Childhood – Friday Fictioneers

It’s Wednesday, so I’m Friday Fictioneering!  Yessiree.  This photo by J. Hardy Carroll, chosen by our facilitator by excellence, Rochelle, brought me immediately to childhood.  One like I had.  When times were simpler and freer.

Care to join the party?  Click on the blue frog below to add your 100-word story.  G’head, it’s fun!

Click mo to join in!

Childhood

“Go outside and play. Be home for supper.” Mom dismissed us to go do what children do.

We went to the park. We played games we invented. We hung upside down on the monkey bars. We played hide-and-seek. We disputed. We negotiated. We settled.

Always too soon, Daddy whistled for us to get home for supper.

We jumped on our bikes, disbanding with promises to be back at the park tomorrow.

Nowadays? Kids aren’t allowed out of sight of their parents’ watchful eyes. Everything is scheduled. They’ve no freedom to figure out how to settle the score on their own.

 

First Day Back – Friday Fictioneers

Good Wednesday morning, my peeps.  Our fearless leader, Rochelle, is gallivanting about Israel, basking in the sun and doing good things, but has not left us totally stranded.  She really wanted us to think of her so she supplied her own photo of her favourite activity.  Her happy place, if you were.  What to do?  It’s not mine!  So, here goes… I “do the best I are”…

Join us with your own 100-word story.  Click on the blue frog below to add your link.  G’head. You know you wanna…

©Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Click here to play

First Day Back

His first day back at the pool after months of therapy filled him with anxiety.  He had an irrational fear of water since the accident.

His thoughts drifted back to that day. Walking out of the locker room, the swim team boys were laughing, ribbing and jostling each other. As a result, he slipped and fell, his back smashing against the side before landing in the pool, head first.  He woke up in the hospital, temporarily paralysed from the waist down.

A shout from his friends shook him out of his reverie. “Yo, Joey! Ready to get your ass whupped?”

 

Happy Trails – Friday Fictioneers

Good Wednesday morning, my peeps!  It is time for another round of Friday Fictioneers, brought to you by our faithful leader Rochelle, who is, as we speak, on her way to Israel for a humanitarian endeavour with her cousin, Kent.  Happy trails to you both!!  And thank you to Jean L. Hayes for donating your picture.

I admit, I was completely corny this week.  How could I not be?  I mean, my name is Dale and my last name is Rogerson (a mere two letters off from Roy’s) and this picture just sang to me.  Apologies.  Next week I’ll be way more serious.  Buahahaha!  Sorry, no guarantees on that…

Now, if you can come up with a good story for this picture, please do and add your link by clicking on the blue frog below.  Not sure how, just click on Rochelle’s name above for the how-to’s.  Easy-peasy.  Now, forgive me 😉

©Jean L. Hayes

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Happy Trails

“Happy traiiiils, toooo youu, until we meet again!

Happy traiiiils to youuu, keep smiling until then!”

“Are you gonna sing that bloody song during the whole friggen ride?”

“You don’t like?  Seems rather appropriate as we ride our horses across this land.  This was a great idea for an activity, by the way.  It’s been ages since I rode a horse.”

“I doubt our trail leader is enjoying your nonsense, Roy.”

“You know what, Dale?  It sounds a lot better as a duet…

Who cares about the clouds when we’re togeeeeether?”
“Just sing a song, and bring the sunny weeeeeeaather!”

Stories My Father Told Me – Friday Fictioneers

Good Wednesday morning my readers!  You know what day it is? Yep… hump day AND Friday Fictioneers day!  Today’s photo of a synagogue reminded me of my dad and his many stories of growing up in Montreal.  Thank you, Rochelle, for keeping this challenge interesting week after week.  And thank you Roger Bultot for allowing us to use your photo.

To join in the fun, click the blue frog below.  Not sure how?  Click on Rochelle’s name for the rules and regs.  Fun and teaches you to use your words sparingly!

©Roger Bultot

Click me!

 

Stories My Father Told Me

Dad always said he was a “goyim mit a Yiddishe kopf” (sic).¹  Grew up in the same ‘hood as Mordecai Richler, and considered himself a real Duddy Kravitz.  Loved to talk about “Shtunks”² — real name, Stringer — owners of the general store that he and his buddies used to torment in their youth. He sure respected the tattoo on their arms, though.  Was so pleased to introduce me to Mrs. Stringer before she passed.  “Such a bad boy was your father!” she scolded and laughed.  We finished our tour with a Wilensky Special.

Why did I not write these stories down?

___________

¹Men with a Jewish head (goy would be singular 😉 )

²Stinkers

Cheers

Some Dare, Some Dare Not – Friday Fictioneers

Good Wednesday morning, my peeps!  Yessiree, today’s hump day is brought to you by Friday Fictioneers!  I know, I know, the name stuck despite many of us writing on Wednesdays.  Think The Piano Guys – there is no mention of the cellist, who, in my opinion, is the bigger piece of the group.  Anyway, I digress!  This week, Rochelle chose this most interesting picture by our Sandra Crook, she, whose stories are always top shelf. If you feel inclined to play along, just click on the blue frog below and add your 100-word story.  Not sure how it works?  Click on Rochelle’s name for the how-to’s!

  Click me!

Some Dare, Some Dare Not

“Why do you like to walk on that beam, Tina? It’s slimy and gross.”

“It’s not that slimy, Josie. Plus when you go all the way to the end, you feel like you’re at the edge of the world, wild and free.”

“But it’s not safe, Tina.  It scares me to watch you go way out there.”

“Don’t worry so much.  You should try it.”

“God, no…”

Fifteen years later, Josie sat on that very beam, remembering, missing their childhood, missing her sister, gone to the edge of the world on adventures while she had remained home, safe and secure.

Do Not Fear Me – Friday Fictioneers

Why is it so hard to write stories to my own pictures?  Yes, my readers, it is Wednesday afternoon here in sunny (finally) Montreal.  After a nice belated birthday brunch with my sister, I found myself staring at my picture trying to come up with something.  For those who are curious, this is St-François-Xavier Street in Old Montreal, just across from the lovely Centaur Theatre.  How cool that the buildings in back are all lit up and the rest in darkness, eh?  Anyhoo.  Thanks to Rochelle for “picking me!” this week.

If you care to join in on the 100-word challenge, do click on the frog below to add your link.  G’head.  It’s a great exercise in learning how to get rid of excess words and getting to the point without any detours.  Not always easy and we all, at one time or another worry we don’t succeed, but hey, practice makes better!

Click me to play!

 

Do Not Fear Me

“Come, step out from the shadows.  Show yourself to me.”

She cowered further in the doorway, straining to listen for footsteps.

“Don’t be afraid.  I won’t hurt you.  You’re safe with me.”

She trembled.

“I can feel your fear.  It’s misplaced.”

His voice was calm, warm, and not a little seductive.  And — familiar.  Against her better judgment, she stepped forward.

“That’s right, come to me. You want to.”

“I don’t want—”

“Yes, you do.”

“No….,” but she took another step.  “Bill?  What the hell?  You scared me half to death!”

“You said you wanted more excitement in our lives, babe.”

 

 

No Sanctuary – Friday Fictioneers

OMFG!  I cannot believe I accidentally flushed my original story that was soooo hard to write.  Sigh.  That’ll learn me to pay attention when, on my phone, it says update post.  Where my text went, I know not.  How the text both above AND below the picture vanished, is beyond me.

And YAY!  How Rochelle had it in her phone is beyond me.  I’m calling it some kind of divine intervention.  You Rock Rochelle!!  Thank you, THANK YOU, THANK YOU!

©Roger Bultot

Click me to play!

 

No Sanctuary

Death was next.

An entrepreneurial spirit, he’d turned his habit into a successful business by 22.

Snorting coke to stay alert, drinking booze to pass out, he lived this illusively, exciting life. Till he lost himself.

At 23, weighing 125 lbs, he found himself homeless. Desperate, he knocked on the church door, seeking assistance.

The priest looked down, repulsed; “You are beyond help,” and slammed the door in his face.

Years later, he was now a sober, successful man. His wife beside him as he drove past, he pointed and spit out bitterly, “That’s the church that turned me away.”