Tag Archives: melancholy

American Dream

Friday Fictioneers – Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Rockefeller Center.

Where do I start with this week’s prompt? There is a lot going on in the picture, from the tall skyscraper in the background, the ‘See No Evil’ statue, the food stall and to our security guard having a rest in the evening heat.
My mind wandered over this for ages struggling to find a central focus and I kept returning to thoughts of loneliness during a night shift. But what of the people who inhabit this civilised affluent world?

PHOTO PROMPT © Roger Bultot

The American Dream

‘How’s Li Ying doing?’
‘Chai, no sugar?’ said Mo Chou. ‘Li Ying, So proud, she in Medical College now.’
‘Ah Mo, your tea’s the best,’ said Tyler.
‘And your Alexis?’ Mo passed the drink. ‘You want, pretzel?’
‘She’s her dream job down Broad Street with Sullivan’s.’ He pushed his hat back. ‘And yea, her fancy shoes cost my Walmart check.’
‘You want butter or maple?’ Mo dribbled the syrup. ‘Li Ying soon be a doctor.’
‘Ah Mo, we’ve done well.’ He pointed his pretzel at the statue. ‘Our kids, them “see no evil”, but we know Mo. Yea we know.’

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The Lonely Musician

Rochelle Wisoff-Fields Friday Fictioneers

piano-anshu

PHOTO PROMPT © Anshu Bhojnagarwala

The Lonely Musician

When he stopped playing her tune, she threw him out.
‘And take your Steinway,’ she yelled. ‘It clutters up the place.’
For forty years he played on the street corner.
To the delight of commuters who dropped coins into his hat.
He never asked for a penny.
He lived and dreamed for music and to charm happy smiles from weary faces.
The lonely musician crawled under the lid one day, and citizens kept his piano as a memorial.
The passing shoppers can still hear Debussy being played.
Every day, when his wife waters the flowers on the musician’s grave.

If the Boots Don’t Fit.

Rochelle Wisoff-Fields – Friday Fictioneers.

adamickes-childsboots

If the Boots Don’t Fit

A warm still day; they were a gift.
They hurt his feet, he had said, amazingly his hat fell into the lake.
He swam after it and from the other side he waved, not even goodbye.
How long should she wait? She had said yes; then he wasn’t sure.
She should have said no.
She heard he had a job in Kentucky, drifting with cattle.
Mary-Anne was two today, she needs a father.
How long could they wait? If only she had said no.
Tomorrow she’ll wed a loving man, one who fills the boots with honesty.
She can’t wait.

Underground Opera by Catherine

Friday Fictioneers – Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

under-bridge

PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Underground Opera by Catherine

A free spirit and gentle voice, her echoes of joy
reverberated beneath the rumble of the motorway.
Its pillars tremble holding the stress of life’s loads.
Too much for her to bear, she had lost her way,
and in destitution she discovered our desolation row.
‘Catherine the Homeless’ sang opera to us; sewers of life.
We listened to her music of the night, by our flickering fire light,
and prayed as we cremated her body and earthly remains.
We scattered her ashes around the headstone on her swan song stage,
tearfully enchanted as her soul sang, through the midnight breeze.

The Lost Key

Three Line Tales – Week 97 Only 100 words

tltweek97

photo by Bogdan Dada via Unsplash

The Lost Key

We die in shame as the links between our countries are securely locked.
Blocked by the prejudice of divisions through arrogance of language and culture.
Only the Key of Peace can release this stranglehold and open doors for our world.

A Secret Lover’s Diary

Three Line Tales Week, Week 88.

A Secret Lover’s Diary.

My intensity is afraid and when you read my words don’t judge me as a fool.
But every day I have written about my desires and dreams, and of your beauty.
Please; my secrets will remain invisible until you breathe life on my pages.

 

Selfish Betrayal

Three Line Tales Week 82

Selfish Betrayal

I am spirit and naked flesh, promised with eternal heavenly peace.
In a world filled with joy and gifts of fruit, in a beautiful garden of Eden.
However truth, in an apple core, reveals my skeleton on the evolutionary scale.

Tempting Guacamole

Tempting Guacamole – 100 Word Wednesday.

img_4777

Dear Pips,

Please come back, I miss you, my darling Pips.
I’m sorry I was rude, about your lovely hips.
I love you and miss your gregarious smiles
I love you and forgive you for kissing Miles
Look, I’ve bought your favourite chilli tortilla chips
Because I know you love my guacamole dips.

Please come and trust me, my darling Pips
I’m sorry I was rude, about your lovely lips
I miss you, so let’s forget about you loving Jay
I miss you, see now, how my anger’s gone away
Look! I’ve spiced up your favourite tortilla chips
Because! I know you love my guacamole dips.

On a Wing and a Prayer

Three Line Tales – On a Wing and a Prayer

 

Over the world and in peace, feeling the quite serenity
of flying and softly floating free from earthly responsibility.
But all too soon, we’ll land on the insecure realities of insensibility.

A Cabin in The Woods

A Cabin in the Woods. 100 Words Week 7

 

 

Adam and Eve ran away from disapproval and family shame
Where people pointed since their unmarried love was a sin
They disappeared into the woods to start their life again
Where they built a cabin and a home for future children.

They built it far away from the well-trodden paths
By a lake with bulrush reeds and darting dragon flies
that hovered in the air with warm dog-rose scented wafts
drifting in the idyllic afternoons under the cloudless skies

Where behind the purple rosebay ran the bubbling brooks
They washed and bathed naked in the clear shallow pools
Guarded and watched over by a parliament of silent rooks
As they dried themselves slowly with white woollen towels

Alas with naivety of nature’s fruits, a mistaken death cap
was added for nourishment into a warm mushroom soup
As they peacefully slept, in their veins ran the poisonous sap
And in drifting dreams their souls followed a heavenly route

After fifty years, there were no records of the cabin in the woods
Or of the skeleton lovers huddled beneath a blanket of dust
The mystery became a myth full of folk songs with solemn moods
of young couples entranced by forbidden love and mistaken trust.