We are advised to make good choices and live our life to the full, whatever that really means.
Perhaps, your final choice will be the hardest.
I feel privileged to learn my story “Falling Stars” has been published today by the good folks at Literally Stories.
The story was selected by Leila Allison as the Sunday read. (Thank you).
Leila Allison’s thoughts on ‘Falling Stars’.
You are invited to read the story and wonder if this is a great way to go – or not.
Posted in Blog, Observational, Short Story, Uncategorized
Tagged Dignitas, Life and Death., peace, Relationships, Romantic, Short Stories, spiritual, Writing
Rochelle Wisoff-Fields Friday Fictioneers
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.
Friday Fictioneers -Rochelle Wisoff-Fields
PHOTO PROMPT © Renee Heath
Let the Stars Decide.
Meghan steered the Pickup onto the road and accelerated away.
Last night they had watched the meteorite shower rain across the sky and spoke of romance and the future of the universe. Their future.
John and Jeff insisted a weekend away from all distractions, she had to decide.
She loved them both, but marriage! So insistent – John or Jeff.
Which one, they were both solvent, attractive and ideal, which one?
Didn’t they understand the meaning of a free spirit?
She buried her feelings with them beneath the tepee. Soul mates for ever.
Meghan sped away, free at last.
PHOTO PROMPT © Nathan Sowers grandson of our own Dawn M. Miller
A Mystical Murder Trapped in Time
The remains in the burned-out shed were impossible to identify, so DCI MacLeod employed Mystical Egandor to investigate.
Egandor set up his past generator, a mirror he called Visionar, at the scene. He had to thump it to make it work, it shuddered in protest but eventually the past shed reflected in the glass.
Egandor fell asleep waiting and when he woke saw the reflection had disappeared, he thumped Visionar. Nothing.
He turned and saw the intact shed in the garden, confused, he opened the door and went inside.
Visionar shimmered and reflected a sunbeam to set the shed ablaze.
PHOTO PROMPT © Dale Rogerson
The Trappist Zone
George, the transporter is landing.
Will I miss this place?
We did our best George, we must start over, a new beginning.
I feel a failure; all the destruction and greed.
Oh, George, remember the woolly mammoth.
Downhill since then. Where did we go wrong?
We gave them dreams and intelligence. Our experiment had potential.
Yes, we did very well, but should we just abandon them?
It’s too late, they are out of control; a self-consuming infestation.
George, the bag?
Yes, all human goodness, fully packed.
Think of our next creation; “Mensch”.
A perfect ideal; the Trappist Zone is ready.
Posted in Blog, Flash Fiction, Friday Fictioneers, Short Story, Uncategorized
Tagged 100 word story, Creationism, Friday Fictioneers, Futuristic hope, Interstellar Aspirations, micro-fiction, SciFi, Short Stories, Space Travel, spiritual, Writing
News Flash – My short story Lilly-Anne has just been published on literally Stories a world wide short story site. Your views and comments are appreciated.
Lilly Anne – by James McEwan
Friday Fictioneers (slightly late this week, enjoy)
Shrouded in monsoon mist along the Chakkar Road, Jazlaan viewed the ruined and dilapidated house. Seventy years ago, Partition had driven her family away.
Still, in the kitchen, she smelled the warmth of cardamom and cinnamon sizzling in ghee and heard echoes of children lamenting in Urdu. Dust, like Chapatti flour, covered over the floors.
Mould consumed damp walls, the moths her gowns. What wealth and chattels she saved were left to grandchildren now, or burned on her pyre. The silver blacken mirror on the wall reflected her joy as she brushed her gossamer hair.
Her spirit was home.
Yew Tree Memorial
In our eulogies, we promised to gather beneath the yew and play canasta.
Our descendants keep the place fresh and painted in the summer
and, in our honour, they place the cards.
I dislike their stinking cigars.
They have forgotten we played outside in the fresh air away from satanic dens and we thanked the Lord for our community spirit, friendly companionship and enjoyment in life.
We cough and splutter as their foul smoke drifts through the branches disturbing eternal peace, we wait for sundown.
In eons, we have evolved our wisdom and take our seats to play Battlestar Galactica.
Three Line Tales Week 82
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.
Posted in Blog, Flash Fiction, Three Line Tales, Uncategorized
Tagged Creationism, divorce, Evolution, Garden of Eden, Gedichte, melancholy, spiritual, Three Line Tales
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.
Three Line Tales. Life’s Neglected Past.
Photo by Sean Tan via Unsplash
Our sunshine filled childhood days, we ran and splashed, swimming in the lake.
Those dream filled teenage years promising, as we sat dangling our wet feet.
Years gone, but have we become so dull and grey? Let’s leap naked into the deep.