Liz’s Mom

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PHOTO PROMPT © J Hardy Carroll

Liz was going through one of the boxes in the basement when she came across a photo of her mother playing Pin the Tail on the Donkey.  She was wearing a pretty pink dress with a white sash.  She smiled as she remembered her mother telling her how much she loved this game which existed since the late 1800s.  She wouldn’t have a birthday party without it.  In this photo she was celebrating her 10th.

Liz’s eyes filled with tears.  Her mother died a month ago after losing her battle with Parkinson’s.  At least she was at peace now.

 

99 Words

This was written for the Friday Fictioneers challenge hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields For more details, visit Here.  To read other stories based on this week’s prompt, visit Here.

Watching From a Distance

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PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

He knew she was watching him. He could feel her eyes on him as he cut through the water like a knife. She worked there and for weeks, he wanted to talk to her, but his courage always failed him. Besides, he wasn’t sure how he was going to communicate with her.

He swam several more laps and then climbed out. He looked over to where she was. She smiled and he smiled back.  Maybe now?  Maybe not.  Grabbing his towel, he turned and walked away.

She called out to him but he couldn’t hear her. He was stone deaf.

 

100 Words

This was written for the Friday Fictioneers challenge hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields For more details, visit Here.  To read other stories based on this week’s prompt, visit Here.

David/Rooted #writephoto

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Photo by Sue Vincent

This was the tree where David and I met after school.  He was the sweetest boy I ever knew and I always imagined that one day we would get married and have lots of children.  It never occurred to me that laws would soon be put in place to make relationships such as ours illegal.

As soon as school was let out, I ran to the tree and he would be waiting for me.  He was so tall and handsome with thick black hair and gentle brown eyes.  We would hold hands and kiss but that was as far as things went.  We would sit under the tree and talk for hours.  Parting from him was always hard.  I always willed the hours because I couldn’t wait to see him again.

Then one day, I showed up and for the first time he wasn’t there.  I waited for hours but he never came.  I was understandably frantic.  After several days went by and still no sign of him,  I decided to go by his father’s shop and was appalled to see the word, “Jude” painted across the window and the star of David.  The shop was empty.  I ran home and asked my father what had happened to David.  My father sat me down and explained to me that the Germans had moved the Jews to the Ghetto.  I learned that they were banned from from entering certain streets, squares, parks, woods and other public places.  That meant that David and I couldn’t meet by the tree anymore.  It was in the woods.  David couldn’t go to my brother’s school any more.

After my father finished telling me everything he knew, I went to my room where I cried and cried.  David who was forced to live like an animal because of deeply rooted hatred.  My world had become a dark and ugly place of intolerance and ignorance.  I wanted so desperately to see him but it was out of the question.  My father told me it was best to forget about David.  There was no future for us.  He was a Jew.

I knew that I would never forget David.  I loved him.  He was my first and only love.  And I never gave up hope that we would be together again–not even when I learned that the Jews had been deported to concentration camps.  No one was willing to take them in and for some Jews, going into hiding would break up their families and that was unthinkable, especially those who with children.

The years went by, the war raged on and I became a nurse.   My father died of a heart-attack a couple of days after his fiftieth wedding anniversary.  Only my mother and I were left.  My brother was killed years ago after he was arrested for being a part of a  resistance movement against the Nazi Regime.  My parents were devastated but I was proud of him for fighting against evil.  I only wish I had the guts to do something too.  Instead I prayed that David and his family would somehow survive and that when the war was over I would see him again.

Well, the war is over and I’m the only surviving member of my family.  My mother died from a stroke a month ago.  I buried her next to my father.

Tomorrow is my birthday but I have no one special to celebrate it with.  It’s a nice afternoon so I decided to go for a walk in the park.  I head straight for the tree.  A man stood there with his back to me.  He was wearing a hat and a trench coat.  Something about him looked familiar.  My heart began to beat faster.  I could feel the color drain from my cheeks.  “David?” My voice was barely above a whisper and yet he heard me.

He turned around slowly.  “Ingrid.” He removed his hat and stepped forward.

“David!” I cried again and then we were in each other’s arms, laughing, crying and kissing.  I don’t know how long we did that and I didn’t care. All I knew was that David, my David was alive.  He had survived the ghetto, the camp and the war.

This was written for the #writephoto Prompt – Rooted at Sue Vincent’s Daily Echo.

Sources:  Holocaust EncyclopediaOxford AcademicHolocaust 

The Walk Home

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PHOTO PROMPT © Jean L. Hays

“It’s nice of you to walk me home,” she said, smiling shyly at him as they cut across the field.

The sun cast a soft glow on her face with its large brown eyes which seemed to dance every time she looked at him, making his heart skip a beat.  She was the prettiest girl he knew.  It was an honor to walk her home.

He smiled.  “It’s the least I could do.  You’ve been helping me with my assignment. “

Her countenance fell.  “Is that the only reason?” she asked.

“No.  May I hold your hand?”

She beamed.  “Sure.”

 

100 Words

This was written for the Friday Fictioneers challenge hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields For more details, visit Here.  To read other stories based on this week’s prompt, visit Here.

Rebuilding/Monochrome #writephoto

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Photo by Sue Vincent

It stood there, a monochrome structure, unusual in appearance as tourists and curiosity seekers descended upon its immaculate grounds like a swarm of locusts.  They came every year to see if it would cave in.  The owners of the property were determined that it never would.  As long as it remained standing, the money would keep coming in.   They made sure it was properly maintained and repaired.

They didn’t, however, imagine that their cash cow would one day go up in flames.  It turned out that the caretaker set the house on fire in an attempt to cover up the accidental death of his girlfriend.  Following a heated argument in his office, he struck her in a fit of rage and she fell, hitting her head against the concrete wall.

Panicking, he grabbed a can of kerosene and doused the place, set the flammable liquid on fire and then fled.  Riddled with guilt and remorse, he turned himself in a couple of days later.   He is serving time in jail for assault, involuntary manslaughter, destroying and concealing evidence and arson.

Tourists still flock to see the burnt remains of the house.  Donations are flooding in for its rebuilding.  The owners are raking in more money now than before.  They are hoping to have the new structure finished by the year 2021.

This was written for the #writephoto Prompt – Monochrome at Sue Vincent’s Daily Echo.

 

A New Experience

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PHOTO PROMPT © Roger Bultot

My family and I drive past it every day on our way to drop our son to school. It’s a beautiful old building in a quiet neighborhood. I’ve often wondered what it looks like inside.

I recently learned that the word synagogue comes from the Greek word for gathering together. It can be a house of prayer, of learning or a meeting place.  It’s a place where people of shared faith feel at home.

I have a Jewish friend. I wonder if she wouldn’t mind me tagging along one Saturday. I want to experience what their worship service is like.

100 Words

This was written for the Friday Fictioneers challenge hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields For more details, visit Here.  To read other stories based on this week’s prompt, visit Here.

Source:  BBC

Rest, My Beloved/Shade #writephoto

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Photo by Sue Vincent

There in the shade of the trees, my Beloved rests

for death is but a deep and untroubled sleep

and the grave a bed buried in the heart of the earth.

Death is but a temporary separation for us.  We

shall see each other again.

 

Until then, rest, my Beloved, rest until the day when you

you shall awake to life immortal.

 

This was written for the #writephoto Prompt – Shade at Sue Vincent’s Daily Echo.

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