PHOTO PROMPT © Na’ama Yehuda

i cross intersections kitty-corner. Otherwise, you’ve got to cross two streets, waiting for the walk signs, so forth. plus this way there is always a green light (and a red one too but I choose the green one). there are intersections in boston, like by beth isreal, where the lights are set for kitty-corner crossing, but this is rare in the usa.

one day on the way to work I passed a beautiful red-haired woman crossing the other way. we nodded. the next day I said “kitty-corner.” she said “katty-corner.” that’s as far as we have gotten in our relationship.

for Rochelle Wisoff-Fields Friday Fictioneers

my plans

PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

i have spent too much time gazing out my window. i must go outside.

i’ll walk through the field behind the house, the one i’m always looking at, all the way to the woods. a path in the woods leads to the river where a rowboat is tied up to a sycamore tree at water’s edge. the rowboat will have an oar in it, maybe two. i’ll paddle down the river to our town and past it all the way to the city. in the city i’ll go to the airport and fly to the other side of the world.

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PHOTO PROMPT © Jeff Arnold

“Ah, God’s promise,” Juan said, looking at the rainbow. “That storm was a bad one but it’s finally moved on.”
No response from his partner down in the living quarters.
The marina was coming back to life around him. He stretched and smiled and checked the boat for damage. Not too bad. A few days work and she’d be ready to go.
The storm had disrupted their plans for a quick trip down to St. Lucia. Couldn’t count on the weather anymore.
“We can take off by Friday,” he said.
“Another storm coming,” his partner called up. “A bigger one.”

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I’ve led a busy and productive life. Started out as the hot new item. Got a job straightaway. They worked me hard. Articles to write, deadlines to meet. This was at the Daily News. Time passed. I worked seven days a week. Became a grizzled old pro. I was still going strong but they retired me. Not just that; my kind become obsolete. Stored away or melted down or buried in landfills. But the world turns. Now I’m vintage. $700 and my new owner sits on her veranda on mild spring mornings typing her thoughts into a never-ending memoir.

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http://PHOTO PROMPT © Ted Strutz

The nation’s worst natural tragedy occurred in October. I was sent to the area as soon as it was safe.

Once I had established the approximate number of casualties, I began collecting information about those who had not lived through the disaster.

I interviewed first responders, emergency workers sent from around the country, law enforcement and medical crews, other reporters, and civilians, gathering data and supporting documents.

When I returned to our offices, my editor debriefed and thanked me.

“Are those pictures of the dead?” he asked.

I nodded.

“Toss them in the basket,” he said.

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Life Story

PHOTO PROMPT © Dale Rogerson

The picture is of the place where the high point of my life happened. I was eleven. It was a ball game. As far as I’m concerned, that’s the story of my life, right there.

My therapist says no. The story of my life has a beginning, a middle, and the end, which is whenever I’m thinking about my life story.

My birth and youth, with some parental backstory, that’s the beginning. School and marriage and kids and work, that’s the middle, up till now, which is the end. All I can say is, some story.

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PHOTO PROMPT © Na’ama Yehuda

Josh is a member of a homeless family. He does his share by working the lines in the city.

If it’s raining, he rents umbrellas. Price is negotiated according to how close to the front of the line the rentee is. When the rentee reaches the front of the line, he/she (now we use “they”) returns the umbrella.

While dickering, Josh also has snacks on offer. He’s available to run errands for those in line, provide relaxing in situ massages, entertain young children, gamble on the flip of a coin.

He’s on the way up.

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I just went to the country for the first time.

We left the city and drove a long ways and parked in the woods.

We got out and Dad and Mom led us down a path marked Nature Trail.

There is a tree outside our house in the city, by the sidewalk. Here it was all trees. No houses.

We walked a long way and saw birds and a pond with ducks and had a picnic.

I wasn’t sure what all I saw. Later I needed books to explain it to me.

for Rochelle Wisoff Fields Addicted Friday Fictioneers




people say to me, whaddya want to be a boxer for? you could break your nose. you could get your face marked up.

look at this face. you think i’m worried about that?

it’s a dying sport, they say.

here’s the thing about that. you want to be the best at something? pick a sport where the competition is not so much.

then they say, it’s a man’s game.

oh, yeah? then how come i get paid for fighting other women?

truth to tell, though, i don’t mind getting hit. i got hit at home. i got used to it. meantime, i like to hit. it’s not the money, it’s the hitting. it’s like a drug.

the first time my boyfriend raised his hand to me? pow! right on the jaw. he didn’t resent it. he really didn’t resent it, if you know what i mean.

and the other thing, which i already mentioned. it’s a sport.


Photo prompt © J Hardy Carroll
For Rochelle Wisoff-Fields-Addicted to Purple




“You’ve got to quit.”

“I can’t quit. We need the money.”

“We need you more than we need the money. You keep getting beat up.”

“I’m paid to get beat up.”

“They couldn’t pay you enough for that. You’re a father .”

“What am I going to do if I don’t fight?”

“What are you going to do when you can’t fight?”

“I used to be able to think. I’ve caught so many to the head, I can’t think anymore. I can’t get another job.”

“Which is harder to get, another job or another family?”


Photo prompt © J Hardy Carroll
For Rochelle Wisoff-Fields-Addicted to Purple