Greeting Dawn…


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


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:



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…


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:


She Beckons


Memorial to the “Katyn Massacre” WW2 – Wroclaw, Poland. Photo courtesy of

Gatehouse East, con’td…

Stephen stood in the shadows of the trees that circled the monument. Even in its holographic state, the monument still pulled deep at his soul. He wanted to step forward and lay a hand on the shoulder of the one who knelt in such a solemn state. The sculpture was so very real that he felt he could almost see it breathe in gasps as sobs shook its shoulders. The holograph was too realistic.

‘She is not real.’ He reminded himself, shaking his head to dispel the thought. ‘It is merely a projection.’

Even as he told himself she wasn’t real, the figure slowly rose and turned. His breath caught in his throat. The memorial wasn’t set to be interactive. His eyes widened as the face within the cloak made eye contact. Instant fear coursed like fire through his nerves. He’d seen those eyes before; known their hidden cruelty first hand.

She reached out for him.

He turned and ran out of the Museum’s storage bay…

WC: 166, sorry I’m over this week.

Author’s notes:

My story is fiction, however the picture is historically oriented. Please, take no offense at what I have written, the photo was only used as inspiration and in no way whatsoever is it meant to disrespect the memories or realities of actual history. Last week for Friday Fictioneers ( , I was challenged to expand a little on Stephen’s experiences that led up to his flashback, so I have…enjoy.

When I was searching for an image to strike my muse’s fancy this week, I came across this beautiful monument and just had to learn more. So, I went out to research it and found that it was dedicated to those who lost their lives in the “Katyn Wood Massacre” in April of 1943, during WWII. It is a very horrific tale that bears remembering…

For more info on the “Katyn Wood Massacre” I suggest checking out these links:


I’m writing this for the What Pegman Saw writing challenge. Today, Pegman takes us to Wroclaw, Poland. The idea is to use Google maps images of the location as the inspiration for crafting a piece of flash fiction no more than 150 words long.

Phantom pain…


C. Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Deep in the night, Stephen moaned, his mind tormented. He was back in the relocation camp, bound hand and foot as his tormentors sent jolts of electricity through his body. Even in his present semi-paralysis of sleep, his limbs jolted and cramped painfully.

The pain drew him up from the bed, clenching his teeth to keep from crying out. Tears coursed down his cheeks. His body trembling as he slowly made his way to the lavoratory, hoping Sheata didn’t awaken.

‘Stephen?’ Sheata’s softly spoke.

‘Shh, go back to sleep.’ He forced a calm response.

WC: 94

Author’s note: a scene out of “Gatehouse East”. All characters are fiction.

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:


Gatehouse East…

goal-743440_960_720 -free for use.

wc: 373

Sheata stood before the old gatehouse, now permanently sealed and nothing more than a facade transported to make up the back wall of the museum’s interior. The museum, a collection of artifacts on display to honor the passing of the most horrific war in history. She stood there this day and remembered all the times she’d actually found solace within the wall of the Adventure Park, completely unaware of what was happening beneath.

Little had Sheata known of the Enclave or its genetic program at the time. It wasn’t until much later that she’d learned of the Chr’s plan to create what he believed was the ‘genetically perfect’ race. After the Reparation she saw the results of his program first hand. Taking a very deep and long breath, Sheata closed her eyes for a moment and tried to forget.

But, forgetting wasn’t something she had the ability to do. A subconscious prickle ran along her spine. Once they were settled on Terra Firma how long would it be before the generations forgot? How long would it be before their new lives replaced the old?

‘It will be sooner than you think if we don’t keep the memories ever before us.’ Stephen answered her unspoken questions as he joined her.

‘Then, we must make it our passion to be ever mindful.’ Sheata agreed. ‘The only question is how to do it without repeating it.’

‘Terra’s history alone proves that even in remembering, history is often repeated.’ He reminded. ‘That is why we must not only remember; but also, actively work at prevention.’

‘Ah, to prevent a social illness of hate.’ Sheata sighed. ‘To change a generation’s worth of thinking isn’t going to be easy. The children have known nothing but war their entire lives. They barely understand the meaning of peace, let alone how to keep it.’

‘Then, we who do know, have a duty to teach them. That will be our greatest challenge. In time, we can hope that they will be just as successful at peace as they were in war.’ He suggested.

‘One can only do as one can.’ Sheata nodded.

‘Come, now, my wife. The hour is late, ad we must rest.’ Stephen placed a gentle hand on her spine.