Inside the Mind of Isadora


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Friday Fictioneers – Red Tide

As soon as Larry moved in with Betty, he joined the turtle patrol. She lived on the beach as a child. It’s no surprise she bought a beach house.

Larry was a conservationist all his life. He walked the beach to stay healthy while ensuring the safety of the turtles. Watching the hatchling emerge and make their way to shore was environmentally impactful. 

Recently, the red tide was getting worse. The smell of dead fish washing ashore could be seen from their porch. An overabundance of algae, some said. No one knew for sure, all speculation. 

Upside, fewer tourists visiting.

2020©Isadora DeLaVega

Word Count: 100

Genre: Flash Fiction

Photo Prompt:©Sandra Crook

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*****Red tide is a common name for algal blooms, which are large concentrations of aquatic microorganisms, such as protozoans and unicellular algae (e.g. dinoflagellates and diatoms). The upwelling of nutrients from the seafloor, often following massive storms, provides for the algae and triggers bloom events. Harmful algal blooms can occur worldwide, and natural cycles can vary regionally.

The growth and persistence of an algal bloom depends on wind direction and strength, temperature, nutrients, and salinity. Red tide species can be found in oceans, bays, and estuaries, but they cannot thrive in freshwater environments.©wikipedia

A short video for the impact Red Tide has on beaches ….

The scenic drive to my beach … In 2019, Red Tide had cleared.


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Friday Fictioneers – Black Night

In the light of day, the narrow street appears menacing. It had a quaint charm last night. 

Today, I must show the polizia where everything happened. 

It was a brisk evening. We met for wine and spuntino.

Later, we walked through these ancient streets, his muscular arm warming my shoulders.

Lovers passed us engrossed in each other’s eyes, a travelers concept of Italian romance. 

His full lips rivaled dark-captivating eyes as they draw me in. Romance was in the air.

 Regretfully, forever, I’ll remember this nightmare and the scent of his garlic breath.

Now, police search for my horrid rapist.

2020©Isadora DeLaVega

Genre: Flash Fiction

Word Count: 100

Photo Prompt:©Rowena Curtin

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Polizia – Italian: police

Spuntino – Italian: snacks

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*****I missed last weeks writing challenge with this fun photo prompt. I think this photo can be added to this story. Enjoy …


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Friday Fictioneers – The American Dream

Tears flowed faster than Esmeralda could wipe them away. She was inconsolable. Five years of waiting was all for nothing. The dreams of a better life negated by a virus.

Pedro was fortunate to have found a job as a dishwasher at MaMa’s pizzeria when he arrived in America. Leaving his family behind was a high price paid but worth it. It meant a better life for his family. Drug cartels were taking over his town. Random shootings with crime rampant too edged him on for a better way of living. 

The landlord trashing his life onto the sidewalk: Defeated!

2020©Isadora De La Vega

Genre: Flash Fiction

Word Count: 100

Photo Prompt: Roger Bultot

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Be Safe … Isadora 😎


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Friday Fictioneers – Sunday Outings


Sunday was family day. Staten Island was Father’s favorite place to go because of the beautiful beaches, plus his good friend, Mr. Frank, had a big home surrounded by a white picket fence, and backyard for us five kids.  

Mr. Frank was a Santero. During WWII, he migrated to Cuba from Germany. His live-in housekeeper was from Haiti. She made the best rosemary fried chicken for us. 

The spiritual rituals, Mr.Frank performed were in the basement. Saintly statues, lit candles, incense, cigars, red and white fabrics, were part of the alter. He was frightening.

We always stayed outside. 

2020©Isadora DeLaVega 

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

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21 August 2020

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The term “Santería” translates into English as the “way of the saints.”[1] This is the most popular name for the religion, although some practitioners consider it offensive and avoid it in favor of alternatives.

Santería developed among Afro-Cuban communities amid the Atlantic slave trade of the 16th to 19th centuries. It formed through the blending of the traditional religions brought to Cuba by enslaved West Africans, the majority of them Yoruba, and Roman Catholicism, the only religion legally permitted on the island by the Spanish colonial government.©wikipedia   https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Santer%C3%ADa/


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Friday Fictioneers – The Interview

Dancing was on her mind all the time. Magda was obsessed with the idea of becoming an Alvin Ailey jazz dancer. She disliked practicing ballet for posture or tap for flexibility. The movements bored to tears. Jazz had a rhythm all its own.

She told her parents about moving to Hollywood after graduation. They tried to discourage her by saying she was foolish.

Entering the agency, she was awestruck by the photos on the walls.

Mr. W asked, How big a star do you want to be?

Musicals big, Magda replied.

There’s a price, you know.

Reality hit, Magda shuddered.

2020©Isadora DeLaVega

Genre: Flash Fiction

Woed Count: 100

Photo Prompt: ©Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

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***** I’ve had no internet for this past week. Our rainy season is here causing issues. If I missed your story from last week, I’ll be sure to read it this week. Be Safe … Isadora 😎


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Friday Fictioneers – The Stained Glass Cafe

2020©Isadora DeLaVega 

Lansbury is a cozy little New England town. Antiques, angler, and vintage clothing shops, beside victorian cafes, create a picturesque scene.

Martha met Randall at the church picnic. A new resident in town always catches the single girls eyes. Before leaving, he asks if we could meet for coffee on Friday at the cafe. 

Bashfully, I giggle, ‘yes’.

While waiting, I admire the sun playing with the blue hues on the stained glass windows. Rainbow rays reflecting a relaxed tone amid the chatter of people.

Entering the cafe, he approaches with a smile. 

In the glow, he is very handsome.

2020©Isadora DeLaVega

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Genre: FlashFiction😎

Word Count: 100

Photo Prompt:©Jean L. Hays

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Friday Fictioneers – The Art of Living

Midnight bells echoed in the birth of 2021, a new year of creating a better life than we’d had. 2020 hadn’t been a good year.  A virus had spread from day one.

The government issued a stay-at-home quarantine. Masks and sanitizers were mandated. People changed, angry from isolation, rules, and restrictions. 

Old hobbies such-as board games, art projects, and cooking together helped relieve tensions. Families grew closer in isolation; some didn’t. 

Life was becoming art, brushstrokes creating paintings.

Each painting different; your family, your life.

Splashes of artful color bringing out something unique from inside of us. 

2020©Isadora DeLaVega 

Genre: HistoricFlashFiction😎

Word Count: 100

Photo Prompt:©Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

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Friday Fictioneers – The Rendezvous

 

The phone rang.

Hello, she whispered.

“Nereida, meet me at our usual spot on the beach.”

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Memories from the first time they met, rapidly flooded her mind. 

He was walking along the shore with a metal detector.

She was photographing the hazy afternoon sky.

He glanced her way.

‘Do you always photograph people passing by?’ he said.

‘No, she replied, blushing.’

Thus, the beginning of a whirlwind romance.

He found an antique timepiece that day; her wedding gift.

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“I’ll bring the Bordeaux, he quickly added.”

“I can’t wait.”

She hung up the phone and smiled.

I wonder who that was?

2020©Isadora DeLaVega

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Genre: Flash Fiction

Word Count: 100 words

Photo Prompt©Na’ama Yehuda

 

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Friday Fictioneers – The Window

George stares out the window. He doesn’t read anymore, not even the paper; no television either. Just watches the joggers running; the seasons changing. 

Been like that since they found Rhonda brutally murdered in the alley behind the ‘Honk-If-Your from Texas’ bar. 

He’d sit at the bar talking to Rhonda, great gal with a chest to match.

George eats, sleeps, and stares out the lace-curtained window in the hope he sees her.

His meals are tasteless.

His bills paid.

He sits waiting for the day he’ll see Rhonda again, not much hope alone in a padded cell.

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 – 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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