Istanbul, 24 April 1915:
The door fly open and soldiers enter the home, arresting Dikran Chökürian, one of many Armenian writers.
Eastern Turkey, a few months later:
The Najarian family huddles together at the sound of hooves signaling the approach of Turkish death squads. Marta holds her daughter Mari close as a soldier grabs her and holds her down while she screams, “Hayır!”* repeatedly. The soldier ignores her, insulting her. He then shoots her.
The villagers are deported, and marched through the desert. Mari collapses from fatigue and dehydration. A soldier shoots her.
A Turkish family shelters a survivor.
*Hayır is Turkish for “No”.
This Friday Fictioneers story is dedicated to the 1.5 Armenians killed in the Armenian Genocide during WWI. Hitler later asked, “After all, who today speaks of the annihilation of Armenia?” The answer is many do. #NeverForget. To this day the Turkish government denies the genocide. The event started with the deportation of around 250 Armenian intellectuals on April 24, 1915, of which writer Dikran Chökürian was but one.
Rochelle Wisoff-Fields has arranged for this Friday Fictioneers, and Liz Young provided the photo.
Fahrünnisa, being short on time slipped on a pair of low-heeled dress shoes instead of the oxfords, and stomped a spider that showed up. “That’s bad karma”, Max said.
“Get in the car”, she replied, pushing the unlock button. She started the car and floored the accelerator. Once at the conference, a man snatched her purse and ran off. The thief gave the purse to a vendor. When the vendor refused to hand it over, Fahrünnisa stepped on the tomatoes. She and Max then fell over when they were injected with syringes. “Don’t oppose Erdoğan”, a voice said.
This is a post for Friday Fictioneers by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields, photo by Magaly Guerrero.
Rania pulled into Steve’s driveway and the two of them went into the apartment, Steve carrying pizza and Rania carrying food from her native Syria. Opening the pizza box once they were seated at the table, Steve said, “No pepperoni, no pork!”
“Jazak’Allah*”, Rania replied.
Before they started eating, Rania said, “Bismi’Allah**” and Steve said grace.
Steve turned on the news and saw a report on a suicide bombing in Egypt, and heared inflammatory comments from the US government.
“Turn that off”, Rania said, “an American and Syrian sharing a meal; that’s what’s important!”
With that, they kissed.
*Jazak’Allah means “May God reward you”, a Muslim way of expressing gratitude.
**Bismi’Allah means “In the Name of Allah”, commonly said before eating.
This is a post for Friday Fictioneers by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields, photo by Dale Rogerson.
CRASH! A window shattered. Then…THUD! Something slammed on the car, causing the woman inside to spill her coffee. A guy jumped down, saying, “Sorry, Miss. My name is Adam,” and tossed her a business card.
“Jane”, she replied firmly.
Adam then hopped on a bike and left. Soon two men in suits showed up, flashed badges, saying, “Federal agents, have you seen this man?”, showing her Adam’s photo.
BOOM! A building blew up and Adam went by on a motorcycle, tossing smoke bombs. Then the police arrived, grabbed the men in suits, and said, “You are under arrest…”
This is a post for Friday Fictioneers by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields, photo by Jellico’s Stationhouse.
Agent Robert Thompson handed his partner Agent Jennifer Green to the traffickers in exchange for money. “I’ll kill her myself!”, Bobby said, “Jenn, I’m doing this for the kids, remember what I said!”
A ray shot out of his gun and Jennifer grew, clothes, accesories, and all. She placed her foot on the traffickers. “Where are the girls?”, Bobby demanded.
“There is a giant shoe on us!”, one cried, and revealed the location, while the leader insulted Jenn.
Jenn tossed her pendant aside to signal the rescue team. Once the girls were rescued, Jenn pressed her weight down on the traffickers.
This is a post for Friday Fictioneers by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields, photo by Jennifer Pendergast.
Harry the insect leaped off the pole and landed by a couple. The woman wore a black pantsuit and low heeled dress shoes, the man a jogging suit and sneakers. “Hey, hon, your shoes look nice on you”, the man said.
She looked down and shouted, “A bug! I got it!”
Suddenly her shoe approached Harry. He saw the tread design get closer, until the sun was blotted out. He helplessly squirmed as weight pressed down on him…
Harry shot up in his bed. “Is everything ok, hon?”, his wife asked.
“I just had a really bizarre dream!”
This is a post for Friday Fictioneers by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields, photo by Shaktiki Sharma.
A cloud started spinning, heading downwards. Julie turned the engine and started driving while Mike snapped a picture and posted it on Twitter, #StormChasers. They sent updates to the Weather Service, and Mike live tweeted. Torrential rain and golf ball sized hail pounded the truck, and an uprooted tree flew overhead. Suddenly Julie slammed on the brakes, saying, “Let’s get into the ditch!”
“Well”, Julie said, jumping in the ditch, “Maybe loafers weren’t the best footwear”, her feet getting wet.
“Beats heels”, Mike replied.
She laughed, then CRASH!: A telephone pole fell on the truck. Mike’s phone said, “No sevice”.
This is a post for Friday Fictioneers by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields, who also provided the photo.