Ghetto.

Untitled

C. Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.

 

The narrow streets of the ghetto, not so unlike her new home. Only here, they didn’t feel so confining. In the heat of the noonday, stone walls kept her cool. She stepped out with her groceries in hand.

Only for a moment, she let her mind drift into the past, and the ghetto prison. Mentally, she heard the cries of the dying, the prayers of the living for death. Then, she crossed through the breach of light created by a break in the wall, and heard the laughter of children at play, and songs of thanksgiving. Ghetto no more, home.

WC:100

Author’s note: During WW2, many unsuspecting people were lured into the ghettos and death camps by promises of a new life rich with work, education, etc.  Many ended up in camps as a result of not being able to immigrate to other nations not yet controlled by the Nazi party.  It leaves history to ask how many lives might have been saved?

 

Isolation.

Pitcairn Island

Pitcairn Island, compliments of Google maps.

 

Isolation, she craved it so bad it hurt. She needed to get away from the crazy, hectic, city-life. So, when she read the ad, it fit her needs perfectly. Now, as she looked at the narrow dirt road, navigable only by foot, she was beginning to have second thoughts.

Any minute, she expected to see a large iron gate with a banner reading “Abandon hope, all Ye who enter here.” Shivering at the thought, she rounded the first curve, smiling as the dense undergrowth gave way to a small clearing. The clearing held four huts around a firepit with a large cauldron bubbling away, and a line of villagers watching her.

It was a homey sight.

“Hello!” She smiled, waving a greeting.

‘Welcome to dinner,” They called.

Their recent foray into modern advertising had expanded their menu greatly.

WC: 138.

Author’s Note: Moral of the story: Be careful what you wish for. Heheheee!

Thank you once again goes to What Pegman Saw for taking us to a new place we’ve never been, this week to Pitcairn Islands. If you’ve enjoyed this little story, then please, come out and enjoy some others at: https://whatpegmansaw.com/blog/ . Just follow the prompt tag to the little blue frog… your adventure awaits.

Mercy Ferry

Ted Strutz

C. Ted Strutz

Authors Note: Due to a particular turn of words, it’s necessary to redact a sentence. Suffice it to say it was not in the best interest of life in our times. So, forgive the redaction.

White knuckles on wheel, river of sweat down spine; aching clutch of lungs, and she wasn’t even on the ferry, yet. Soon the gently rock from side to side would bring nausea, too. She hated the ferry, but it was a necessity.

At least, this would be the last time, she thought as tears blurred her vision. It was her turn… dead center, surrounded. Perfect. [REDACTED]… Calmly walking to the back gate, mentally calculating the time. She jumped.

Behind her, the ferry exploded.

The next day, hundreds of miles away, Mercy began a new life.

WC: 100 Exactly! 🙂

If you would like to join the 100 word weekly writing craze known as Friday Fictioneers, please join us out at the blog of our lovely hostess, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Thank you, Ted Strutz for such an inspirational photo this week. We love to see you stop by, and maybe even share a story with us.  You can find us all at: https://rochellewisoff.com/?wref=b

http://www.inlinkz.com/new/view.php?id=721241

 

I was listening to this song when I opened inet this morning… It set a dismal mood, but I wanted to pump it up. So “Mercy” found a way to escape… feel free to decide for yourself why she felt the need to do what she did in order to escape. I’m sure your minds can do that. 🙂 Enjoy… I hear the next ferry is about to board….

In the Palms…

The inner dome of the habitation represented different major cities from Terra Firma. My favorite was that of Palm Island of Dubai. Each frond was a community and each community had it’s own specialty. I liked the third frond on the east side. It was the Arts community. I loved strolling down the boulevard and visiting the little art shops. I sold my own art there, too.

The art dealer was a grizzled old man, one of the original colonists who set out from Terra. He had a keen eye for the esoteric and abstract. I never understood why he paid such particular attention to my average landscapes and city scenes drawn from picture files in the archives. One day, I dared to ask.

‘Your work reminds me of home.’ He muttered, a tear hanging on the end of his eyelashes.

wc:141

Thank you once again goes to What Pegman Saw for taking us to a new place we’ve never been, the  Burj Khalifa in Dubai. If you’ve enjoyed this little story, then please, come out and enjoy some others at: https://whatpegmansaw.com/blog/ . Just follow the prompt tag to the little blue frog… your adventure awaits.

Authors Note: As I went out and looked for pics of Dubai, the one of the man-made islands of which this Palm Island was considered one, caught my eye. I wasn’t too impressed by the tall buildings and spires, but the shape of this island caught me and made me think of Dyson’s Spheres and such.

Fishville #3

abandoned-1949169_960_720

Courtesy of Pixabay.com, copyright & royalty free photo source.

 

She sank down onto the stairs that twisted up to the second floor and let the tears come. This was her home, now, complete with the memories and the obvious disrepair.

Built at the turn of the twentieth century, the house had been a prominent home for a very wealthy doctor and his family. The small, squalid addition had been his office. Now, the walls were peeling paint and plaster. The once richly polished woodwork was dull and scratched. Many of the staircase’s banister legs were missing or broken. And everything was covered in inches of dust and rodent droppings.

Even as she sat drying her eyes, Kelly could see the red glow of mouse eyes watching her. She shivered, mentally adding traps to the top of her needs list. The house, as it stood, simply was not livable. She heaved a deep sigh. It hadn’t been habitable when she’d lived here twenty years ago, so why did she think it would be so, now.

‘Well, there’s no use crying about it anymore.’ Kelly mumbled, patting the memory chip again. ‘Soon, not today, but soon.’

 

61 W Xenia Ave

Courtesy of google maps.

Fishville #2

 

61 W Xenia Ave

Courtesy of google maps.

PREVIOUSLY:

It was a town where everyone knew everyone’s business, whether intentionally or not. A town where the newspaper subscriptions were low, but the local diner’s coffee consumption was high. And yet, it was the secrets that no one knew that would lead to an end to life as they’d always known it. Some secrets could even kill.

Kelly knew of one such secret. It was a secret she held close to her heart everyday. A secret that would too soon manifest itself. …

And now, …

Smiling, she placed a hand over the hidden data chip. On it, was a lifetime of secrets that could, and would, tear the town apart. She licked her lips as she thought about the depth of her revenge for the life of hell she’d been forced to endure within the fish bowl.

After all, revenge was sweetest when served cold. And, hers was frozen solid, she thought as the cab came to a stop in front of the old grey Victorian manse that had once been her home.

She slid out of the cab, old brass keys jingling in her shaking hand. It had been twenty years, but it seemed like yesterday. Her mind took her back to her childhood and the squalid existence she’d lived in the little addition to the main house. Now, she was back, but this time as owner of the property in whole.

Kelly watched as the cab driver set her luggage on the porch beside the door. As he returned she gave him a hefty tip and a genuine thank you.

‘Just be careful, Ma’am. Those steps and porch are not the best.’ He tipped his battered hat to her.

‘I’ll be careful.’ She smiled and nodded back. Then, as he drove away, she gulped and headed up the sidewalk.

The old lock crunched and snapped as she turned the key. It was the first thing she’d be replacing. The door squealed  and screamed as she pushed hard against it. It opened only a crack. It took a shoulder and her full weight to open it enough to get inside.

As she looked around and up through the foyer, memories settled heavy on her shoulders. A sob caught in her throat, echoing through the barren rooms.

wc: 295

 

 

Split

Dale Rogerson

C. Dale Rogerson

No one noticed it at first, the splitting of the eastern skies. No one noticed at first, the sudden disappearance of millions from their work, their home, their life on earth. No one, that is, except the cameras on every corner, the guards at every avenue. Escape from the ghettos and evil regimes of the world seemed impossible; and it was for too many. But for the few, the chosen ones, nothing was impossible as the eastern skies split and light flooded into the darkness of the world.

When it was noticed, they looked up…

What happened? They asked.

Wc: 99

 

If you would like to join the 100 word weekly writing craze known as Friday Fictioneers, please join us out at the blog of our lovely hostess, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Thank you, Dale Rogerson for such an inspirational photo this week. We love to see you stop by, and maybe even share a story with us.  You can find us all at: https://rochellewisoff.com/?wref=b