Meet Me by the Amaryllis

Friday Fictioneers – Rochelle Wisof-Fields

More Stories Found Here

PHOTO PROMPT © J Hardy Carroll

Meet me by the Amaryllis

Julie called and told me to meet in the Biosphere by the amaryllis flowers.
Don’t be late, her excitement was infectious. I suspected, she had great news from the fertility clinic.
I booked a table at Antonio’s for later.
Emergency vehicles blocked 5th Avenue and because of the long detour I was late.
Where was she?
The flowers were beautiful – I wondered if they would miss one for Julie’s hair.
I could say it had fallen onto the floor.
It’s not like Julie to be late, I checked my iPhone.
I read the news; three dead on 5th Avenue.

Addictive Habit

Rochelle Wisoff-Fields-Addicted to Purple

Posted as a contribution to Friday Fictioneers

PHOTO PROMPT © C.E. Ayr

Addictive Habit

Habit is a strange thing.
I wake early, make hot Arabic with frothy milk, and enjoy the moment of solitude as the day begins. I watch Georgios arrive in his dinghy, there is a soft murmur from the water as it nudges against the pier.
I collect a box of red mullet, sardines, a whole tuna, a case of shrimp and a parcel.
I pay cash in US dollars.
My modest fish restaurant is popular; my customers devour the infused saffron dishes.
They leave feeling euphoric and lifted from their earlier depressive thoughts and so willingly pay my exorbitant prices.

Grandmother’s Advice – Family Pagoda

Rochelle Wisoff-Fields – Addiction to Purple.

Friday Fictioneers

Read the other pieces of flash fiction. HERE

PHOTO PROMPT © Dale Rogerson

Grandmother’s Advice – Family Pagoda

When we were children, we would sit with our grandmother and gaze at the boats on the lake.
She would stitch away at her patchwork quilt and listen to our problems.
‘Remember,’ she once said. ‘Hitting people is wrong; although,’ she laughed.
‘A quick slap to make a point and a kick up the butt is good for lazy ne’er-do-wells.’
She shook her head and pointed at us. ‘Yea, they soon forget the pain and may even thank you.’
‘Whatever you do; don’t torment people.’ She wagged her finger. ‘Emotional scars don’t heal.’
She would never talk about Uncle John.

Evidence of Generations Lost

Rochelle Wisoff- Fields – Addicted to Purple

Friday Fictioneers – Additional Stories

PHOTO PROMPT © Mikhael Sublett

Evidence of Generations Lost

Grandfather died from the RAF bombing in Duisburg.
From his will, we owned the Einfamilienhaus; a ruinous shell in a wild garden.
We were delighted and began the renovation work with enthusiastic zest.
We found a painting in a secret room behind a wall. Imagine our good fortune.
“It’s a masterpiece,” the Kunthaus said. “Priceless and magnificent. Looted!”
And the skeletons?
Their descendants claimed the art and wanted retribution.
Were we to pay the price for our grandfather’s past?
Later, we discovered he had hidden and saved those poor people from transportation.
Why does thirst for revenge percolate through generations?

Free Kindle Reads – The Listener and Falling Leaves

I have put the two books on free promotion on Amazon for  5 days.

Can I ask; please leave a review afterwards it inspires writers and readers everywhere.

The Listener – Short Story Collection.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Falling Leaves – Poetry and Short Stories.

Outlander – Geillis Duncan – Persecution by James VI

The appearance of Geillis Duncan as a character in the popular TV series “Outlander” reminded me of a story I wrote some time ago.
The persecution of women throughout history by powerful men without repercussions invokes a sense of injustice. The witch hunts of the 16th century in Scotland were driven by superstition and insecurity. The arrest and trials of of witches and warlocks was supported by King James VI who was convinced that witchcraft was responsible in an attempt to kill him by creating a storm at sea that almost capsized his ship. A teenage maid servant, Geillis Duncan, was one of the first to be accused and subsequently executed.

Read my short version here.

Geillis Duncan -North Berwick Witch Trials 16c

Carpe Diem, Quam Minimum Credula Postero

New post on Rochelle Wisoff-Fields-Addicted to Purple

Friday Fictioneers – New Stories

PHOTO PROMPT © C.E. Ayr

Carpe Diem, Quam Minimum Credula Postero

The arrow points towards the airport.
I have not slept for days since my thoughts tumbled and turned as they spun my problem back at me rejecting all solutions.
I’ve come around to a decision.
Tomorrow, they will not welcome me at the arrivals lounge.
Sod them. I will attend my ex-wife’s funeral.
We had lived as if on a roundabout with centrifugal forces pulling our emotions apart. Our love burning at our heels.
We chased after different dreams but promised we would be together again.
We lost; time won.
One day, if and only are the saddest of words.

The Portal to the Future

Rochelle Wisoff-Fields Friday Fictioneers

Read all the stories; Here – on inlinkz

PHOTO PROMPT © Roger Bultot

The Portal To The Future

This building is the architectural symbolism of harmonious and cultural coherence of Earth’s civilisation, the official view.

In reality, it conceals the Portal between the present and the future.

As the guardian I hold the key.

I am tired, and before my passing, I will reveal some dark secrets; nations will disintegrate into anarchy, and great men mauled to their death. Those people trusted me with their souls, and safe-keeping of wealth stolen by their evil deeds of injustice.  They abused the power of the future.

I have locked the gates and taken the Portal with me.
Goodbye.

 

A Children’s Story for Halloween

I wrote this story sometime ago, it is aimed as fun for children but may serve as a warning to adults.

Let me know what you think.

Karen’s Halloween

 

Tinker Tailor Fashion–Spy

I really like this picture as my daughter has a similar pin cushion and there are other items which are recognisable and nostalgic; indeed.

Friday Fictioneers – Go and read their stories.

PHOTO PROMPT © Jean L. Hays

Tinker Tailor Fashion Spy 

Caroline was just an ordinary seamstress, sewing to earn a few pennies.
She was under arrest; her background being scrutinised.
No comment was all she mumbled to the fashion police. They beat her.
She was a fool: the pin cushion from Hong Kong and the military buttons pointed to her Intelligence role in the Far East.
That was years ago. She was a civilian now and it was commercial espionage.
She had stolen Valantino’s top secret pattern for the Princess’s ballroom dress. Everyone would love a copy, like Cinderella.
Caroline was tight lipped, as an army veteran her pension meant poverty.