some have sent more than four at once) put your name on it somehow. I’m not always the most organized nor do I have the best memory. So far I think all are named and accounted for. Thanks. Don’t stop sending them.
Genre: Historical Fiction
Word Count: 100
BRIGHT BLESSED DAY, DARK SACRED NIGHT
Life in 1907 New Orleans made Rebecca Karnofsy question the “land of the free”. As in Russia, they were still persecuted. Scapegoats.
After circling her hands around the candles, she recited the Sabbath prayer, ending with, “Omayn and Gut Shabbos.”
“Gut Shabbos.” Louis’ smile eclipsed his midnight-brown face.
“A fine boy.” Bernie patted his head. “Already he’s repaid my loan.”
One of the Karnofsky boys sniffed. “He just bought a dumb old horn.”
Eyes wider than wide, Louis jumped up from his chair. “Someday dis whole wonderful world gon’ hear my trumpet an’ know my name is Louis Daniel Armstrong!”
As I followed the research threads that led to my flash fiction I found plenty of conflicting information. I did glean from all of it that Louis Armstrong was indeed taken in by the Karnofsky family when he was seven. All versions of the story reported that he wore a star of David around his neck in honor of the people who showed him love and respect when he desperately needed it.