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:

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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London double-decker bus--03-march-27th-2016

Photo Copyright: Al Forbes

This story was written for Sunday Photo Fiction – March 27th, 2016. Each week the host, Al Forbes, provides 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 and inspired by the prompt.

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

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

Genre: Romance Fiction

Word Count: 3+200=203 Words


Sean Wilson sat comfortably on the top level of one of the last Routemaster buses in London. They only traveled on a couple heritage routes now. It was one of his “remembering” days.

The face of the woman sitting opposite him in the aisle seat had faded away and he now saw his dear Annie. It was on a similar bus they’d first met.

In a voice like silver, she’d said, pulling off her gloves, “I just moved here from Aberdeen.”

Until then, he hadn’t noticed she was wearing gloves. He’d heard of love at sight but hadn’t believed it. She was magic and her golden hair glowed. He couldn’t think of a thing to say.

He must have looked stunned because she laughed. My name’s Annie Macintosh, what’s yours?”

His name, what was his name? “Sean Wilson,” he blurted out. Now she’d think he was stupid.

But she laughed again. “Do you always take this bus, Sean?” Another passenger walked between them.

His brain froze. Did he? Finally, “Yes, yes,” he almost shouted.

“Say, mate, this seat taken?” a deep voice asked.

With a mild shock, Sean came back to the present and his fellow passenger. “No,” he said.




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Street in California

Copyright–Rochelle Wisoff-Fields


Here we are again. We’ve gathered at the tables of a virtual sidewalk cafe in Hollywood. We’re here in the movie capital of the U.S. to discuss our original stories for another week. Our hostess for this weekly event is the talented and gracious author and artist Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. This is the coming together of the Friday Fictioneer’s group. The challenge is to each write a story with no more than 100 words. It’s supposed to include a beginning, middle, end, and follow the picture prompt for the week. The prompt this week was supplied by our hostess herself, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Thanks again Rochelle.

The link for all the other stories is as follows:

Genre:  Humor Fiction

Word Count:  100 Words


Mamie Brunfield had been a big, big movie and TV star in the 1950’s. Now in her 80’s, with a great memory, she was going to write her memoir. She had known many men intimately and worked with many stars still alive. Fear in Hollywood was living and breathing.

She hired a ghost writer to come to her spacious mansion perched in the Hollywood hills.

Earnest Dithing was seriously thinking of suing Mamie for slander.

“What did I ever see in the old goat?” he asked his young, shapely blond wife.

“Will I lose my bee-oo-ti-ful diamonds Ernie-wernie?” she whimpered.