The Empty Lot

 

Photo Copyright: Dale Rogerson

Here we are again and this week we’re gathered on an empty activity field. We’ve come together to discuss our original stories for the week. This is the Friday Fictioneer’s group. Our hostess for the gathering is the talented and gracious author and artist, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. The challenge for each of us this week and every week is to write a story with no more than 100 words, not counting the title. It’s supposed to have a beginning, middle, end, and be inspired by the picture prompt for the week. This week’s prompt was provided by Dale Rogerson. Thanks, Dale. To read the other stories by group members, just click on the link below, then on the smiling frog. Next, follow the given direction.

4 October 2019

Genre: Memoir

Word Count: 100 Words

The Empty Lot by P.S. Joshi

 

I had a vacation coming, so decided to take a trip back and see the old neighborhood where I was born.

The house looked much the same with a few changes to the front porch and yard. The neighborhood arrangement, however, was very different.

After WWII, a bunch of small GI homes had been stuck in all available spaces.

The street past our house, no longer a dead-end, was now blacktopped and extended to meet the road below.
The empty lot for baseball down there was gone. An expressway cut through.

My memories were just that, not reality any longer.

DARK MEMORIES

 

Photo Copyright: Dale Rogerson

Here we are this week sitting under palm trees in the courtyard of some west coast apartment buildings. We’re gathered to discuss our original stories for the week. This is the Friday Fictioneers group. Our hostess for the gathering is the talented and gracious author and artist, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. The challenge for each of us this week and every week is to write a story with no more than 100 words, not counting the title. It’s supposed to have a beginning, middle, end, and follow the picture prompt for the week. This week’s prompt was provided by Dale Rogerson. Thanks, Dale.

To read the other stories by 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/2017/06/14/16-june-2017/

Genre: Realistic Fiction

Word Count: 100 Words

DARK MEMORIES by P.S. Joshi

I’d promised myself never to come back here again. Then I heard Jenny was dying.

The place hadn’t changed. The six-story, scruffy buildings surrounded by palm trees closed in on me. I wondered if the crummy elevators ever worked.

I could still see the old man leaning over me, his t-shirt stained with sweat. He was my father but that’s as far as it went. This was a man who hit me whenever he felt like it, good reason or bad.

Jenny, my gentle stepmother had somehow outlived him and her time was up. I’d felt sorry for her.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

MEMORIES OF FRIENDS AND MOONSHINE

 

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Photo Copyright: J. Hardy Carroll

This story was written for Sunday Photo Fiction–February 5th, 2017. Each week the host, Al Forbes, provides or chooses a picture prompt. The challenge for each member of the group is to write an original story or poem with no more than 200 words, not including the title and inspired by the prompt. This week’s prompt was supplied by J. Hardy Carroll. Thanks, J. Hardy. 

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

The link to the other stories this week is as follows:

https://sundayphotofictioner.wordpress.com/2017/02/05/sunday-photo-fiction-february-5th-2017/

Genre: Realistic Fiction

Word Count: 200 Words

MEMORIES OF FRIENDS AND MOONSHINE by P.S. Joshi

When Lucy, a school friend of mine, was on summer vacation her parents, older brother, and she used to spend every vacation her father had with the relatives in the hills of West Virginia.

West Virginia is a beautiful state but there just weren’t enough jobs for everyone. Families used to move north to Ohio or Michigan to work in the rubber shops or for car manufacturers. They got homesick and took trips back to West Virginia whenever possible.

Sometimes just an older son would make the move, work during the week, and drive back for the weekend.

Once a friend of mine who worked for the Chevy plant said, “The guys I work with asked if I was going home for the weekend.”

This fellow, an Ohioan, lived at home within a short driving distance.

My school friend told me family neighbors down there made moonshine.

“When the revenuers came around,” she said, “the guys used to hide the liquor in the well.”

I thought it was hilarious and could see them scrambling.

Moonshine was sometimes transported in a car with a special tank underneath. A popular movie in 1958 starring Robert Mitchum, “Thunder Road” was about the subject.

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BANDSTAND MEMORIES

Park band shelter

Copyright: David Stewart

Here we are back for another week, gathered in a virtual park in a small town on an unusually warm day for late March. We’re here for another meeting of the Friday Fictioneers to discuss our original stories for the week. Our hostess for this gathering is the gracious and talented author and artist, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. The challenge for this group is to write a story with no more than 100 words. It’s supposed to have a beginning, middle, end, and follow the picture prompt for the week. This week’s picture was supplied by David Stewart. Thanks, David. To read the other stories from group members, just follow the link provided below, and click on the little blue frog in the blue box.

The link for the other stories is as follows:

https://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/2015/03/25/27-march-2015/

Just a word extra–I recently, for a short time, had some of my Inbox mail going into Trash, if anyone wants to check their Trash as-well-as their Spam. I’ve also had it go into Spam in the past.

Genre: Humor Fiction

Word Count: 100 Words

BANDSTAND MEMORIES by P.S. Joshi

You know how you have these romantic memories about your youth? I had them until I went back for a visit to the town where I grew up.

The old park bandstand looked the same as when Rene Shimhalt and I walked there hand-in-hand, and I gave her her first kiss. At least, I thought so.

When talking to my best friend, Ernie, I found that not only he, but several other guys had beaten me to it.

Of course, that’s the past now since Rene and her husband, Bart, just celebrated their Tenth Wedding Anniversary and have three kids.

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MEMORIES”

 

Bank building in the UK

This is my contribution to Sunday Photo Fiction for January 18, 2015. Every Sunday a new picture prompt is given by Alastair Forbes, the host. The weekly challenge is to write an original story with no more than 200 words. It’s supposed to have a beginning, middle, end, and follow the picture prompt for the week. Be sure to click on the little blue frog in the blue box to read all the other stories.

The link for all the stories is as follows:

http://sundayphotofictioner.wordpress.com/2015/01/18/sunday-photo-fiction-january-18th-2015/

Genre:  Realistic Fiction

Word Count:  197 Words

MEMORIES By P.S. Joshi

Mom was holding a post card of the First Savings Bank. “Yes, it was in front of that very building twenty years ago that I first met your father.” She then sighed.

She was off on one of her memory trips again, and I was bored. She must have told that story about ten times–every month.

“Someday, Bradley,” Mom looked at me with misty eyes, “you’ll meet the one who’s meant to be yours.”

Dad was sitting, head thrown back, snoring. He was not a romantic. Not even a little. Maybe I was like him. I would never subject my kids to that garbage.

Mom was also fond of describing my birth. “You were a beautiful baby,” she said. It seemed she could see me there in front of her, all plump, kicking my little feet.

“The other woman in the hospital room with me had a baby that only weighed five pounds. You weighed eight.”

That talk took place twenty years ago. Now here I am with my daughter, holding up a picture of the local stadium.

“You know, Mary, this is the place where I met your mother fifteen years ago.” My daughter looked bored.

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