The Night Game by Jennie Boyes

The Night Game by Jennie Boyes.

This morning, I enjoyed reading this story, by Jennie Boyes.

The POV is that of a child, Fridel, who try’s to make sense of the events taking place in her village.

Fridel’s mother is suffering from depression from the loss of her son Bert and blames The Mare and other mystical spirits.

Fridel starts to suspect that witches are to blame and in her own way (you decide) takes action to rid the village of them and the Mare.

The narrative gripped me from the beginning and drew me into the naive thoughts of Fridel. It was clear to me, the reader, what was going on. However, the adults were unaware how their explanations of spirits and evil witches influenced Fridel.

You can read the story here: The Night Game

Dangerous Dating Game

Rochelle Wisoff-Fields-Addicted to Purple sends this week’s 100 word writing challenge. Click on the link for other stories

Friday Fictioneers

Dangerous Dating Game

‘Yes, the market.’ She giggled on the telephone. ‘We can meet for a coffee and Pani Popo.’
I hid behind the hats; she looked older than on eHarmony.
Why has she brought friends along or are they her daughters?
This is awkward as I look nothing like my Internet profile, and I don’t like groups.
We agreed on an afternoon alone.
People say I am shy and lack self-esteem around women – acting strange.
Once I was taunted on a date – you are a freak!
In anger, I released the padlocks and threw her off the boat; she drowned.
What a pity.

The Last Lineage

I trust you are all well – and have a plan to get through the crisis sweeping across our world.

Take care out there and; WYH.

Here is my contribution for Friday Fictioneers based on the photograph by Jeff Arnold

You can read other stories with this link; Friday Fictioneers

The Last Lineage

The publisher returned her novel of a Sci–Fi Trilogy. They asked Sabrina to write an improved leader into book two.
She slumped back in her chair, sipped wine and watched her ancient typewriter rattle out the final paragraph.

“From the single, surviving safety pod a small group stumbled and stared up at the brilliant clear sky. They felt humble to be alive after the one-hundred-year horror that had ravaged life on the planet. However, unknown to them, future anthropology will record their emergence as a new species; Homo-sapiens, the Teflon-man.”

Sabrina smiled, because she never could type or write.

 

Born Free

Friday Fictioneers

Read more stories here.

PHOTO PROMPT © Ted Strutz

Born Free

After the virus, only the state sponsored selected elite could procreate, and placed under medical supervision to produce fully formed immune humans.
For us it was a crime.
I collapsed to my knees. Grace was in tears, her body shaking.
‘You’re pregnant?’ I whispered into her ear. She nodded.
‘My cousin said . . .’
‘Yes!’ I held her shoulders. ‘We must go.’
We knew about the family escapees hiding around the north lakes; hunters exterminated those captured on the spot.
That night we navigated our balloon in a northward storm and prayed for our future and unborn baby in the wilderness.

Constant Itching is Misery

This week I was inspired by Stephen King’s novel Misery.

Rochelle Wisoff-Fields – Friday Fictioneers

Click here for more stories in this group

Photo by Naama-Yehuda

Constant Itching is Misery.

My dermatitis was getting worse; a life of misery.
Martha, my treatment nurse, suggested an allergy to soap or detergent.
But which one?
‘I’ve read your book,’ she said.
She used solid ice cream to cool my legs – it was heaven.
‘Perhaps itching powder,’ she stated, and patted my skin dry.
She spread a foul-smelling ointment onto my chest.
‘That makes it worse. It stings!’
‘Painful,’ she said. ‘You mean like Elaine.’
‘Elaine! She is not real, it’s just a story!’
‘Maybe she is the reason for your rash.’ Martha rubbed in the gel. ‘Poor Elaine.’
‘Please stop.’ I screamed.

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.

Subscribers Spotlight – Writing Magazine – February 2020

My new year’s thanks goes to the staff at the Writing Magazine.

They have printed an article about my publishing process for my novel Missing.

https://www.writers-online.co.uk

On Page 47.

I have copied the short article below for your enjoyment.

A Process of Discovery

‘The idea for my novel Missing crept into my head and would not go away,’ writes subscriber James McEwan.
‘Lately, I was attending a lot of family gatherings and discovered a few of my relatives were not who I thought they were. Three children who started school with me were my father’s cousins and not mine as I believed.
‘My idea for the novel was simple; what if you knew nothing about your parents and relatives?
‘Before I wrote Missing, I had an ending in mind, and I worked backwards to create the plot and story. This helped me to adjust the outline and create a structure before I started to write. I prepared a fictional family tree going back three generations and researched the elaborate legalities of inheritance regarding land ownership.
‘I attend the monthly meetings of Indie Author’s World at a Waterstones bookshop in Glasgow and the group encouraged me to publish the book independently by creating my own imprint (Alibrasphere) complete with ISBNs. They also reviewed my cover versions and offered editorial services. Having this support gave me the confidence and added obligation to finish writing the book.
‘I used KDP to print various proof copies until satisfied with the paperback cover and the formatted content and when ready I released the e-book Kindle version. Although Amazon provides worldwide distribution and visibility, many bookshops, (I am advised), in the UK will not order directly from them. I wanted my book to be available from all the bookshops and therefore I set up an account with Ingram-Spark, this provided print on demand service for the paperback and also a wider distribution of the e-book for other digital reader devices.
‘Missing, is available from bookshops and to read on Kindle, Apple Books and Kobo.
‘Taking the independent choice for a first novel resulted in a lot of hard work, and I envy those authors who have a traditional publishing organisation to support them.’

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?

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.

Piano For Sale

Friday Fictioneers – Read other stories here.

Hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

PHOTO PROMPT © J Hardy Carroll

Piano for Sale.

‘It’s in the cellar. Each flat has a storage cage.’
She moved the boxes and we squeezed past towards the piano.
Our noses touched. I felt her heat; she brushed against me to open the lid.
‘You should get it tuned.’
As I played “Liebestruam”, I felt her breath in my ear.
‘You play so perfectly.’
She wrapped herself onto me, her chin on my shoulder.
I played on; my knees quavered, my heart in tremolo and I ached for her.
Poco a poco, our breathing accelerando.
‘You must stay.’
We were strangers, in love with music.
Ci baciamo adagio.

**
(We kiss slowly)