Inside the Mind of Isadora


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Friday Fictioneers – First Car


“Mason?” “Are you ready?”

“Yeah Dad!”

“The dealership said you can pick-up the car. Its’ ready.”

“OK.”

A few hours later Mason drives up in his new 2017 VW.

Shocked, his Dad runs out faster than a cheetah running after prey.

“What the hell is this?”

“You see Dad, the car dealer told me, if I took his deal immediately I could have the VW with the old ford trade-in”.

“You’re not going to drive around college in a 2017 car.”

“But Dad, can’t we talk about this?”

“No, first car is always used.”

“Let’s take it back.”

2017©Isadora DeLaVega

Genre: Flas Fiction

Word Count: 100

Photo Prompt: Kent Bonham

 

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Friday Fictioneers – A Small Stone

He stood at the door of 28909 Rue de Jardin. Memories flooded his mind. He’d never imagined seeing this house again.

Why had his father left it to him?

They hadn’t spoken in forty years. He was ten. His mother had divorced him immediately after she discovered his affair. Her broken heart finally erased by her suicide.

Sitting with Clarice, the now 90 year old mistress, in the large windowed parlor he remembered the park view from his bedroom. The wounds still felt razor deep.

He placed a stone on the gravestone; softly murmuring, “Ikh bin dir mühl. Hasholem Aaron Steinman”.

2017©Isadora DeLaVega

 

Genre: Flash Fiction
Word Count: 101 words
Photo Prompt: Janet Webb

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~~~~~

*****I forgive you in Yiddish – ikh bin dir mühl

*****Rest in Peace in Yiddish – hasholem

***** Within the Jewish faith, it is customary to leave a small stone on a grave. Placing the stone on a grave serves as a sign to others that someone has visited the grave. It also enables visitors to partake in the mitzvah tradition commemorating the burial of the deceased. Stones are a fitting symbol of the lasting presence of the departed life. info©shiva.com


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Friday Fictioneers – Sunday Ferry Ride

Rain poured down. We were waiting on line to board the Staten Island ferry; a habitual Sunday routine. Usually, we’d go to the beach then visit, Mr. Frank. He was a Santero.

I was feeling car sick. My dad smoked Camels.The open windows would blow the smoke into the backseat.

I can remember the first time we were waiting to board. I had a panic attack and couldn’t stop crying. I thought we were going to drive into the ocean. I can’t swim.

“Shut up!”

A simple explanation would have helped.

Uncanny, I still see a ferry and cringe.

2017©Isadora DeLaVega

 

Genre: Flash Fiction
Word Count: 100 Words
Photo Prompt: ©Ted Strutz

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Santeria is a syncretistic Caribbean religion.

Santeria includes the worship of the Orisha — literally “head guardians,” and religious beliefs of the Yoruba and Bantu people in Southern Nigeria, Senegal and Guinea Coast. These are combined with elements of Roman Catholicism.
Arriving as slaves in the Caribbean, Santerians preserved the elements of their religion by equating each Orisha of their traditional religions with a corresponding christian saint. Many traditions, within the religion, recognize different equivalencies.

One common example includes:
Babalz Ayi became St. Lazarus (patron of the sick)

Shangs became St. Barbara (controls thunder, lightning, fire…)

Eleggua or Elegba became St. Anthony (controls roads, gates etc)

Obatala became Our Lady of Las Mercedes, and the Resurrected Christ (father of creation; source of spirituality)

Oggzn became St. Peter (patron of war)

Oshzn became Our Lady of Charity (controls money, sensuality…)

Many Santerian beliefs are not freely discussed outside of the faith. In addition, there are many religious leaders whose beliefs and practices differ significantly. information click here

 


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Friday Fictioneers – Sashay to Trouble

The moon filtered through the starless clouded sky.

She could see tiny white lights shining on the patio. By midnight, they’d be drunk.
It was the perfect night to go.

Silk stockings stretched over her shapely legs and thighs. A black leather skirt accented her curvaceous hips. The spiky heels, she’d picked up at a yard sale, completed her outfit. She felt as fiery as a hot chili pepper.

A car pulled up beside her.

“Looking for some fun?”

“No …” “I’m near my destination.”

“Think so?”

“I’ve got other plans for you, cupcake.”

Tearfully, “I’m grounded. Right Mom?”

  2017©Isadora DeLaVega

Genre: Flash Fiction
Word Count: 100 words
Photo prompt: Dale Rogerson

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Friday Fictioneers – The Last Letter

The house was eerily quiet. The chilly air, a reminder of her long-term estrangement from her mother.

Sorting through years of her mementos was going to be laboriously stressful. It would be easier once Monique arrived.

She opened a leather box her mother kept on her desk. Letters from France?

Angelique read the last letter:

‘Dearest,
I miss you, though your touch lingers still.
Without you, time is an empty space.
I long to hold you. My heart aches for your return.
Come back soon, Mon amour.
Je t’aime,
Pierre’

Ergo, the secret of our French names finally revealed.

2017©Isadora DeLaVega

Genre: Flash Fiction
Word Count: 100
Photo Prompt©Sandra Crook

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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 – 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 – Bubba’s Gone Too Far

friday-fictioneers-21717-broken-face-liz

“Maw,” Becky Sue whined, tears streaming down her face.

“Child, look what you’ve done,” Momma said pointing to the floor.
“Ya’ll dragged muddy dirt in. I’m near ‘bout to lose my mind with all the work that’s gotta be done ‘round here.”

“But, Maw, come see. Bubba’s done a real bad thing,” Becky Sue bawled.
“Please Maw, please come see.”

“Fine! I suppose it’s gotta be important.”

“Look,” Becky Sue pointed.

“Lordy that child’s done gone too far this time. Drinkin’, smokin’ and breakin’ your favorite dolly.”
“Go find me a switch, Becky Sue. Someone ‘round here needs some learnin’.”

2017©Isadora DeLaVega

Genre: Flash Fiction
Word Count: 100 words
Photo:©Liz Young

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Friday Fictioneers – The Window

friday-fictioneers-jan-212017-dale-rogerson2

Harry stares out the window. He sits and stares since his Ruby’s brutal murder.

He’d taken her to the museum; then, a dimly lit dinner. She was beautiful.
Harry noticed the waiter leer at her. She provoked men with her beauty.
Her eyes the color of emeralds.

Now, he sit and stares.

He doesn’t care if he leaves the room.

He doesn’t pay bills; watch television or knows who feeds him.

His life is whatever passes outside the window.

All he sees are changing seasons, joggers, passing cars and Ruby’s ghost.

But, there’s no window.

Padded cells have no windows.

2017©Isadora De La Vega

Genre: Flash Fiction
Word Count: 100 words

Photo Prompt:Dale Rogerson

 

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