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Photo-Fiction #52

52 weeks, a whole year this challenge has been running. Thanks to everyone who has ever participated.

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Can you tell a story in 300 words? Here’s the challenge.

Write a fictional piece of no more than 300 words based on this picture. You pick your poison, poetry or story. Please don’t forget to, mention this post in yours, and link back here i.e. include a link to this post in your post on your blog, so we can check out your work. Happy writing guys, have fun, I look forward to reading what you all come up with.

Don’t have a blog but still want to submit a story? Do you have an interesting picture you would like to see our participants write on? Contact me at randomauthormich@gmail.com and submit. I look forward to hearing from you.

Stories or pieces submitted in the way much contain the Authors Name and a short bio in the body of the email.

This weeks’ responses are poignant and full of familiar feeling. Please stop by, read, share, comment and love.

Show me: November Child

Empath: Jhohadli

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The watcher.

In response to Photo-Fiction #46

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I got my hat when I was 17. It had been hanging on the wall of the rickety shack where my summer love reached it’s zenith. I had loved her and she was only passing through and as a parting gift I had given her my virtue. She had given me a hat. I wore it proudly and for many years it was the thing by which I was defined.

“My Husband, the one with the hat.” My wife fondly. I had worn it on our first date, or wedding day, seen our son born.

“Dad, do you always have the wear the hat?” my son full of teenage angst. I wore it everyday to work, to drop him off to school.

“My Grappa wears a funny hat.” my granddaughter full of childish glee. It was hiding my bald spot.

“Grappa can I wear it?” My great grandson, the magician. To him I was just classic.

I watched them grow and change as the world chiseled them into shape. It’s been a good life, witnessed since that day in that rickety shack, by this hat. Is it any wonder, that when she came to me at death’s door, it was the thing I took with me?

She came, that night as the machine beeps started to slow, I could feel my last breath gathering it’s strength, she had come. Not a day older than the 19 I had left her, the ghost of a summer back then. My hat on the side table. She offered me another way. A chance to see and to follow, the way the man the hat had been had done for me. Just to watch and never interfere.

I made the choice, I took her offer. I’ll live, a watcher now, in a black top hat.

About which there just isn’t much to say.

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Hi there, what have you all been up to? Something interesting I hope. Something fun I pray.

For me, my day job has been encroaching on our time together. It took so much away from us, I didn’t want to share the sad news about the fire we had, or the epic tale of how we managed to get our school back in some semblance of working order only a week after our entire administrative block was reduced to ash and crumbling walls. I didn’t want to process that anyway.

After that is was a mad dash to finish grading for externals and SBA’s and I’m pretty sure nobody wanted to read about that. Not that I had any time or compulsion to tell it.

Now I have finally surfaced, and it’s on to the regular tasks of lesson and unit planning, and matriculating exams and grading assignments and teaching etc etc. All the regular things that make up teaching. So the slump might very well be coming to an end.

All that to say, there really hasn’t been too much to say. I just really wanna know what you’ve all been up to. Leave a comment, let me know what I’ve been missing from my blog family.

It was Fur Elise

In response to photo-fiction #31

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It was Fur Elise we heard, as we hid in the woods.It was the song  Nan had played on the old baby grand. To get us to sleep, or to be quiet when Mama had reached the end of her wit and Papa was not there to quell us with his stern expression.

We had listened to her play the night the men had come. Stopping abruptly the music and the spell of sweet Nan, who smelled like peppermint and her tincture for her fingers and old age. Stopped it with shouting in their harsh voices, the splintering of wood as the door frame shattered beneath their boots and the wailing of an old woman, and the arguing of an old man. A ruckus made only to allow Mama to herd us all out the kitchen, across the way and to Papa, the Rabbi and the family who gave our kind shelter.

We heard Fur Elise in the forest three weeks later, as we tried to reach the border in stealth. To escape the concentration camps, the mustard gas, the manifestations of the Fuhrer’s  hatred. Six of us, listening almost dreamlike to the sound of a piano in the middle of the forest.

The smallest among us ran to the sound, looking maybe for Nan. It was a man he found instead, one of them. The same one that had ripped our life apart with a heavy boot to our front door. He never stopped playing, even as we skidded to a halt before him, as our hearts stopped and we each said our own version of the benediction. Each saying in our own way, goodbye to this life. He did not stop, his masterful hands gliding gently over the keys, until he was finished, and all that was left to temper the ear was the sound of my mother weeping.

“I am sorry.” He turned to us, he too was in tears. Tired and sadness carved deep in the lines of his face, he let us go.

 

Photo-Fiction 31

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Can you tell this story as a work of Flash Fiction? Write a fictional piece of no more than 300 words. You pick your poison, poetry or story. Please don’t forget to link back here i.e. include a link to this post in your post on your blog, so we can check out your work. Happy writing guys, have fun, I look forward to reading what you all come up with.

Don’t have a blog but still want to submit a story? Do you have an interesting picture you would like to see our participants write on? Contact me at randomauthormich@gmail.com and submit. I look forward to hearing from you.

Stories or pieces submitted in the way much contain the Authors Name and a short bio in the body of the email.

Challenge accepted, and with such staggering depth. But don’t take my word for it, stop by, read, be captured, and show some love.

Random_Michelle: It was Fur Elise

In Medias Res: Piano Man

ladyleemanila: Don’t walk away

Jhohadli: In War, Music

PschologistMimi: His neurons were everywhere so he played on