Their Souls Haunt the Forest

Today, 27 January, is Holocaust Memorial Day, and a reminder of the words, ’never again.’

Rochelle has posted a sad picture for this week’s prompt, and I have gone with a Holocaust theme. I have taken a moment to reflect on the horror that took place and the complicit guilt of those who carried out murderous atrocities. Where neighbours in village after village marched men, women and children into the forests and mass burial pits.

Perhaps you can come with something more cheerful, see Rochelle’s page and read other stories HERE.

PHOTO PROMPT © J Hardy Caroll

Their Souls Haunt the Forest

My mama told stories of her wonderful childhood, the happy times she called them.
My Grandpa Jacob manufactured tallit and suits which sold in the Kiev markets.

When she passed, I went to the old country and found Grandpa’s home derelict.
My mother’s magical garden had died from neglect.

Some old men remembered Jacob, and they gripped their Ekstra as the wind howled and wept through the rafters.
Their faces withered on guilty heads in response to my questions.

“We were only boys,” they said. “Jacob had smiled; God forgives.”
“Let us show you where we buried them in the forest.”

The Office Laundry

The challenge this week from Rochelle for Friday-Fictioneers is a lovely picture from Na’ama Yehuda. My first impression to this prompt was to think of Thumbelina and where she would do her laundry? Instead, I have gone for piece about an office party.

More stories form the group can be found HERE. Visit Rochelle for an insight to her world.

PHOTO PROMPT © Na’ama Yehuda

The Office Laundry

The office secret Santa presents are useless items given to generate moments of tasteful laughter at the party.
They gave Mrs Welsh a pair of woollen knickers as she constantly complained about the cold air beneath her skirt.

Occasionally, the joke was incomprehensible and generated both unease and fodder for speculative gossip.
Why did Julie spill her drink and blush when George Carson received a pink toy washing machine?

Doris had seen them holding hands, and Angela thought Julie looked radiant.
Should they buy new hats? 

Tom, the Devil’s advocate, bought a black tie, in case Mrs Carson found out. 

The Future is Bright

Friday Fictioneers photo from Fleur shows one of my irritations when driving at night; bright headlights from oncoming traffic. However, the rustic-red coloured sky is the lovely.

Thank you to Rochelle for the prompt and many other stories can be found HERE.

PHOTO PROMPT © Fleur Lind

The Future is Bright

Don’t be angry John!
Forgiveness is humble, trust me.

Debbie, trust me! If only I can reach eighty-eight mph and drive into the white.
Then we will live a future of eternal happiness.

John, please slow down!

He pushed hard on the accelerator and drove into the oncoming light.

A horrendous roar of a foghorn exploded towards them.

Debbie grabbed the steering wheel and turned the car on to the verge.
The DeLorean rattled over the rough gravel and ground to a stop.

Oh, Debbie… I’m really sorry.

Please John, I forgot to feed Baxter.
And, he needs his walk.

Music is Universal

Header picture courtesy of Cotton-bro Studio.

I was not sure what to make of Roger’s picture of steps with litter and graffiti, so I decided on an upbeat theme.

Friday Fictioneers is hosted by Rochelle, find out all about the group by clicking on her name.

More entertaining stories from the group can be accessed HERE.

PHOTO PROMPT © Roger Bultot

Music is Universal

We were about ten when we made the old factory our den for years. Then he caught us playing music.

“Get out’a here you scumbags,” he shouted, and threw an iron bar that missed.

“We ain’t causing no harm.”

“You’re looking for a smack, wise-boy.”

“We only want to practice; brilliant acoustics.”

“Brilliant! Tell them without work.” He snorted; pointing, “That a sax?”

“Do you want to listen?”

“Used to play; do you know ‘Baker Street’?”

We played for an hour and tears roll down his face.

This old building is a now a rejuvenated soul called Upbeat Music Club.

What’s the Matter with Charlie

Charlie

What’s the matter with Charlie?
The days are never the same
There is always a serious problem
And everyone else is to blame.

What’s the matter with Charlie?
All the food has lost its taste
Dinners are manic and chaotic
Vegetable curry goes to waste.

What’s the matter with Charlie?
Restless nights with swollen feet
Midnight snacks of pickled eggs
Moody and lethargic, half asleep. 

What’s the matter with Charlie?
Headaches sever, sometimes, maybe
I’ll be glad when this problem is over

and finally!

When Charlie has her baby.

Photo from Pixel By Ron Lach

To Hell and Back

 This week’s photo prompt is a peaceful street scene, and as we head into the New Year of 2023, I am sure our world is praying for peace.

Thank you, Rochelle (click on her name for the page), for our last Friday Fictioneers of the year 2022.

More stories here.

PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

To Hell and Back

Uri, do you remember the first time we came here?
It was a rotten day, a dirty place.

No, no. I think it was a happy day.
Bubbe! It was raining, cold and miserable.

Uri, my heart was singing and burning with hope.
Sara, we schlepped through the mud as humiliated donkeys.

Elation in freedom.
Oy vey ist mir, wearing our schmatte.
Mensch! Now you make me feel sad.

Sorry, my Sara, please don’t cry.
Cry! I never cried. Okay, maybe for forgiveness when we reached the kibbutz.

Look, Sara. What a wonderful place.
We built this, you adorable klutz.

Innocent Days

A small ditty to lighten the seasonal mood.

By a lakeside there stood
An enormous cottonwood
where I wooed a pretty lass
and we drunk pink bubbly
eating bread and cheese
a secret inside her panties
she said, was mine to please
alas, I knew she was a tease
I could not find her hidden spots
among those tangled hairy knots

Which deflated my amorous mood 
Beneath this enormous cottonwood.

Time Thaws the Torment

I became immersed in silent peace with Dale’s photograph, along with its seasonal touch of the inviting Christmas tree lights. The picture shows a thaw in the weather and a respite from the hard frost; but for how long? Winter can be mild or hard, and in the Spring, we forgive the past harsh weather as the appearance of flowers lighten our mood.

This week, I have taken my inspiration from Franz Kafka.

The German novelist Franz Kafka writes about his father in “Letter to My Father.”

“What was always incomprehensible to me was your total lack of feeling for the suffering and shame you could inflict on me with your words and judgments.” 

Thank you, Rochelle for this week’s prompt for Friday Fictioneers, other stories can be read HERE.

Time Thaws the Torment

I took the shortcut from the railway station along the path I used twenty years ago.
It was then I vowed never to return, but here I was.

Sat on my heavy rucksack, I looked across at the place, my childhood home once full of boyhood adventures.
I loved this country and our family’s farming life.

Come home, my mother said. It’s Christmas. He’s gone, bless his soul.

Was it him who drove me away, or my stubborn pride? A lifetime of agony and tormented pains.

Forgiveness lightened my backpack as I strode with definitive certainty.
I had returned home. 

World out of Focus

Thank you Rochelle for the photo-prompt and for reminding me to visit the opticians for my annual eye test.

Readers please click on Rochelle to visit her site. More stories about the writing prompt can be found HERE.

PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

World out of Focus

Certainly, sir.

We have a range of paranormal spectacles.

Yes, our mood range. The rose lens lets you view the world in eternal, euphoric happiness.
Our blue ones present a cynical world of bitterness and grievance.
Apparently, they are very popular with politicians.

Our nostalgic glasses will let you wallow in a mud pool of missed opportunities and shameful regrets.
However, this monocle will swell you with pride as you relive achievements and insurmountable success at the expense of others.

These, in cotton wool to avoid distortion, present a view of your future.

You may not like what you see.

Hanging by a Thread

I am not certain where the picture by Sandra was taken. It looks like Charmouth on the south of England. The area is also referred to as the Jurassic coast because of the large number of fossils found along the foot of the cliffs. Thank you Sandra for reminding me of my holiday visit. (From Sandra’s page, she tells us the picture was taken at West Bay, Dorset).

As always, thank you Rochelle for posting this week’s prompt, please click on her name to join the party. More contributions of 100 words stories can be found HERE.

PHOTO PROMPT © Sandra Crook

Hanging by a Thread

We holiday every June in Charmouth, to sunbathe on the beach. On the cool days, we walk along the cliff tops or among the costal rocks looking for fossils.

We call the seagull Freddy; he knows when we buy chips and circles around waiting for a chance to swoop and steal. To annoy Charlene, Tom threw her chips into the air. She stormed off up the path.

I am patient with Charlene, her teenage tantrums, her fussy eating fads, her blackmailing, and exaggerated modesty in the caravan.

‘Do you think she will really jump?’ Tom laughs.

I run after her.