Wednesday is here. Mom is totally absorbed in From Silt and Ashes, having already read Please Say Kaddish For Me in two days! She asked me if I had any good books to read. Do I ever! How about our very own hostess’ two first books in the trilogy for which I am desperately waiting for the third? Yes, Rochelle, thanks for taking my mother away from me! Hee Hee Hee… Just kidding.
Lucy Fridkin‘s beautiful image has taken me somewhere I had not intended to go at all. Go figure. To join in, click on Rochelle’s name for the rules and regs. and if you are still too shy to participate but want to read more takes on the photo prompt, please click on the blue frog!
What’s Going On In There?
“They say they can hear everything.”
“I don’t know about that, but if they can, should we not be careful of what we say?”
“Pardon me, Ma’am, I’m so sorry to say there is no hope for him. It would be in his best interest….”
“Shut up, dammit! He might hear you! How can you say such a thing? What’s the matter….”
The voices drifted off and he was left alone with his thoughts.
“I wish I could tell them all will be okay. That It’s what I want. I see nothing but peace and tranquility up ahead.”
With joy I write this from my brand new, old computer! Yes. Many, MANY thanks to my brother-in-law, Chris, for helping me set up Mick’s computer that had been collecting dust on the floor of the office for 1 1/2 years and for saving my old pictures from my now-defunct one.
Back to business.. Thanks to the 45-years-married wonderful couple of Rochelle and Jan for the joint effort this week. I know, I know… it is Friday Fictioneers… but, I can’t help it if every photo Rochelle choses brings me down memory lane!! I haven’t even bothered to change the names of the players…😀
Click on the blue frog if you want to read more stories and hey, why don’t you play? Click on Rochelle’s name for the how-to!
Word count: 100
Holding his hand over his throat, he repeatedly took quick peeks in the truck mirror, immediately putting his hand back, while opening and closing his mouth, sticking out his tongue, making choking sounds.
“What the hell are you doing?” Tracy asked.
“I’m afraid to look,” said Mick, sheepishly.
“What? Show me!”
He pulled away his hand, revealing a red welt all across his throat.
“Jeez! What the hell did you do to yourself this time?”
“I took my bike to go to the bathroom and cut across the neighbours’ site as they’re gone now. The idiot left behind his clothesline!”
My computer will surely send me over the deep end before long. It is old and tired and not all that willing to cooperate – more than trying my patience! Took me than one reboot to get this baby out but finally, here’s my version! Thank you Rochelle, for your tireless hosting of Friday Fictioneers. Thank you c.e.ayr for this fabulous picture. How did you know I love doors?
Click on the blue frog to read more stories… and if you want to add your own, which would be fabulous, click on Rochelle’s name for the rules and regs.
Word count: 100
When One Door Opens...
She strolled, admiring doorways, a form of meditation, if you will. She never could sit, pretzel-like, eyes closed, hands out in that famous yoga pose, seeking wisdom. How the hell were you supposed to empty your mind and breathe when you were cramping up all over the place or going numb? No, much better to walk…
Alexander Graham Bell’s: “When one door closes another door opens, but we so often look so long and so regretfully upon the closed door, that we do not see the ones which open for us,” came to mind.
Smiling, she stepped over the chain.
It was a day of lollygagging and coming back to this image, deciding on which direction to take it. I am using the excuse that I am still a little ill from a cold so it was okay to remain in pyjamas all day. Maybe that is what permitted me to take the direction I did. Thank you Björn Rudberg for such a beautiful image. Thank you to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for hosting this fabulous group of writers week after week!
Click on Rochelle’s name for the rules and regs should you wish to participate. If not, click on the blue frog to read more interpretations of this lovely photograh.
Word Count: 100
She closed her eyes as she listened to Yo-Yo Ma’s recording of Bach’s Cello Suite No.1 – Prelude. It never failed to bring a feeling of complete peace over her body. The cello was her favourite instrument in the orchestra. She could feel the melancholic, rich sound in the deepest part of her gut, her heart, her soul.
Why ever did she never learn to play? It was way too late now, she was convinced. No one in their right mind, wth no clue how to even read music, would think of taking up an instrument in her fifties? Would they?
Apologies ahead of time for this week’s submission. I am sick like a dog: At worst, food poisoning, at best, stomach flu. Either way, the results are the same. In between bedrest and attempts at not getting dehydrated, this is the best I could come up with!
Thank you always to Rochelle for hosting this shindig and this week, thank you to Sandra Crook for supplying this lovely photo.
Should you want to join in, click on Rochelle’s name for all the deets and should you simply want to read other stories, click on the blue frog!
Word Count: 100
It never failed. Every time the trio got together, two were dressed in black or variations of grey and one was all colourful. She couldn’t help herself and she didn’t do it to stand out. She was the flower amidst the greys of the world!
Over the years she noticed that in group pictures, there she was, standing out again: pink, yellow, orange, bright blue. Why was that? Did she subconsciously do it? It’s not like she didn’t have dark colours in her closet.
That said, there was not a gathering was she not invited to. Apparently colour is good.
The day is grey and Zeke will have to wait for his walk. I’m still not convinced the weatherman is telling the truth and no rain shall fall… Until I am convinced, I much prefer to write my interpretation of this photo below, supplied by Jean L. Hays (please, only use her photo for this exercise and none other and give credit where it is due) and offering so many possibilities, than to take my chances. I sincerely hope you don’t mind that I again went the dialogue route.
Rochelle Wisoff-Fields is the leader of this group, and a fabulous one at that, and should you be interested, click on her name for the rules and regs. and, if you just want to read other variations on this theme, click on the blue frog!
Copyright © Jean L. Hays
Word count: 100
Can’t Hurt To Look
They drove along the famous Route 66, a comfortable silence between them. They spotted it at the same time.
“Oh damn,” she thought, here we go again!”
“Oh look! Maybe they have something interesting!” he exclaimed, pulling over.
Resigned, she followed him.
“Babe, there isn’t even one single Coca Cola item outside. What makes you think there will be anything interesting within? I should think if they had anything of worth, it would be displayed.”
With a grin, he led her inside. “Sometimes you just have to do a little digging to find that special something.
“I found you, didn’t I?”
Another week, another Friday Fictioneers. As always, a huge thank you to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields, author, illustrator, and all-round lovely person, celebrating her fourth anniversary as leader of this group of characters. Thank you to Peter Abbey for supplying a photo that took me back!
Click on Rochelle’s name for the how-to or click on the Blue frog to read more stores based on this photo or, go crazy, add your own!
Word count: 100
We met on her birthday. September 18, 1981. She had just turned 17.
How many times I entered the locker room to the sound of “Daaaaaaa-yo! Me say Daaaaaaa-aaaa-aaaa-yo! Dale no come ‘coz she’s gone to French!” sung at the top of their lungs. Roxanne and Caroline, long-time friends.
Somehow, it became Roxanne and me.
Never could I have guessed how deep our friendship would become: love, heartbreak, marriages, births of children, death, heartache, divorce and laughter, so much laughter. There for each other through thick and thin.
And then it wasn’t. A fence went up. And now it’s too late. She’s gone.