The Gift

October 3, 2018Na'ama Yehuda Anecdotes of Life, Life and love, Muse and Flow, Reflections, Writing Tags: 100WordChallenge, Family, Flash Fiction, Friday Fictioneers, Micro-fiction, Relationships, Short Story, Social Skills, Writing prompt, Yearning 50 Comments

PHOTO PROMPT © Sandra Crook

She left him a gift.

She knew he wasn’t likely to acknowledge it. It was possible he wouldn’t know or care where it had come from. It didn’t matter. Or perhaps it did – and terribly – but she could do nothing to change it. Where others sought connection and cultivated relationships, her father’s world revolved around rocks, shells, sticks, pebbles, stones. Those he caressed, inspected, studied, catalogued.

She’d learned to expect nothing. It was the only way to lessen heartbreak.

She left the coral piece on the table. Perhaps if he kept it, it would be as if he saw her.

For Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers

The Interview

September 30, 2018October 1, 2018Na'ama Yehuda Anecdotes of Life, Life and love, Muse and Flow, Reflections, Writing Tags: Asylum, Broadmoor, Elderly, empathy, Flash Fiction, Interview, Life Lessons, Micro-fiction, Short Story, Trauma, Writing prompt Leave a comment

The Broadmoor in Crowthorne Berkshire "opened in 1863 as the first building in England built as an asylum for the criminally insane." Today it houses dangerous criminals including the Yorkshire Ripper and the Suffolk Strangler. There is now talk of turning this building into a luxury hotel.

“How did I get here? Too many times of the world painting life in bleak pain and despair,” her wrinkled hand passed over a face lined with history and sorrow.

I looked down at my own hands, fingers marked with blots of ink. I never managed to learn how to hold writing implements far enough from the tip.

Mrs. Glendale leaned forward and her hand touched my knee. The attendant didn’t flinch but I held my breath and wondered, again, what made me choose the asylum for the criminally insane for my project.

“Whatever happens, child,” she whispered, “remember it is best for your heart to brandish hope, not revenge.”

For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt

Horse Spirit

September 29, 2018September 29, 2018Na'ama Yehuda Anecdotes of Life, Life and love, Muse and Flow, Reflections, Writing Tags: Archeology, art, Flash Fiction, History, Micro-fiction, Paleolithic, Portugal, Short Story, What Pegman Saw, Writing, Writing prompt 27 Comments

Photo: Palaeolithic art at Foz Côa’s Archaeological Park, Portugal

“Why do you hit the rock with sharpened stones?”

Golin quaked under The Elder’s frown. It was forbidden to harm The Rocks That Shelter. The big stones protected them from biting teeth and snarling maws. They stopped the wind. They held back scorching sun. They reflected heat from fires.

And let flames paint shadows, Golin thought.

“He will drive away Horse Spirit and we will starve,” Morsen scowled predictably.

“Let him answer,” The Elder said.

Morsen seethed. The old man always favored Golin.

“The Rocks That Shelter do not anger when the fire lives in them,” Golin pointed at the dancing reflection on the wall.

“He makes no sense,” Morsen pouted. A few others nodded but The Elder’s stony gaze did not leave Golin’s face.

“They draw the fire near,” Golin stressed. Couldn’t they see? “Perhaps The Rocks That Shelter will welcome Horse Spirit and call it here.”

For What Pegman Saw: Douro, Portugal

The Service

September 28, 2018September 28, 2018Na'ama Yehuda Anecdotes of Life, Muse and Flow, Reflections, Trauma and Development, Writing Tags: 100WordChallenge, Eulogy, Family, Flash Fiction, Friday Fictioneers, Loss, Memorial service, Micro-fiction, Short Story, Speaking up, Truth, Writing prompt 42 Comments

PHOTO PROMPT © Yvette Prior

All was set for the service.

Programs lounged on chairs in the next room. The adequately melancholy music played. Discrete tissue boxes rested at either end of the first row.

She waited as heels clicked on marble and black fabrics swished and the somber faces of acquaintances, rearranged for the occasion, nodded at her. She endured the hugs and shoulder pats and too-long handshakes. She breathed through the words.

The room quieted.

She rose and stared at the ornate urn on the dais before turning to face the living.

“You should know,” she began, “that Dad was not a good man.

For Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers

Worse Off Than A Monk

September 22, 2018September 22, 2018Na'ama Yehuda Anecdotes of Life, Life and love, Muse and Flow, Reflections, Writing Tags: Adolescents, Basque region, Decisions, empathy, Family, Flash Fiction, Loss, Micro-fiction, Off The Grid, Short Story, Teenagers, What Pegman Saw, Writing prompt 15 Comments

Photo: Mapio.net; Goizueta, Navarre

“I am not going!”

They cannot send him to that miserable hut where there’s no electricity, no running water, creepy crawlies, and no internet. Even monks have internet. He was going to be worse off than a monk!

His father sighed. “Aitona Antton needs help and Osaba Alesander is still recovering from his motorcycle accident.”

“So I need to lose a leg to get out of this?” Danel grumbled.

His father’s sharp inhale told him he’d gone too far.

He shrugged apology. He was in enough trouble. Ditching school, hanging out “with the wrong crowd.” It was exile or jail.

“He’s your great-grandfather,” his father sounded tired, and not just from spending nights at Uncle Alesander’s bedside. “You used to love visiting him.”

“Before Birramona died …” Danel stopped. The remote homestead was awfully quiet without his great-grandmother. How much more so for Aitona-handia?

He sighed. “At least I like goat-cheese.”

For What Pegman Saw

(Basque glossary – Aitona: Grandfather; Aitona-handia: Great grandfather; Birramona: Great grandmother; Osaba: Uncle)

In Case Of Rain

September 19, 2018Na'ama Yehuda Anecdotes of Life, Life and love, Muse and Flow, Reflections, Writing Tags: 100WordChallenge, Abuse of power, Anniversary, Flash Fiction, Friday Fictioneers, Illness, Micro-fiction, Relationships, Short Story, Writing, Writing prompt 24 Comments

PHOTO PROMPT © Dale Rogerson

It was their anniversary, and once again he was late.

The office manager held him up for nonsense that could’ve easily waited for tomorrow. Mr. Billings often did so when Gary was in a rush. It was a cruel little game he played, knowing that with previous ‘insubordination’ records in his file, Gary could not afford even the slightest reprimand. No job, no health insurance.

His phone buzzed as he rushed to the restaurant. A text.

“Lost?”

Mary. Gary’s heart sank. He ran faster. His phone vibrated again.

“I’m under a blue umbrella. You know, in case of rain.”

For Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers

The One Thing

September 12, 2018September 12, 2018Na'ama Yehuda Anecdotes of Life, Life and love, Muse and Flow, Reflections, Writing Tags: Dysfunctional families, Flash Fiction, Friday Fictioneers, Inheritance, Micro-fiction, rivalry, Secrets, Short Story, Siblings, Writing prompt 23 Comments

PHOTO PROMPT © J Hardy Carroll

“It’s the one thing I want.”

His siblings’ squabbling over their late mother’s items woke memories he preferred to not revisit. He wondered if not leaving a will was her way to continue their jockeying for her perceived affections even after she was gone.

Linda fixed her suspicious gaze on him. “Why?”

He shrugged to feign indifference. “I find the carvings interesting, and,” he pointed at his black clothing, “it’s kind of Goth.”

He wasn’t going to tell them about the hidden compartments. Or their contents. Grandpa had shown him. “Black sheep need help, Son. In case of hard times.”

For Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers

Bedtime for Luna

September 5, 2018September 5, 2018Na'ama Yehuda Anecdotes of Life, Life and love, Muse and Flow, Reflections, Trauma and Development, Writing Tags: 100WordChallenge, children, Difficult times, Flash Fiction, Friday Fictioneers, hardship, Micro-fiction, Separation, Short Story, Waiting 20 Comments

“So, remember,” her hand on the door’s handle. “Bedtime at 9, only one treat, brush your teeth.”

“And no opening the door for anyone,” he intoned.

At least it got him a smile. There weren’t many of them of late.

She tucked an errant lock of hair behind an ear and suddenly he couldn’t stand it.

“When will you be back?” He knew. He had to ask.

She glanced at the window. The court-order weighed heavy on her mind.

“When Luna goes to bed behind the mountain, I’ll be home.”

For the last time.

For Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers

As The Crow Flies

September 1, 2018September 2, 2018Na'ama Yehuda Anecdotes of Life, Life and love, Muse and Flow, Reflections, Writing Tags: Challenges, Flash Fiction, Frozen, Inheritance, Mackinac Island, Micro-fiction, Obstacles, Short Story, Thaw, Timing is everything 26 Comments

Mackinac Island; http://www.cityofmi.org/

“Thar she is,” the captain pointed.

She stared at the lighthouse across a desert of stacked ice shards and patches of wet cold.

“How far are we?”

The grizzled man lifted a hand against the horizon as if measuring. “Ah, ’bout a mile, as the crow flies.”

Might as well be ten thousand, she thought. Years, too.

He’d left the engines idling but refused to get her any closer. Would not lend her a kayak, either. “Too chocked up,” he’d said.

She reiterated her urgency but still he would not be swayed.

“She’d give up her ice soon,” he nodded at the lake. His attempt at kindness.

Soon would be too late. She swallowed bitterness. The estate was scheduled to be liquidated the next morning. Without photo proof of her early childhood scrawls in the lighthouse’s attic, she’d lose the inheritance. Illegitimate in a whole new way.

For What Pegman Saw

All There Is

August 30, 2018August 30, 2018Na'ama Yehuda Anecdotes of Life, Muse and Flow, Reflections, Writing Tags: 3LineTales, Acceptance, Determination, education, Flash Fiction, Knowledge is Power, library, Micro-fiction, Short Story 8 Comments

Photo: Davide Cantelli via Unsplash

She would learn everything about it, she promised herself, and details will no longer catch her unaware. The books soldiered on, and she with them. By closing-time she was educated and heartbroken: She knew what it was. She knew it was incurable.

For Three Line Tales, week 135