Palace Hall

Roger Bultot smallpox hospital

C. Roger Bultot. Image of ruined Smallpox Hospital.

 

Sheata stood in the atrium of the grand hall, once a parquet floor, now a blanket of grass. The once beautifully tinted stained glass windows now open to the sky. Restoration. How could she even believe that such a thing could happen. And, yet…

Sheata watched as the reality melted into the holographic presentation. The stained glass once again colored the parquet floor with small colored shapes of light. The broken stones glowed high with polish, and the twinkling of the crystal chandeliers again echoed in the silence. Sheata smiled. This is how she would always remember the old school.

wc:100

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, Roger Bultot, for such an inspirational photo this week. I swear, I just couldn’t do it the justice it deserves. We’d 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

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Repatriation Museum

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One stature within North Korea’s Grand Monument. Picture from Pixabay.com

 

Epes struck a chord animating the bronze statues. None could visit without being deeply affected. He’d seen to that. It was all part of his plan. He watched, licking his lips as people approached.

Stephen’s statue, with his hand on the shoulder of Takarna, stood looking into the future, silent. Lady Tamai stood watching over Sheata as she looked into the sea. Between them, knelt Dr. Charles “Cutter” Robert Montgomery of Earth, and the first statue to come to life.

Dr. Montgomery spoke of his role as “Cutter” in the Relocation Camps. He spoke of being forced to dissect and dismember the bodies. After him, Takarna spoke of her role as a “boiler” of the bones. Tamai spoke of her slavery to the Chr. Stephen and Sheata both spoke of their roles in the Rapatriation of the Aki.

Someone screamed.

Epes smiled. Yes, his plan was working very well, indeed.

WC: 150

Author’s Note: The best info of the very little to be found, places this statue within the Samijyon Grand Monument built in honor of Kim II Sung and revolutionary activities. The story below in no way reflects North Korea, it’s leadership, or its people. It is complete and utter fiction.

I had a hard time with this week’s write, so please forgive the disjointedness in this. It revisits characters that played a vital role in a series of science fiction stories I wrote years ago… my goto place when the muse decides to go on vacation. I seem to be on a roll with writing about this “museum” so just bear with me. After all, the journey back to Terra Firma only takes three weeks… hopefully. Then, the recolonization can begin…

Greeting Dawn…

seip2

c. Google Images

Time to Pow with WOW!
0430 – packed car and pulled out. The journey’s destination 3.58 hours away.
0600 – Halfway there! Arrived at Seip Mound, Ohio just as the dawn was creeping up in the sky. Adding to the beauty was the fog beginning to rise. It was that eerie fog that’s like a shelf a little above the land. Below the mound a Doe and her twin fawns were playing in the field. It was such a beautiful scene. Such a wonderful way to greet the dawn with prayers and a bit of soft singing. It was so beautiful I wanted to stay longer…maybe, I should have.
A couple of miles down the road had to slam brakes to avoid hitting more deer, a few more miles, nearly missed a farm cat crossing the road. Meanwhile the eerie fog held a few feet above the soybean fields, making the landscape reminiscent of the Scottish moors. Eerie and breathtakingly beautiful all at once.
The world is so very quiet that early in the morning that one could almost feel at peace.
0845- Arrive at Powwow grounds and search out the drum camp site. Greetings, coffee, and some love shared around. Chatted around the fire until time to dress for Grand Entry.
1000 – prayers and dressing, and more prayers and smudging (cleansing the body with sage). My shoulder is really hurting now after the long drive. Last night’s midnight ER visit revealed a torn rotator cup and severe tendonitis. Between the two, it’s very difficult and painful to dress. More prayers after dressing for relief of pain.
1100 – Call from home. Hubby seizures. Immediately pack up to leave. Never got a chance to drum, sing, or dance. Sigh. Return trip taking the most expedient path back home.
1430 – home, checking on hubby. Some days, it’s not the destination, but the journey.
Just want to say thanks to everyone who wished me a safe journey home this weekend. It was safe. It had beautiful moments, even though I didn’t get the “full” experience.

Sweatlodge Prayers

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C. Jan Wayne Fields.

Here it was, glowing light amid the gloom.

Refuge of peace from the chaotic world. A refuge she couldn’t admit she needed, let alone allow herself to participate. No, she’d returned to her people ‘changed’. No longer could she handle the confines of a sweat lodge, and that was larger than the small tent used as such at powwow. She longed for the refuge, the peace, but she just wasn’t quite ready to take that step, yet. It would come, in time. It always did.

So, she sat, back against a tree, and listened. Letting the peace descend around her.

WC: 100 words, exact! 🙂

 

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, Rochelle, 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

Impromptu…

Yarnspinner

Photo compliments of Yarnspinner.

 

Impromptu, the small memorial set up outside the fence. So small that few would have even noticed. A pile of bricks, and stones. After all, it was the spot that mattered, that held the significance of the place. The spot, a small half-oval the size of the small head that had impacted at that point, forever staining the stone.

A century had come and gone since the innocent had paid the price for the parent’s actions. The death of a toddler in a stroller, hit by a vehicle driven by the opposition’s cause. An innocent. No one remembered, now, what that protest had been about. Everyone remembered the toddler.

Every anniversary at this spot, the death of innocence was memorialized. Every year, the survivors re-erected the stones. Every year, the flames were set. And every year, for one day, people remembered the price of their hatred.

WC: 146

Word Count: 148

This story is complete and utter fiction. This story is written for  Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers  weekly writing challenge. Thanks to Priceless Joy for running the challenge and Yarnspinner for providing this week’s excellent photo prompt! If you have enjoyed this story and want to find others, just click on the blue prompt above and follow the blue frog…

 

Psy-ops Viewing…

untitled

c. A Mixed Bag, 2012 (I think)

“Hey, Joash, you’d better get that screen back to normal ops before the Cap sees it. He’ll have a fit, for sure.’ Robert laughed as he looked at the cartoony depiction on the forward viewing screen.

‘Uh, Sir, that IS the normal view.’ Joash responded from Ops.

‘Best be explaining that.’ Robert’s look turned furious.

‘Psy-ops decided that the real view of Terra would be too traumatic for us to see, so they reprogrammed the computer to render it as a cartoon. They said it was supposed to lessen the feelings of trauma, hysteria, and the like.’ Joash’s tone was almost apologetic.

Robert frowned, reached down and opened a commlink directly to the Captain’s quarters. “Captain, Sir, request your attendance on the bridge, Sir. There’s something here I think you ought to see for yourself, Sir.”

“On my way.” The Captain’s gravelly voice responded.

Meanwhile, Robert looked around to the others on the bridge. “I highly suggest that you prepare for the Captain’s outrage. You remember what happened last time Psy-ops tinkered with his ship.”

A mutual groan sounded.

Seconds later, the Captain stepped onto the bridge. He took one look at the forward viewscreen, and all hell broke loose.

WC: 200-exact.

This story is written for “Sunday Photo Fiction”. Thanks go out to whoever it was who donated the photo. I couldn’t find a proper attribution within the prompt to give proper credit, so I guessed. Anyway, if you’ve enjoyed this story and would like to read others then please come out and join us by following the little blue froggy to other stories at: https://sundayphotofictioner.wordpress.com/2017/08/20/sunday-photo-fiction-august-20th-2017/