Thursday, January 17, 2013

In Memoriam


As Saul unpacked the cardboard carton, its contents formed a bittersweet montage on his desktop. They spoke to him of the past…of a life he had once known and a heritage he had turned his back upon. 

Fleeing the Lower East Side neighborhood of his youth had seemed, to him, unavoidable if he were to ever be known as anything but another "kike".

Looking now at the battered brass menorah, at his parent’s first telephone, at the old, grainy photo of Zaide Mordecai, he wept for what he had forgotten and for that which it was now too late to remember.



This story was written for the weekly Friday Fictioneers flash fiction prompt based on a photo by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. 

11 comments:

  1. This is simply a beautiful narration. calm, soothing and revealing.

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  2. Dear Jeffrey,
    Your last line perfectly caps your lovely story.
    shalom,
    Rochelle

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  3. Jeffrey, that was a beautiful story. I felt his pain and hope he finds a way back to regain at least some of his heritage.

    janet

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  4. You've packed a lot of emotion into this short story. Nicely done

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  5. This is beautiful and the last line moving...very well done

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  6. We are always (wishing) we could come home. Well done.

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  7. Never forget where you came from. Nice piece.

    Pete

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  8. I liked your story, Jeffery. Very human feelings.

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  9. you need to put kike in quotes so we can tell that it is what he is being called - unless it is the narrator calling him that. then no quotes needed. well done.

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  10. Wow very well told. Yes a quote I recall from my father: afterwards it's always too late.

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