I’ve been reading the November issue of The Smithsonian which is filled with stories of the Holocaust. So, dear friends, this is what I came up with for Pegman’s trip to Krakow.

March 28, 1939
To provide a friend who will keep my secrets I started a diary.
Present: Mother left for France. Father joined the army.
A memory: Ten-year-old Lev playing violin.

January 10, 1940
We’ve moved into a school with boys! Sixteen-year-old girls shouldn’t be subjected to such horrors!

March 6, 1942
Horrid night. Clanking wheels. Jangling keys.
Nazis, moving people to unknown places.
Lev kissed me last week! We shared sweet caresses while spring flowers scented the air.
We shall marry when this horror is over.

June 16, 1942
The pogrom has begun. Mother! Where are you?

July 17, 1942
Except for barbed wire and guards, the ghetto is quite ordinary, filled with beloved neighbors.
But not Lev. My love, my protection disappeared on last night’s transport.
Writing squelches the pain.

August 17,1942
At dawn, soldiers marched five families toward a shallow trench.
One shot, two, twenty, on and on …
The sound of boots and laughter. Oh, God, they’re coming back.

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An Exceptional Child

Posted: December 12, 2018 in Friday Fictioneers
Tags: , ,

Throughout the year, people noticed changes in the sky. Venus went missing. Then mars. Soon Neptune disappeared. Scientists met. Threw out ideas: Changes in atmospheric conditions? Shift in the earth’s rotation? Thickening of moon dust?

Mrs. Peterson was thrilled when Jimmy began spending more time in the garage, hunched over his computer, wires dangling from rafters, tape stuck here and there. Positive that he would provide the answer she let him be until a bolt of lightning shot through the roof and curiosity took over. What she saw through the window was astonishing.

“Oh, Jimmy, you must put them back!”

 

Time was, Rita loved the clickity-clackity of steel wheels on metal rails,
the long, low sound of a whistle at midnight and noon.

For many, the coal-oil scent of trains,
the sight of rails disappearing over the horizon
quickened the heart, caused feet to roam.
Not for Rita. She spread roots and settled.

Then the hoot of the whistle turned to squealing brakes.
Metal grinding on metal replaced the rhythmic clickity-clack
and an iron-scent of blood filled the air.

How many times had she told little Tom, “Keep your coins in your pocket.”?
She hefted her suitcase and locked the door.

 

When we heard Yankees shootin pigs over to the Baggerly farm
us kids took to hollerin like the devil was at the back door.
Mama? She straightened her spine and instructed the boys to gather up Daddy’s oil cans.
Told us girls to tie sugar, salt, and flour in paraffin paper and cram the packets inside them cans.
Meanwhile, she poked chickens in flour sacks; hid em in the woods.
When the Yanks arrived, saw oil cans lined up in Mama’s kitchen
and pine pitch stuck in her honey-blonde hair, they declared her crazy and backed out the door.

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Each of us knows exactly what to do
when the village men are absent
and danger looms
within or without

Mother tutored me
Grandmother tutored her
The rules
set for three millennia
never change

Each carved symbol bespeaks a specific danger
Only we women know the meaning
Our shelters have been torched
Children have pox
Wolves plundered the winter store of venison

Much pride lies in the ease of our communication
No drums
No spurred horses
No rending of garments
Simply a red mark scratched upon a symbol

Then, Our Raven
takes wing
knowing
precisely
which flight-path is required

What Rumors Wrought

Posted: October 31, 2018 in Friday Fictioneers

Friday Fictioneers seems to happen every single Wednesday! Our merry band relies on Rochelle Wisoff-Fields to make it happen. We would be disappointed if there were no photo prompt to greet us first thing in the morning in the middle of the week.

Everyone said Liliana had a fire burning inside.
How did they know? Her eyes.
Most said they were evil eyes.
A few said Liliana had the kindest eyes they’d ever seen.
Several said when she looked upon them, they were instantly cured
of whatever ailed them.
Many said that after she glanced their way, they fell to the ground,
paralyzed. Never rose again.
But sure as I’m standing here, so were they.
Liars.
It took little time for the rumors to spread
both the good and the bad.
Now Liliana truly is on fire and
no one has said, “Stop!”

Invasion

Posted: October 24, 2018 in Uncategorized

In response to today’s photo prompt, kindly posted by our fearless leader, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields, I’ve dipped my toes into the water of Sci-fi. Thanks to one and all who read my attempt! Happy Wednesday/Friday.

PHOTO PROMPT © Roger Bultot

Tiny creatures skittered beneath the dome of Bento’s trap.
Some had eight legs, others too many to count.
The first in the collecton were brilliant red and smelled like newly fallen rain.
This last batch, these puce-colored, two-headed beasts filled the dome with the stench of carrion.
And the screeches! That was the worst.

Still, Bento knew it was up to him to gather each and every one.
Whether it was covered in feathers or scales;
fell from the sky at noon, midnight or three.

The first hoard ate his father, the second his mother and son.