Photo Credit @Liz Young
A Mother’s Reward
by T. Delaplain
Seven lay resting: too early, too late, born still, the measles, poisoned blood. Those that God left, the Great War took away. Wandering through the stones and crosses stepping over a fresh mound of turned soil through a haze of lilies, she offered praise and forgiveness. Arms finally full, now she could care for her babies.
An offering for Friday Fictioneers. We will give you 100 words to say your peace.
Photo credit @Al Forbes
Held In Memory
by T. Delaplain
I slide into the backseat, lie on my back and imagine the moonlight. I’m assaulted with longing so intense that it can only be desire. The taste of your breath lingers still. I run my hand over the discolored upholstery. I can almost smell the vanilla ice cream mishap: kids and dogs and chaos.
My tears cloud the rear view mirror again. Continue Reading
Photo credit @Adam Ickes
A Better Plan
Wanting to disappear, I curled into myself and buried my head under the soft pillow. If I made myself small enough, I could hide from the last hours of my dad’s life.
You wrapped around me, wanting to shield me from my grief.
“No more suffering,” you said but I wasn’t sure who’s suffering you meant.
“It feels like I killed him,” I confessed.
“He begged me to push him off a dock and leave him. I couldn’t do it,” you whispered.
“That’s just stupid,” I lifted my head with a soft chuckle, “God, I’m going to miss that ridiculous old cowboy.”
In control until his last breath, my father died exactly 24 hours after he told the hospice nurse, “This will all be over by tomorrow.” The story is true and I’m so glad that my husband didn’t agree to my dad’s demand. Calling hospice was exactly the right thing to do. He had a good death with my sister and I at his bedside. I couldn’t have wished for a better ending to his story. And a day doesn’t go by that I don’t miss him and his tales and his sense of humor.
For more 100 word stories sail over to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields‘ website and follow the dock to Friday Fictionners. (Oops, I guess it’s a bridge and not a dock.)
Copyright – Rochelle Wisoff-Fields
For Every Season
I traced a frozen heart on the glass.
No longer were your initials available to interlace with mine.
The storms and passion of our verdant spring had been replaced with a summer of striving, of building and succeeding. Continue Reading
Photo Credit to Rich Voza
110 in The Shade
The pilot wiped the sweat and dust from his brow and coaxed the joystick, “Just one more pass baby.”
His man on the ground had been confident when he called in the strike.
There was no space in his head for hesitation but the memories of the prior one hundred fly bys had solidified: women and children and long white coats. Continue Reading
Photo Credit @/wmqcolby.wordpress.com
Physician Heal Thyself
Nothing in the wilderness text had prepared me for this hell. I hadn’t even held a gun since I was twelve years old and even then it was just a rite of passage to appease my old man.
I’m a surgeon, a healer, not a revolutionary.
Sulfur and dust curled under my nose and mixed with the sweat. Tears of inadequacy clouded the pages as I searched the tome for anything that would help. I knew the bullet had to come out but I didn’t know if I was brave enough to make the first cut before I exsanguinated.
For more 100 word tomes, go to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for your weekly Friday Fictioneers Fix.