Inside the Mind of Isadora

My eyes must be deceiving me. 

It’s my childhood bike.

I reflect on the hours of recreation we had together.

You gave me happy days of endless activity. 

I never thought I’d grow to ignore you, but other things took your place.

Here you are in Momma’s crumbling house; your body rusted, consumed with decay.

 I didn’t expect you to be here among the memories of my childhood.

You played a sweet symphony of shades of color for me to enjoy.

Fear of endings grasps my emotions. 

I banish them to the disposable world, and their unique beauty ends.

2021©Isadora De La Vega

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Genre: Flash Fiction

Word Count: 100 words

Photo Prompt©LisaFox

To join Rochelle and her Friday Fictioneers Writing 

challenge click here 

The morning mist of light rain chills the damp air. The sprinkles fall like fairy dust.

Somber moans of grief echoing in the silence mimic the sound of metal thumps.

Our hearts shattered into aching pieces with memories of her kindly, gentle spirit.  

The dark holes of fragmented pieces felt in each of us.

Grandmother would have called this a celebration of her life.

‘No tears, no sorrow for my death, just joyful memories of my days,’ she’d say.

Grandmother’s friends were remembering her vibrant life.

A dark hole of broken hearts forever silences her wise words in the end.

2021©Isadora De La Vega

~~~~~~~~~

Genre: Flash Fiction

Word Count: 100 words

Photo:©Ted Strutz

To join Rochelle and her Friday Fictioneers Writing 

challenge click here 

*****The elderly continue to be the biggest victims of this dreaded pandemic that we’re still in the midst of experiencing. My daughter is a counselor at a hospice hospital in Albany, NY. The deaths are staggering. Please get vaccinated and wear masks.


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Inky Mess – PPP#3

Olivia, where on earth have you been with Inky?

Pointing, Olivia said, he did it, Momma.

He did what?

Well, he was running really fast. I tried to keep up, but I couldn’t.

Then, he got to the grimy pond and jumped in. I had to jump in and get him. When I got out, there was dirty mud all over Inky and me.

No more jumping in the pond from now on, or I’ll have to keep Inky in his safety cage.

Okay, let’s get you both cleaned up and ready for a nap.

Yes, Momma, replied Olivia obediently.

2021©Isadora De La Vega

Word Count: 100

Genre: Flash Fiction

Dakshali is the host of PPP

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Friday Fictioneers – Alone

Through hazy eyes, I glanced around the room. 

A beeping sound echoed in my ears. It had a mesmerizing tone.

The yellow glow of light reflected on the walls as the sun rose.

I felt numb. 

My mind couldn’t recall what had happened to me.

There was no one in the room. I was alone.

A frightening chill crept through my blood. 

Daunting thoughts raced through my mind.

There were bruises all over my body.

 I ached.

My chest swelled with emotions. 

Tears flowed as panic took hold of me. 

How did I get here?

And, why was I alone?

2021©Isadora DeLaVega

Genre: Flash Fiction

Word Count: 100

Photo Prompt:©Na’ama Yehuda 

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along with her Friday Fictioneers – click here

 

 

 

 


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Friday Fictioneers – Chaos vs. Culture

Under her breath, Katherine grumbled. Moaning all morning about her disinterest in going to Chinatown fell on deaf ears. She hadn’t come to New York City to see food markets, commercial stands filled with counterfeit designer items, or inhaling scents from so many restaurants. She cringed from nausea. 

Traveling with Charles was always a problem. 

Katherine was looking forward to cultural places like the MOMA museum or a Central Park carriage ride. 

You’ll enjoy the chaos was his reply when she questioned his itinerary. Let’s compromise, stay an hour.

Fine, she said.

A vendor shouts: ‘Ma’am, you want Gucci handbag.’

2021©Isadora DeLaVega

 

Genre: Flash Fiction

Word Count: 100 words

Photo Prompt:©Roger Bultot

To join Rochelle in her photo writing challenges

along with her Friday Fictioneers – click here

MoMa_NY_USA_1

***** MOMA – Museum of Modern Art is located in Midtown Manhattan in New York City on 53rd Street. It is an Art Museum. 

 

 


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Friday Fictioneers – Dying Love Aftermath

In February, we had another photo prompt from Dale Rogerson. Since this week we’re having an encore of another of her wonderful photos, I thought I would continue my first Flash Fiction story called Dying Love. If you missed reading it click on the title; although, the stories are independant of each other. Thanks for popping by … Isadora

She sat on the chaise lounge, watching the droplets of rain slide down the window.

Her eyes were swollen and red from the tears she’d shed for hours. Time didn’t exist.

A blank space permeated where there used to be laughter between him and her. 

Now, he was gone. 

Why?

The police were kind but seemed suspicious. The paramour is always suspect.

Yes, they were opposites in many ways, but he was gentle, kind, and conscientious of her likes.

No, he was a keeper. She’d begun to fall in love. 

Will she ever be happy again or die pining away?

 

2021©Isadora DeLaVega

 

Genre: Flash Fiction

Word Count: 100 words

Photo Prompt:©Dale Rogerson

To join Rochelle in her photo writing challenges

along with her Friday Fictioneers – click here

 

 

 

 


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Friday Fictioneers – The Cellar

It had become a struggle to get up during the pandemic.

Working from home was unconstrained; isolation was suffocating.

Lack of human contact was wearing her down. 

After weeks of online conversations, she accepted an invitation to meet Marco at The Cellar.

It’s crowded; music’s loud.

Look for the guy wearing a red shirt.

Strobe lights glanced across his face when I spotted him. 

He was tipsy, not a great first impression, but handsome.

Her instincts quickly kicked in when he touched her thigh.

As planned, her lifeline phone call rings. 

Amanda?

I’ll be right there.

Sorry, emergency, gotta go.

2021©Isadora DeLaVega

 

Genre: Flash Fiction

Word Count: 100 words

Photo Prompt:©AnneHiga

 

To join Rochelle in her photo writing challenges

and her Friday Fictioneers – click here

 

 

 

 


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Friday Fictioneers – A Day at the Beach

It’s warm as I lay on my-blanket staring up at the sky. The bright sun sparkles on the crystal blue waters. It’s peaceful; a calm sensation fills me.

A man is painting at a peak on a hill under a towering palm tree.

In the distance, sailboats skim the water.

Flamingos settle by the water’s edge scooping-fish. They resemble gentlemen wearing pink tuxedo shirts with spotted yellow bowties.

As the skies change from sunny yellow, reddish pink, and orange, a gray shadow sweeps over the water.

The man picks up another canvas, ready to create the ominous sky. 

2021©Isadora DeLaVega

Genre: Flash Fiction 

Word Count: 100 words

Photo Prompt:©C.E.Ayers

To join Rochelle in her photo writing challenges

and her Friday Fictioneers – click here

 


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Friday Fictioneers – Dying Love

“Let’s go to the shore,” he said.

“You’re mad, it’s snowing. Plus, we might get snowed in,” she said.

He loved spontaneity.  

She didn’t. 

Come on! We’ll walk the beach, shiver, then run to the warm flames of the fire left behind in the fireplace. We’ll sip champagne, eat chocolate strawberries as we warm. Besides, you aren’t able to resist my yearn for you.

                                                ~~~~~~~~~

She watched icy waves hit the shore from the balcony.

Just moments before, they’d laid close in each others’ arms, relishing the passion of their lovemaking. 

The fading red roses near the flames emulated his death.

2021©Isadora DeLaVega

 

Genre: Flash Fiction Romance

Word Count: 100 words

Photo Prompt:©Dale Rogerson

To join Rochelle in her photo writing challenges

and her Friday Fictioneers – click here

 

 

 

 


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Friday Fictioneers – The Letter

Browsing through the mail, I came across her letter. I didn’t recognize the handwriting.

The name, Lucy, on the return address gave my stomach a jolt. It had to be bad news.

It was written in Spanish. I had to refresh my skills. I read it a few times; although, the message was clear.

 Dearest,

Your brother, George, died on December, 28, 2020. I just received notification from the 

sanatorium. His remains were donated to scientific research. He was cremated and buried by them. I have no location. 

Sorrowful,

Lucy

Despite my sorrow, I prayed the research could save another.

2021©Isadora DeLaVega

Genre: Memoir

Word Count: 100 words

Photo Prompt:©Ted Strutz

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and her Friday Fictioneers – click here:

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***** George Anthony Diaz Maisonet was born December 14, 1957.

He was born with a disability. He lived with my mother until she passed in 2010.

Lucy was his caretaker/companion until she became ill and could not care for him. 

The government placed him in a sanatorium. They did not notify the family.

This will be added to my memoir.