Life’s Ephemeral Nature

All posts in the Life’s Ephemeral Nature category

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:

moscow-street

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, Bubbeh?”

            “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

solomon-mikhoels

 

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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moshe-zeiri2CLICK

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.

landers-california

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.

 

 

13 January 2017

Published January 11, 2017 by rochellewisoff

 

Friday Fictioneers Farm Path

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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 © 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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death-train

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. 

capture

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.”

6 January 2017

Published January 4, 2017 by rochellewisoff

Phriday Phictioneers Phone

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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 © Sandra Crook

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Genre: I’ll take Historical Fiction for 100, Alex

WORDS OF LOVE

Hemda mourned when her sister succumbed to consumption, but how could she honor Devorah’s final wish to go to Jerusalem to marry her grieving widower, Eliezer the heretic?

“Israel,” he insisted, “must have one language.” 

The rabbis seethed. “One uses the holy tongue for prayer—not idle chitchat.”

Nonetheless, Hemda dedicated herself to her husband as, side-by-side, they activated the wheels of change. Together they developed a modern Hebrew dictionary.

Her heart swelled when 30,000 attending his funeral proclaimed him a national hero.

British historian Cecil Roth later wrote: “Before Eliezer Ben-Yehuda Jews could speak Hebrew; after him they did.”

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אליעזר בן יהודה ואשתו חמדה עובדים על מילון עברי

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.ben-yehuda-stamp

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.milon

 

30 December 2016

Published December 28, 2016 by rochellewisoff

happy New Year

As in years past, our mantra in 2017:

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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 © Shaktiki Sharma

PHOTO PROMPT © Shaktiki Sharma


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Genre: Biting Satire

Word Count: 99

QUAFF A CUP TO THE DEAD

“Those eyes,” she whispered. “They set my eighteen-year-old heart aflame.”

My grandmother, an actress and fashion model in the 1930’s, fascinated me. She turned 87 on New Year’s Day 2000. Even in her illness, she insisted her silver hair be perfectly coifed.

“He’s coming for me today. I must be ready to greet him.”

I kissed her rouged parchment-thin cheek. “Nana, he passed away in 1956.”

“Lies! Dracula never died.”  

On the television screen, in black and white, Bela Lugosi bent over the ill-fated Mina. A wheezing sigh escaped Nana’s crimson lips as they spread into a peaceful smile.

 

If you’d like to know more about Mr. Lugosi click HERE.

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