Inside the Mind of Isadora


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Friday Fictioneers – Flamenco Competition


“Por favor, Renaldo, can we stop all of this practicing. My feet are swollen. My toes ache.”

“Esmeralda, we must practice if we’re going to win the competition.”

“But, it’s snowing and I wish to go home while I still can.”

“The Flamenco has to be perfect; no missteps, we must be flawless.”

“Okay, go, he snarled. Work on your costume and return early tomorrow. No excuses.”

Cautiously, Esmeralda, walked to her car.

From behind she heard a scream.

Quickly, she turned and saw Renaldo sitting on the icy concrete.

With a sheepish grin, she shouted, “No practice tomorrow … right?”

2017©Isadora DeLaVega

Genre: Flash Fiction
Word Count: 100 words
Photo Prompt:©Magaly Guerrero

 

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~~~~~


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Friday Fictioneers – Gratitude

Although there wan’t any dinner because he’d arrived late, he felt no ill will.

Freshly brewed coffee and donuts were set out for the night. This would be enough for him.

~~~~~~~

The street lights were a warm welcome for the oncoming damp chilly night.

The lamppost, near his favorite bench, the ideal place to secure the fine bicycle he’d found at the Salvation Army today. The boots fit him perfectly, too. He was happy the saleswoman had given him this woolen blanket as he left.

Soon sleep. And, another day would have been lived.

God, he thought, life was grand.

2017©Isadora DeLaVega

Genre: Flash Fiction
Word Count: 100
Photo Prompt:©Jellicos Stationhouse

 

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Friday Fictioneers – Changing Marina

As soon as we approached the marina in St. Thomas, I could see his face turning red.

“Do you see this Laura Lee?”

“Yes, I do Max.”

“Things are changing. I used to love this little marina. Now, it’s always under construction and overcrowded with boats in every little space. It won’t be long before we won’t have a dock for our sailboat. I can recall when we’d be the eye candy for all who loved a good looking sailboat. Now, we can barely navigate around these obstacles.”

“Max, lookout. There’s a cruise ship coming; starboard side.”

Crunch

Man overboard.

2017©Isadora DeLaVega

 

Genre: Flash Fiction
Word Count: 100
Photo Prompt:©Fatima Fakier Deria

 

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Friday Fictioneers – Hell or Opportunity


Stoic, Carmen sat in the back of the taxicab.

She scrutinized farms and gated mansions they passed.

Her parents told her she was going to the small town where her mother was raised.

But, this was her senior year.

How could they?

Why?

No answers.

Irrational gibberish about going back to her roots; her roots not mine.

“You’ll attend the Benedictine Catholic Academy: Nuestra Señora de la Valvanera.”

“Your great aunt will care for you.”

Carmen wept uncontrollable. The trauma was tearing her apart.

“How dare you question this opportunity,” her mother sneered.

“But, why?”

“Because, we know what’s best.”

2017©Isadora DeLaVega

Genre: Flash Fiction
Word Count: 100
Photo Prompt:©Hardy Carroll

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Friday Fictioneers – Muse of You

Humming, ‘Windmills of Your Mind’ ,
Hans Vansbo stood back to view the geometric precision of his latest creation.

Round like a circle in a spiral. Like a wheel within a wheel.
Never ending or beginning on an ever spinning wheel …

“Paragon,” he whispered to himself.

“Clearly Hans, this song from your broken relationship has influenced you more then it should.”

“I don’t have time to examine your implications”, retorted Hans.

“But will it sell?”, chimed his dealer. “You need a buyer”.

“It did sell.”

“The curator for the Sven Gallery called. It’s been purchased to be exhibited in their garden.”

2017©Isadora DeLaVega

Genre: Flash Fiction
Word Count: 100
Photo Prompt: ©Jennifer Pendergast

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Friday Fictioneers – Not Candice Anymore

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She could see Marcus in his white Escalade. He made sure all his girls were where they were supposed to be. Stay warm, baby, Candy’s bringing you what you want. Money …

~~~~~

How did she get in this mess? She’s from Connecticut. We’re good girls.
Me?  I’m the rebel. I never follow rules.

Candace could see no way out. She wasn’t Candace anymore.

~~~~~

“Hey Darlin’, lookin’ for some fun?”

“Sure, baby”.

“Let’s go for a ride.”

~~~~~

The bright marquee lit the seedy motel. The room stank of smoke and sweat.

~~~~~

Thug!

If he hadn’t pulled the knife, Marcus wouldn’t have shot.

2016©Isadora DeLaVega

Genre: Flash Fiction
Word Count: 100 words
Photo Prompt©Shaktiki Sharma

 

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Friday Fictioneers – Trapped

friday-fictioneers-121616-horses-in-snow

Before dawn, Paw fed the horses, pigs and chickens.

It had snowed all night. It was going to be a rough day for setting traps.

Fresh eggs and ham were ready when I got up.

“A good breakfast will get you through the day,” Maw said.

We took the North end of the farm. Maw took the South end with Bubba.

Beaver skins helped make us money in winter.

No sign of Maw when we got home. Paw and I went out to find her.

She was slumped in the snow.

Bubba cried out, “Paw, Help”!

“Maw caught her foot”.

2016©Isadora De La Vega

Genre: Flash Fiction
Word Count: 100
Photo Prompt: ©Rochelle Wisoff-Fields


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Friday Fictioneers – Rockefeller Center Christmas Tree

friday-fictioneers-12916-lucy-solMegan hadn’t slept a wink.

She was surprised her mother had said she’d take her tomorrow. Plagued with social anxiety, her mother never went out. But, she said she would.

Megan picked out her red and green snowflake hat and gloves. She wanted christmas written all over her in the photographs mother would take.

Morning dawn peeked through the curtains. Megan had butterflies in her stomach from anticipation.

She smelled coffee.

Mother was up.

She ran downstairs.

“Mother, what time are we leaving to see the tree at Rockefeller Center?”

Without turning she sulkily said, “Not today, Megan, maybe tomorrow.”

2016©Isadora De La Vega

Genre: Flash Fiction

Word Count: 100

 

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~~~~~

*****Social anxiety disorder also called social phobia involves overwhelming worry and self-consciousness about everyday social situations. The worry often centers on a fear of being judged by others, or behaving in a way that might cause embarrassment or lead to ridicule.

Anxiety disorders can cause such distress that it interferes with your ability to lead a normal life.This type of disorder is a serious mental illness. For people who have one, worry and fear are constant and overwhelming, and can be disabling. But with treatment, many people can manage those feelings and get back to a fulfilling life. info:web md

For Online Support Group: Anxiety and Depression Association

 


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Friday Fictioneers – Awaiting the Letter

friday-fictioneers-111816-bjc3b6rn-14His hands are shaking.

He can barely get the key into the mailbox slit.

Will the letter be in there?

He holds the letter firmly; runs his fingers across the calligraphy engraved return address.

Feeling unsteady, he sits on the dank urine-stench steps.

This letter could be my way out of this dump.

No one has faith in my musical talent. I’ll prove them wrong.

He’s tired of playing jazz at the smokey ‘Cafe Wha?’.

“Dear Randolph,” 

“We regret that you do not qualify, at this time, to be in our Juilliard Music Program.”

Uncontrollably sobbing.

Perhaps, everyones right.

2016©Isadora De La Vega

 

Genre: Flash Fiction

Word Count: 100

Photo Prompt:©Bjorn Rudberg

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*****I used to go to the Cafe Wha? in my twenties with my, then, boyfriend, now, hubby.

      Cafe Wha? is a club at the corner of MacDougal Street and Minetta Lane in the Greenwich Village neighborhood of Manhattan, New York City that has presented numerous musicians and comedians. Bob Dylan, Jimi Hendrix, Bruce Springsteen, The Velvet Underground, Cat Mother & the All Night Newsboys, Kool and the Gang, Peter, Paul & Mary, Woody Allen, Lenny Bruce, Joan Rivers, Bill Cosby, Richard Pryor and many others all began their careers at the Wha? ©wikipedia


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Friday Fictioneers – He Rocked

friday-fictioneers-102116-claire-fuller-8

“Look, I’ve a magical wand,” Willie said.
“No, you don’t. It’s a piece of rope”.

He always found odd objects to store in those cubicles dad made for him.

~~~~~

Mom rocked in her chair and stared; disconnected. It all started when she was told Willie was retarded.

She screamed, “No. You’re wrong.”

They weren’t.

He was.

She was angry. She took him out of school.

Blame.

He listened to music all day. Rocked his head, side to side, on his bed listening to his portable radio.

She told him he was special.

At 14, he raped her; unaware, she was his mother.

2016©Isadora DeLaVega

Genre: Flash Fiction
Word Count: 102 words

 Rochelle hosts the Friday Fictioneers challenge
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*****Photo Promp© Claire Fuller