Sorchia's Universe

Specializing in Bewitchment and Single Malt Scotch

Self Defense

Friday Fictioneers contribution for March 14. Join the fun at http://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/.

copyright-Adam Ickes

copyright-Adam Ickes

Self Defense

“My leg’s broke.” He clinched his teeth. The barrel rumbled over the planked pier as they pushed it to the boathouse in the lake’s center. Each step brought grinding pain.

“Don’t be a baby.” She didn’t spare a glance.

A cool, fish-scented breeze wafted across the water.  Not another soul around. How long would their luck last?

“Help me get it over the rail.”

A gut-wrenching pull, a splash, and a burble. The barrel sank.

“Bad editors,” she said as the bubbles stopped, “deserve drowning.”

He had to agree. He rubbed his aching leg. At least he could still type.

I admit I was stumped for a topic as I looked at this picture.  When I described it to hubby, he said, “Hmm. Sounds like a good place to dump a body.” And that, as they say, was that.

Woopsy

This is my Friday Fictioneers contribution for this week.  The challenge is to write a 100-word story using the photo as a prompt. Join the fun at http://rochellewisofffields.Imagewordpress.com/.

Woopsy

“Magic isn’t a toy, you know.” The wizard eyed the boy sternly as they scrambled up the rocky hillside.  “You can’t cast spells willy-nilly without consequences.”

“Sorry,” said the boy, his eyes teary.

“Well,” The wizard took pity on his forlorn student. The boy was just learning, after all. “It’s probably nothing. You probably just evaporated a puddle or knocked a bird silly for a day. I’m sure it will be fine.”

They topped the hill. Salt wastes extended beyond the horizon. The thriving village was gone. Not one living thing moved on the desolate plain.

“Dammit!” said the wizard.

War Story

This is my Friday Fictioneers contribution for this week.  The challenge is to write a 100-word story using the photo as a prompt. Join the fun at http://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/.

Image

“The hay was wet with my blood. Your face in the moonlight is all I remember. I thought I was dead.” He sat his wine glass on the balcony railing and gazed at the street below.

“Many American pilots died. You were lucky.”

“The Resistance smuggled me to England, but I came back to France.  To find you.”

“Thank God for hay wagons.” She smiled, leaning on his arm.

“How could we manage it now?” He nodded toward the tightly wrapped hay bales behind the grumbling tractor.

Her hand closed tightly over his. “We would find a way.”

Review: The Red Kimono: A Novel

The Red Kimono: A Novel
The Red Kimono: A Novel by Jan Morrill
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

As delicate as a cherry blossom, The Red Kimono blooms quietly but persistently. It’s a gentle story of a very ungentle time. Mostly expressed through the words of young people, The Red Kimono is, of course, a comment on racism and war, but it is also a coming of age story not only for its characters but for a culture. Whether you buy the plot, or not—whether you appreciate the characters or the lovely prose or not, the premise for the story is true. Japanese interment really happened and it happened here in America. The resulting disruption to families was far reaching and long lasting. [a:Jan Morrill|5020480|Jan Morrill|https://d202m5krfqbpi5.cloudfront.net/authors/1358028386p2/5020480.jpg]doesn’t beat you over the head with it, but it’s impossible to ignore the unsettling feeling that the events she describes so clearly are shadows of events happening half a world away during the same time period. If you enjoy writers such as Amy Tan and N. Scott Momaday, you may enjoy the clash of cultures in The Red Kimono.

View all my reviews