Friday Fictioneers – Vive le Quebec libre!

Every week, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields (thank you, Rochelle!) hosts a flash fiction challenge, to write a complete story, based on a photoprompt, with a beginning, middle and end, in 100 words or less. Post it on your blog, and include the Photoprompt and Inlinkz on your page. Link your story URL. Then the fun starts as you read other peoples’ stories and comment on them!

PHOTO PROMPT (c) DALE ROGERSON

Vive le Quebec libre!

In my youth I travelled to many countries, and in July 1967 chance took me to Montreal. Strolling to my hotel, I was musing on de Gaulle’s inflammatory speech – ‘Vive le Quebec libre’, indeed! – and barely noticed a small group carrying a large and unseasonal Christmas tree.

The group was led by a rather attractive young woman, who asked if I would kindly take a photograph of them. She smiled, I obliged, went on my way and forgot the incident.

Until yesterday, when I received the following email.

‘It’s over fifty years since you took this photograph. Do you remember?’

Inlinkz – click here to join the fun!

Friday Fictioneers – We Will Remember Them

Every week, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields (thank you, Rochelle!) hosts a flash fiction challenge, to write a complete story with a beginning, middle and end in 100 words or less. Post it on your blog, and include the Photoprompt and Inlinkz (the blue frog) on your page. Link your story URL. Then the fun starts as you read other peoples’ stories and comment on them!

FF - We will remember them 191010

PHOTO PROMPT © Ted Strutz

 We will remember them

Liz glanced at the clock. Fifteen minutes before her grandson, Oliver, was due to arrive.

She shuffled through the photographs until she found a small, square, monochrome print. Her brother Peter. She had snatched the shot as he entrained for the front in 1940.

Liz shook her head. Peter’s image seemed imprisoned by the margin. The severity of his mouth was belied by his apprehensive eyes.

What else did she have that she could pass on to Oliver?

A single page letter in Peter’s beautiful handwriting. A cutting from the local press, after…

A tear trickled down Liz’s cheek.

The doorbell rang.