Inside the Mind of Isadora


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Friday Fictioneers – The Hat Factory

 

“It’s time for me to go, Gloria. It’s 3:00 already. Where does the time go?”

Grandma worked the night shift at the hat factory. Not many liked working the 4 to midnight hours.

Listening to her hat-making stories was fascinating.

As a child, I always wore the most stylish hats. She made them from leftover scraps of material from her work station.

Yesterday, I overheard her angry words about Mr. Grossman.

“He had the nerve to presume he could touch my breast,” she told my Mom. “Here, I thought he’d been generous with the leftover materials. I quit.”

2020©Isadora DeLaVega

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Genre: Flash Fiction

Word Count: 100 words

Photo Prompt©Jan Wayne Fields

 

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Friday Fictioneers – Her Games Shows

The sound of the portable television, blaring game show pinging sounds was exasperating.

I’d see her on the patio smoking her cigarettes and bidding on the fictitious items on the screen. 

 I’d seen her on the patio, smoking her cigarettes and bidding on the prized items on the screen. 

I glance over as I prune my gardenia. “Do you like game shows, Dina?”

“I enjoy them so much I subscribed to the game show channel,” she says.

“The shows are all repeats, right?”

“Sure, they are. I always forget the results. Damn dementia.”

~~~~~~~~~

They found Dina murdered in her recliner. 

2020©Isadora DeLaVega

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Genre: Flash Fiction

Word Count: 100 words

Photo Prompt©Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

 

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Friday Fictioneers – Our Promise

 It felt odd standing at the front door.

“Come on, Brie. Open up.”

She turned the doorknob; they entered.

The house felt eerily quiet.

The euphoria from days-gone-by was missing.

Brie couldn’t stop thinking about the last few days.

She was opposed to it.

James insisted, “It’s the right thing to do.”

“She relies on tubes, drips, and machinery?” he shouted.

“But, she’s alive,” I pleaded.

“And, our promise to let her die with dignity.”

“She gave us life, James.”

“Then, we owe her dignity in death.” 

“Doctor, my brother and I …”

~~~~~~~~~

“Look Brie, mom’s favorite Paris poster.”

 

2020©Isadora DeLaVega

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Genre: Flash Fiction

Word Count: 100 words

Photo Prompt©C.E.Ayer

 

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Friday Fictioneers – Just Another Day at Work

 

2020©Isadora DeLaVega

He came home at 1:30 a.m. He’d done a 4 to midnight tour.

Sandy, always, waited up for him. She could never sleep when he was at work.

Baking and ironing kept her occupied until she heard the key in the door.

His enormously firm hug let her know it had been a tough night. 

She could smell smoke in his hair. 

He rambled on about the fire and casualties. 

Six children, he repeated several times. 

Tears fell down his face.

We could hear them screaming. 

The flames were everywhere. 

We just couldn’t get them out. 

They died.

2020©Isadora DeLaVega

~~~~~~~~~

Genre: Flash Fiction

Word Count: 100 words

Photo Prompt©RogerBultot

 

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***** Edited story from 2015 that didn’t receive much recognition the first time.


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Friday Fictioneers – Drifting on the Ocean

From the pier, I see you drifting on the ocean.

My little sailboat is calling. 

It cries out to me beckoning that I travel upon the open sea.

Let’s sail away wherever the winds take us. 

Can you feel the briny water on your sturdy bow?

I feel the oceans salty breeze upon my face, a special caress.

Aimlessly we’ll sail along finding new passages of adventure.

Discovering magical islands where rest and solace are key, and rainbows create a peacefully blissful scenery. 

Enchanting islands will embrace me as they appear, while images of amicable islanders wave a welcome greeting. 

2020©Isadora DeLaVega

 

Genre: Prose

Word Count: 100 words

Photo Prompt©Jeff Arnold

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Friday Fictioneers – Prinsoner Numbers

Last week, I wrote about Bobeshi Rivqah. If you’d like to catch-up click here. This story does stand alone. Ironically, the locked cages in the photograph had the same feel as the ones shown at the Florida Holocaust Museum in Tampa, Florida.

Mama, can I go outside?”

“Go! But, don’t go far.”

From my stoop, I watched Mrs.O’Doherty and Bobeshi Rivqah talking.

“Rivqah, you’re telling me they used the same numbers?”

“Yes, can you believe that?” 

Mrs.O’Doherty shook her head from side to side.

“They reused prisoner numbers from the dead; especially, is if they were moved to another camp,” Rivqah said. “Dehumanizing!” 

Slowly, I made my way towards them.

They were taking about something I’d wondered about.

“Why do you have numbers on your arm, Bobeshi?”

She hugged me and said, “One day, you’ll know kleyn meydl, one day.”

2019©Isadora DeLaVega

 

Genre: Historical

Word Count: 100

Photo Prompt:©JHardy

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~~~~~~~~~

***** Stoop: a porch with steps in front of a house or other building.

***** Prisoner numbers in the system of German Nazi concentration camps. The prisoner numbers have become a synonym of dehumanization that struck the deportees of the concentration camp. These numbers were to serve efficient “management” of camps, performed by the SS teams. ©http://auschwitz.org/

***** kleyn meydl / קליין מיידל – little girl


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Friday Fictioneers – Bobeshi Rivqah

Bobeshi Rivqah lived with her son, Rabbi Gerwitz and his family, above the temple in Brooklyn, New York.

She enjoyed walking and talking with everyone in the neighborhood.

They all knew her as bobeshi. 

Retelling stories from her childhood at the Treblinka concentration camp, often, brought tears from those who listened.

Now, her health was failing; too ill to take walks.

Rabbi Gerwitz asked the congregation for prays for bobeshi. 

Stomach cancer took her before the test results came back.

The congregation overflowed into the street as the family sat shiva. 

Finally, Bobeshi Rivqah had found loving acceptance and peace. 

2019©Isadora DeLaVega

 

Genre: Historical

Word Count: 100

Photo Prompt:©RogerBultot

 

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*********

Rivqah / רִבְקָה – Rebbecca

Bobeshiבאָבעשי – Granny

Shiva / שִׁבְעָה – literally means seven. It is the week-long mourning period in Judaism.


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Friday Fictioneers – Just Once

The study was dreary even with the sun shining through the thin curtains.

‘Just once,’ he’d said.

Part of her wanted to give into his adulterous plan. 

She twisted her wedding band round and round. 

Her heart fluttered with a wave of excitement.

Glancing at the clock, she knew Randall wouldn’t be home for hours.

His empty whiskey glass her justification for the wayward exploit.

The phone rang again.

She picked up the receiver slowly; her yearning greater than her reasoning. 

She could hear his voice was full of desire.

“Once,” she said to him, “just once and never again.”

2019©Isadora DeLaVega

 

 

 

Word Count: 100

Genre: Flash Fiction

Photo Prompt:©Fatima Fakier Deria

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Friday Fictioneers – Sunflower Memories

 

Bright sunflowers had greeted Nadia each time she’d visited her baba Oksana. 

As a small child, she’d watched her grandmother cook traditional Russian meals while recounting tales of her journey to the new land she’d eventually call home.

She’d traveled on a crowded boat with few belongings. The small amount of sunflower seeds she’d brought to eat were almost gone by the time she’d arrived. 

Oksana decided to plant the leftover sunflower seeds in remembrance of her home; left behind.

Imprinted in Nadia’s heart, memories of her baba Oksana’s smile and love of sunflowers.

Nadia planted sunflowers at her grave.

2019©Isadora DeLaVega

Word Count:100 words

Genre: Flash Fiction

Photo Prompt:©Ted Strutz

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Friday Fictioneers challenge: 

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*****The dictionary terms and basic forms for grandfather and grandmother in Russian are dedushka and babushka. They’re often shortened for children to ded (grandfather) or baba (grandmother).


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Friday Fictioneers – The Reunion

 It was Thursday. 

In one more day, I’ll be off to a reunion with friends from my cheerleading days.

We’d been Skyping plans for weeks. 

Checking into the hotel, the exhilaration was palpable. Adjoining rooms was perfect. 

Exhilarated, I unpacked the t-shirts I’d designed,

 ‘Eastern District High School Cheerleaders 1965’

After dinner, donning our t-shirts, we made our way to the football field.

It was the same as it had always been. 

Memories came flooding back. 

We recalled stories.

Raucous laughter and tears flowed. 

Hugs were shared.

Standing in her old spot, Mona was overcome. 

She died smiling.

2019©Isadora DeLaVega

 

Genre: Flash Fiction

Word Count: 100 words

Photo Prompt: Dale Rogerson

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*****I’ve edited the last line to say ‘Died’ instead of ‘Passed’. A writer can learn from other writers many things to improve our writing. Neil @ Neil Macdonald Author thought it was clearer if I changed it. Thanks, Neil.