Friday Fictioneers: All The Lonely People

Thank you Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for your weekly dedication and hard work for Friday Fictioneers. When I first saw Roger Bultot’s photo prompt this morning, I thought it was a church; I immediately thought of writing this story. Then I noticed the Star of David on the window, and went somewhere else instead. This other story stayed with me all day, until it finally fit the 100 word format and I could type it out. Honest, constructive feedback is always appreciated. I will visit your page as well, but it may take a while. If you read both of my stories this week, you rock extra! Thank you!

roger-bultot-synagogue

© Roger Bultot

 

All The Lonely People

Eleanor hides in a pew, and swallows one last pill. Having strived to live a faithful life, she hopes this will look like something else… a heart attack, perhaps? Only cordial smiles from Father and worshippers; no one loves or notices her, beyond her duties at the church. Measuring days in grains of rice, from weddings she never attends, is no life.

Father McKenzie tries to remember anything personal for Eleanor’s sermon. Years of cleaning and moving about like a ghost; he never asked about her life. Where did she belong? A pang of guilt makes him pause, and then passes.

(100 words)

And now you must go here to enjoy true genius.

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GIPYKAPOW! Have you stopped by Tales From the Motherland Facebook page to spread some fairy dust? I’m grateful for each Like. Follow me on Twitter, LeBron James does (for real… well, he did. But he may have dropped me recently)! Most importantly, if you like a post I’ve written, hit Like and leave a comment. Honest, constructive feedback is always appreciated. Click Follow; you’ll get each new post delivered by email,  no spam.

©2011-2019  All content and images on this site are copyrighted to Dawn Quyle Landau and Tales From the Motherland, unless specifically noted otherwise. If you want to share my work, I’m grateful, but please give proper credit and Link back to my work; plagiarism sucks!

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Friday Fictioneers: Next Year In Israel

Thank you Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for your weekly commitment and passion. Thank you Roger Bultot for this week’s photo. I’m grateful for the time each of you takes to read my work. I’m moving slowly, but do my best to return that kindness. As always I welcome honest, constructive feedback.

roger-bultot-synagogue

© Roger Bultot

Next Year In Israel

Lori gathered her long auburn hair, securing it under her favorite hat. Prepared for final Passover celebrations, she glanced in the mirror, grabbed her prayer book, and left with her family for services.

“Shabbat Shalom; chag sameach!” she sang out to Rabbi Goldstein, as she entered the hall. Mutual respect for their faith forbade any physical contact, but twenty years of friendship sparkled between them.

A loud crack filled the synagogue. A second one sent searing pain down the Rabbi’s hand and arm.

“Lori, run! I’ll get the children!”

Lori lay in her beautiful Pesach dress, her eyes watching God.

(100 Words of grief)

 

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Lori Kaye, age 60

** This week, my story shares a moment of the horror at Chabad of Poway in CA. Lori Gilbert Kaye was murdered by an anti-Semite, despite her husband’s efforts to save her. זכרונה לברכה May her memory forever be a blessing.

Rabbi Goldstein lost 3 fingers, and ushered a room full of children to safety–– including his four-year old granddaughter. Two Israelis, who came to the US to be free of violence, were injured, including a nine year old girl.

Each year in our Passover/Pesach Seder, we utter the words: “This year we celebrate here, next year in Israel,” for all Jews call Israel their home.

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GIPYKAPOW! Have you stopped by Tales From the Motherland Facebook page to spread some fairy dust? I’m grateful for each Like. Follow me on Twitter, LeBron James does (for real… well, he did. But he may have dropped me recently)! Most importantly, if you like a post I’ve written, hit Like and leave a comment. Honest, constructive feedback is always appreciated. Click Follow; you’ll get each new post delivered by email,  no spam.

©2011-2019  All content and images on this site are copyrighted to Dawn Quyle Landau and Tales From the Motherland, unless specifically noted otherwise. If you want to share my work, I’m grateful, but please give proper credit and Link back to my work; plagiarism sucks!

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Friday Fictioneers: Memories of June

As always, a giant thank you to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for her weekly dedication. This week’s photo prompt comes from Sandra Crook (we’ve missed you). As always I welcome honest, constructive feedback; please a comment and tell me what you think.

on-the-beach-with-sandra

© Sandra Crook

 

Memories of June

Clang! The metal walker collided with the hall corner.

Jimmy, duck!

“Mr. Murray, you OK?”

A shudder ran down his bent spine, as he righted his footing.

That was close, Buddy! Nearly got us both. Eddie’s voice was tight.

“You’re doing fine; watch that post, dear.”

Incoming! Run!

“That’s a sharp hat you’re wearing again today. Where’d you get this pin?”

The smell of Eddie’s flesh and then silence, as the world erupted.

“Mr. Murray… the pin?”

“It was given to me for the seventieth memorial, at Omaha Beach.”

“Oh, nice. Now let’s get you to the dining room.”

(100 words)

Omaha Beach, June 1944

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GIPYKAPOW! Have you stopped by Tales From the Motherland Facebook page to spread some fairy dust? I’m grateful for each Like. Follow me on Twitter, LeBron James does (for real… well, he did. But he may have dropped me recently)! Most importantly, if you like a post I’ve written, hit Like and leave a comment. Honest, constructive feedback is always appreciated. Click Follow; you’ll get each new post delivered by email,  no spam.

©2011-2019  All content and images on this site are copyrighted to Dawn Quyle Landau and Tales From the Motherland, unless specifically noted otherwise. If you want to share my work, I’m grateful, but please give proper credit and Link back to my work; plagiarism sucks!

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Friday Fictioneers: A Light In The Window

Unfortunately, I had surgery last week and was not able to get to as many stories as I would have liked. I apologize if you read mine, and I didn’t return the favor. I’ll try to do better this week! As always, a giant thank you to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for her weekly dedication. This week’s photo prompt comes from Dale Rogerson. My story is a reflection of the current epidemic, completely avoidable with modern medicine. It’s easy to forget that measles once killed a million people a year. As always I welcome honest, constructive feedback.

winter-street-dale

A Light In The Window

Shivering, Trina held her hands before dying embers; the heat barely warmed her icy fingers. She blew the ash in hopes of stoking a flame.

Her brothers and parents were long gone, but she could still see her mother’s tears as Father led her away––

“Come dear, there is nothing else we can do. The measles; we must leave here.”

“Hey Joe! Look at the top floors of the Hubbard building; do you see that light?”

“Don’t be silly; it’s been abandoned for a hundred-and-fifty years! It’s just lights off the snow.”

“Don’t leave me!” Trina cried, year after year.

(Exactly 100 words)

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GIPYKAPOW! Have you stopped by Tales From the Motherland Facebook page to spread some fairy dust? I’m grateful for each Like. Follow me on Twitter, LeBron James does (for real… well, he did. But he may have dropped me recently)! Most importantly, if you like a post I’ve written, hit Like and leave a comment. Honest, constructive feedback is always appreciated. Click Follow; you’ll get each new post delivered by email,  no spam.

©2011-2019  All content and images on this site are copyrighted to Dawn Quyle Landau and Tales From the Motherland, unless specifically noted otherwise. If you want to share my work, I’m grateful, but please give proper credit and Link back to my work; plagiarism sucks!

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Friday Fictioneers: A Solitary Woman

Thanks for your incredible commitment Rochelle Wisoff-Fields! This week’s photo is provided by  Roger Bultot. Despite this beautiful, atmospheric photo, I was stuck this week. I’ve used a brief portion of a short story I’ve been working on. It fit the scene. Honest, constructive feedback is always welcome.

cloister-roger-b

© Roger Bultot

 

A Solitary Woman

 

The woman stirred her coffee and gazed out the window at her garden.

“I should have cut back those irises weeks ago,” she said to no one.

Her dog glanced in her direction, ready and waiting. When she spoke to the window, he stayed put.

“I can’t believe it’s the end of October already…

Where have the weeks gone?

Hmm, Roosh, old boy!”

This was the cue: her gaze moving to him; her voice sliding up three octaves. The black lab mix got to his feet, tail wagging –– thump, thump, thump­–– and came over to nuzzle her hand.

(98 words)

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GIPYKAPOW! Have you stopped by Tales From the Motherland Facebook page to spread some fairy dust? I’m grateful for each Like. Follow me on Twitter, LeBron James does (for real… well, he did. But he may have dropped me recently)! Most importantly, if you like a post I’ve written, hit Like and leave a comment. Honest, constructive feedback is always appreciated. Click Follow; you’ll get each new post delivered by email,  no spam.

©2011-2019  All content and images on this site are copyrighted to Dawn Quyle Landau and Tales From the Motherland, unless specifically noted otherwise. If you want to share my work, I’m grateful, but please give proper credit and Link back to my work; plagiarism sucks!

 

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Friday Fictioneers: Caught In Your Web Of Lies

Three steps forward, two back still equals forward! But still not writing as much as I’d like. Thanks for always showing up, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields! This week’s photo is provided by  Ronda Del Boccio. Honest, constructive feedback is always welcome.

trees-ronda-del-boccio

© Ronda Del Boccio

 

Caught In Your Web of Lies

Last night was amazing! You sure know how to make me feel special, babe. Your body’s so hot! Baby, I’ve been thinking about you all day––

Alice re-read the last two lines of the email and slammed the laptop shut. Her eyes burned with tears as she glanced at the photos along the mantel, then ran to the bathroom to vomit.

Two hours later she opened the computer again.

John, I’ve taken what I need from our bank account. Call your baby. I’m through.

Alice hit send, and left her home for good.

(Word count: 92)

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GIPYKAPOW! Have you stopped by Tales From the Motherland Facebook page to spread some fairy dust? I’m grateful for each Like. Follow me on Twitter, LeBron James does (for real… well, he did. But he may have dropped me recently)! Most importantly, if you like a post I’ve written, hit Like and leave a comment. Honest, constructive feedback is always appreciated. Click Follow; you’ll get each new post delivered by email,  no spam.

©2011-2019  All content and images on this site are copyrighted to Dawn Quyle Landau and Tales From the Motherland, unless specifically noted otherwise. If you want to share my work, I’m grateful, but please give proper credit and Link back to my work; plagiarism sucks!

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Gray on Gray…

I posted this five years ago, and while so much has changed in the lives of my three kids, the feelings I wrote here are just as strong, just as real. I now have two grandchildren–– something I could barely fathom then. My life has settled into one of reconnecting with my kids, not being tied to them or living with or near them.

It is also striking and interesting to read through the comments again, and realize which connections I’ve sustained and which I’ve lost… thru’ my less than active blogging. Some of the folks who read this then and commented, have now seen their wee ones fledge as well. Oh, the earth just continues to turn. And we survive it.

TALES FROM THE MOTHERLAND

Little boots, sit by the door... waiting for children who have grown up. Little boots, sit by the door… waiting for children who have grown up.

I am sitting at a beautiful Inn on an island in the San Juan Islands. It’s as magical and beautiful, as that sounds. At a writer’s retreat for the weekend, I’ve had trouble writing– lulled by the stunning beauty around me, and the welling of gratitude in my heart. The wet snow is pattering on the roof; music plays softly– a soundtrack of songs that speaks to how I’m feeling. I look dreamily out at the gray sky, the gray water, the darker gray islands, with only the evergreens to break the monochrome palette… and my emotions overwhelm me. I gaze out; I blink, and it all comes back to me.

As I sit, an email comes in to inform me that my twenty-one year old son has claimed the miles from one of my airline accounts…

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