THE MEMORY

 

Ice-on-the-window--Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Photo Copyright: Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Here we all are for another week. Today we’re standing on the virtual porch of an old Victorian house. There’s a beautiful virtual frosted window in the door. Our hostess for this weekly gathering is the talented and gracious author and artist, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. We’re the Friday Fictioneers group. Our challenge this week and every week is to write an original story with no more than 100 words not including the title. It’s supposed to have a beginning, middle, end, and follow the picture prompt for the week. This week’s prompt was requested by Kent Colby and supplied by Rochelle herself. Thanks, Kent, and Rochelle.

To read the other stories by the group members, just click on the link given below, then on the little blue frog in the blue box.

The link for this week’s stories is as follows:

https://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/2016/06/29/1-july-2016/

Genre: Realistic Fiction

Word Count: 100 Words

THE MEMORY by P.S. Joshi

Many nights 10-year-old Maggie Wright had a recurring dream. She saw a frosted window in a Victorian door. she had no idea where the house was.

There were holes in her memory. She’d gone to live with her grandmother in Boston when she was three years old and couldn’t remember her parents.

She’d told her grandmother about the dream but the old woman just said, “Some things are better left alone.”

One night she opened the door in her dream. On the floor were the bodies of a man and woman. They’d been shot. Then she remembered.

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BOTTLES

 

Bottles-Sayjal Joshi

Photo Copyright: Sayjal Joshi

I’m writing this Drabble (100-word story) for the Festival of Drabbles 2015 hosted by Michael Brooks on his Facebook page:

https://www.facebook.com/TheCultofMe/

and on his blog which is as follows:

http://thecultofme.blogspot.co.uk/

I hope you enjoy the story, Suzanne Joshi.

 BOTTLES by P.S. Joshi

Grandma Fig collected frosted bottles of all shapes and sizes. Before dying, she asked for her granddaughter, Amaseena.

“Amaseena,” she whispered, “don’t take lids off the bottles. If there’s a serious drought, you can remove the lid of the large blue bottle.

Since then, Amaseena had been afraid of the bottles. The contents were murky, but at night eyes seemed to be peering out, except for the large, mysterious blue bottle.

A year came when there was a great drought. Amaseena took courage and got down the blue bottle. She carefully removed the lid, and it rained for one month.

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