Once more it’s time for Friday Fictioneers, when people from across the globe write a story in 100 words or less (or sometimes more). Under the leadership of Rochelle Wisoff we spend the weekend reading and commenting. If you want to enter, just go to Rochelle’s page and follow the instructions and all other stories.
This week the picture is one of Rochelle’s pictures, and as usual I spent 24 hours going from impossible to maybe, to actually writing. Feel free to comment . I will start my commenting tomorrow evening.
Category is historic fiction… or something like that.
Cleaning out her estranged grandparents things she found an old suitcase containing:
- an old telephone
- a menorah
- a photo of a young man looking like her brother.
At the bottom there was an old moleskin notebook. In there were beautiful poetry, composition drafts and sketches. The work of a young artist. Like the one her mother left home with at seventeen, as they tried to stop her artistic career.
Understanding dawned as she read his final note:
“I can’t live in hiding any more, my art needs Theresienstadt, I need my peers”
Explaining my thoughts. Theresienstadt was a concentration camp, but it was also used as propaganda. Many artists were allowed to be active there, and they hade orchestras and a lot of artistic activities for a selected few. Many were finally murdered anyway. I just came from a performance at the symphony orchestra were it was brought up. I’m not sure that the story make sense to you, but my idea is that the uncle perished in a vain attempt to pursue an artistic career, and his little sister was therefore in vain stopped from doing the same.
The rest of stories can be found by clicking this little cutie:
January 17, 2013