Meat market – Writing Prompt #165 “Collage 26”


Zayde* and Bubbe* loved the seaside. In the olden times, when money was plentiful and the sun always seemed to shine, they had rented out a holiday home, placed two old benches in the garden that meandered down towards the cliffs and felt that life was just perfect.

So it had been, for a little while. Zayde had always rejected the idea of owning a car, telling anyone that cared to listen, and many that had no choice, that the country’s public transport system was so efficient that he had no need. Why waste energy, time and most of all money on a heavy, fuel-hungry machine, when he could sit back and relax in comfort in a luxurious private compartment in a train, and dine in the dining car whenever he felt like it? Bubbe’s misgivings never got a look-in.

Then, the transport system let Zayde down. Oh yes, it was still efficient, still kept to the timetable, but what a timetable. No more being lulled and rocked to sleep as he and his wife sped to their holiday home on gleaming rails. No more steaming coffee and pastries to sate their morning appetites. No more smiling porters wheeling luggage to a waiting taxi.


The benches are still there in the garden, but empty of their companions.

There are no seats on cattle trucks.

There is plenty to be afraid of, these days.

* Zayde and Bubbe are Yiddish for grandfather and grandmother.


Here is my entry into the Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie collage writing prompt for this week. I’m afraid it took a dark turn, but hey, you know me, right? I couldn’t help but make the connections I did, it just seemed to fit. I know there are brighter stories out there inspired by this prompt because I’ve read at least one in my WordPress Reader feed, and I’ll be reading some more soon!

Why not join me in reading, or even, maybe, take part yourself?

Remnants – dVerse Poetics / WordPress Daily Prompt


I remember
the flaking paint
the silvered wood
the empty chair memorial
in the silent square
the milling group
– hardly a crowd – silenced
I remember
the ghost memories, phantom scars
pressing, beseeching, begging, needing
I remember the darkness beyond those doors –
those doors that had witnessed
tragedies a thousand-fold
the cold-sweat terrors
the children torn from their parents’ grasp
I remember
in hindsight –
I remember


I thought I would try to write my entry today for both dVerse Poetics – where the theme is ‘doors’, thank you Lillian for hosting – and the WordPress Daily Prompt – where the theme is ‘Generation’. I hope I succeeded!

Both of the images are from the Krakow Ghetto, where I was fortunate to visit (if that’s the right word) a few years ago. The empty chair memorial is incredibly moving, for me in the lump in the throat kind of a way. The homes, the remnants, which are still inhabited, are dilapidated, and I can hardly imagine what the conditions must have been like during the ghetto’s existence. The picture at the top is of one of the houses, behind one of the few remaing parts of the ghetto wall. (I didn’t take these particular photos).

Anyway, if you want to read other writer’s offerings, or take part yourself in either or both of these writing prompts, please click the links above.

The Feasting – Magpie Tales

image 101

He stalked the land.

Times such as these were glorious for him. Borders meant nothing, language was no barrier, he fed where he saw fit, feasting on awkward limbs of souls reduced to a parody of their former spirit.

He rejoiced in the ease of it all, striding along the metal tracks that had been so kindly, so helpfully laid out for him. A ragged column of smoke and cinders rising high towards the clouds, a solid brick archway, wrought iron gates and the legend ‘Arbeit Macht Frei’ told him that he had arrived at his dining place once more.

His only regret, if it could be called that, was that his earth-bound compatriots were so very efficient at their own method of destruction. It robbed him of even more gluttony, if truth be told. Still, one had to be satisfied with what one received.

And anyway, time was on his side. He could wait for them to destroy themselves with their own greed.

It had happened before, aeons ago. It would happen again.

Hoist by their own petard.

History repeating itself.

His lips salivated at the thought.


Here’s this week’s entry into Magpie Tales. Yes, it’s morbid, I know. If you’re a long-time reader (thank you!) of mine, you’ll not be surprised. By way of background, I am Jewish, and the train tracks that lead into Auschwitz sprung to mind as soon as I saw the image above, hauntingly irresistible. Industrialised death is, unfortunately, no longer a shock to us, although it should be.

Please visit here for more creativity, and why not take part, if you feel the urge!