Manic Monday #3 Challenge – Kicks

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This week’s challenge is based on: Paul Revere and the Raiders “Kicks,” released in 1966 as a single.

When she asked him why he had done it his reply shocked her. “Just for kicks.”

She was immediately concerned because up until that moment she didn’t realise he was so bored. She thought she was the never-ending supply of entertainment and joy in his life.

What concerned her the most was his attack on the go-go dancer. After all, she was just doing what any self-respecting go-go dancer would be doing, go-going to her heart’s content. It may not have meant anything to anyone else, but to her, it was meaningful, energetic and to tell the truth she was getting her tits off on it all.

You could tell that by the look in her eye. The music was playing its beat upon her soul, and she was into it, every part of her was involved which may have been why her partner had taken the action he had. For him, there was obviously too much to concentrate on. So, he stepped in, slowed her down, suggested she do one thing or the other not everything.

Thankfully security stepped in before it got too ugly. The go-go dancer was a black belt in karate, and there’s no telling where her great love may have ended up. The ER was a real possibility.

He was led away, the go-go dancer resumed her go-going, and the universe was once again at peace with itself.

Except that is at her place where her chastened partner sat at the kitchen table sipping a coffee while she berated him about being socially responsible.

“No one got hurt,” he said, “it was all just for kicks.”

 

Written for: https://flipflopseveryday.wordpress.com/2017/07/23/manic-monday-3-challenge-kicks/

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Sunday Writing Prompt: Fly like a Falcon

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You will always be fond of me. I represent to you all the sins you have never had the courage to commit. Oscar Wilde.

She looked at him with an air of disdain and reminded him of what she represented. Everything he wasn’t.

They’d been in a relationship, and it was to a point where he knew it was at an end. She had made that clear. He irritated her, he had ceased to be any fun.

He no longer made her feel they were soaring like eagles but rather were stuck in the mud, stranded in life like a bunch of turkeys.

He felt her dislike of him, he knew at every opportunity she would decry him for what he had become.

Dull. Boring. A burden on her every day.

Where once he had thrilled her, made her gasp with his insights and his attention to her now there was nothing but a bland bad taste in her mouth when she thought of another day with him.

She wanted adventure, excitement and he failed to deliver. He was content to sit in front of the television most nights, watch whatever inanity was being screened and go to bed.

For some months they hadn’t touched one another, they avoided such potential moments, she’d stopped coming into the shower when he was there to scrub his back and chat with him about her day.

He didn’t seem interested she thought, she wondered when it was that she had become so boring to him.

Outside of home, she partook in action activities. Long and difficult weekend hikes through treacherous terrains while he tended to the back garden. She came home full of energy despite the nagging soreness of the hiking eager to share with him only to find he was asleep on the lounge or disinterested in anything she said.

So, desperate did she become she engaged a lover, bought him home one evening to see if he had any spark left inside.

She tried to encourage him to join in, a threesome might be fun she said, but he closed his eyes to her and left the room.

His behaviour added fuel to an already dying fire.

She took her lover to her bed, made sure he heard the enjoyment she had, packed her bags so that by morning all that remained was an unmade bed.

He took her photo and held it to his chest, she was a part of what made his heart beat, he regretted being such a disappointment.

 

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2017/07/23/sunday-writing-prompt-fly-like-an-eagle/

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Weekend Writing Prompt #12 – Indecision

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This week’s challenge: Write a story in no more than 300 words that begins at a crossroads.

I arrived at the crossroads some twenty minutes earlier than expected. I wanted to be early. I wanted time to think before he arrived and I had to commit.

There was a seat on the northern side where the bus stop was. I sat there observing the movement around the crossroads.

Cars from the north would pull up, wait at the stop sign before moving off east, west or south. I wondered if they arrived at the stop sign unsure of where they would go next.

Were they tempted to make a detour?

Were they tempted to turn around and go back from where they came?

I was in that place. I knew I was.

He’d made it clear to me that today was the day to make decisions. He wasn’t going to be pussyfooting around me any longer. He wanted me to move in with him that way cutting down the time we spent going between each other’s houses.

The reality was we got along fine. I liked him but I wasn’t sure if I loved him. Maybe it was the old tapes playing inside my head of previous times when making a commitment such as this went pear shaped within days of me moving in.

I didn’t want to be stuck again.

There was something about his persistence that irritated me. He was crowding me and I knew it.

My own place was just as I wished it to be.

In the distance I could see the homeward bound bus approaching. It would take but a minute to cross the road and be on it.

I wondered what he made of me not being there when he arrived.

 

Written for: https://sammiscribbles.wordpress.com/2017/07/22/weekend-writing-12-indecision

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Weekend Writing Prompt #12 – Indecision

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This week’s challenge: Write a story in no more than 300 words that begins at a crossroads.

I arrived at the crossroads some twenty minutes earlier than expected. I wanted to be early. I wanted time to think before he arrived and I had to commit.

There was a seat on the northern side where the bus stop was. I sat there observing the movement around the crossroads.

Cars from the north would pull up, wait at the stop sign before moving off east, west or south. I wondered if they arrived at the stop sign unsure of where they would go next.

Were they tempted to make a detour?

Were they tempted to turn around and go back from where they came?

I was in that place. I knew I was.

He’d made it clear to me that today was the day to make decisions. He wasn’t going to be pussyfooting around me any longer. He wanted me to move in with him that way cutting down the time we spent going between each other’s houses.

The reality was we got along fine. I liked him but I wasn’t sure if I loved him. Maybe it was the old tapes playing inside my head of previous times when making a commitment such as this went pear shaped within days of me moving in.

I didn’t want to be stuck again.

There was something about his persistence that irritated me. He was crowding me and I knew it.

My own place was just as I wished it to be.

In the distance I could see the homeward bound bus approaching. It would take but a minute to cross the road and be on it.

I wondered what he made of me not being there when he arrived.

 

Written for: https://sammiscribbles.wordpress.com/2017/07/22/weekend-writing-

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Saturday’s Mix–22 July 2017 – Mabel

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Image: © morpethroad

The challenge today is to write a story or poem using the point of view of an animal. 

My name is Mabel and I’m a black Angus grazing in the back paddock for Farmer Mudd.

It’s a good life, I eat, I chew, I eat, I chew.

Every so often Leo the bull comes sniffing around. He seems to know when my hormones are acting up and if I’m not careful he’s jumped me and I’m pregnant once again.

If I object he reminds me of my purpose, to produce little versions of him. If I don’t he says I’ll end up in the truck and the truck is where you don’t want to go. Its death he says, the humans cut you up and that’s the end of you.

If I want to stay with the herd, enjoy the pastures and enjoy Leo, though there’s not a lot to enjoy about the great lump, I’ll comply.

After all it is a good life. Producing a little one is a joy once you get over the discomfort of it arrival. It all happens doesn’t it, once it starts there it is. Leo couldn’t give a rat’s arse to be honest, in his mind he’s done his bit it up to me to feed and care for the new one.

And new ones are a handful. From the word go they want, want, want. My milk starts running and so do they. It’s all go, go, go, and so exhausting.

Today we are in the lucerne patch, the grass is rich, the pasture expansive, it’s going to be a good day I just have to keep an eye on the little one as he has a tendency to get a bit too close to the zapping fence. He’s been bitten twice, I hope he learns soon.

I’m going to stop for a while now, chew my cud and ponder the meaning of life.

 

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2017/07/22/saturdays-mix-22-july-2017/

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First Line Friday -July 21st 2017 – The Hunger

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This week’s first line:

Below the city’s cobblestones, it shifted, restless and hungry.

It had been a while, and it hated having to hide away from the public glare.

The last time it had not ended well. There was little to no understanding of its kind in the lit world. Best to avoid when it could the temptations of the world where hunger was not an issue with so much and so many to choose from.

In the world of darkness and shadow, the fare was monotonous, the dirty stinking rats that infested the sewers it grew tired of quickly. It hungered for more tasty morsels.

The best method it had devised was to wait for darkness to swallow the land above. There were drainage points, sewer outlets that it could crawl into and if it timed its raid right dinner could be served on time.

Not that it knew time apart from the rumblings in its stomach.

Tonight, was one of those nights. Dinner awaited. It crawled into a likely space. Above, it could hear, then see the legs of the passing crowds.

The ones with no leg coverings were the best to snare. The less unwrapping, the better.

It was a matter of wait and see. As the darkness grew, less people were about. The more its chances rose.

It slid back the covering just enough to allow a tentacle to protrude. That’s all it took.

As the woman walked towards it, its tentacle rose an inch below the opening. As she stepped closer, it shot out, grabbed her, withdrew, it was all over in seconds.

His dinner was dead before she entered the underground. Her head snapped against the opening in the road. The covering back in place, life went on as normal.

Below the cobblestones it feasted, left nothing to be found save a shoe cast off in the snatching. This would sate it until the next hunger rumbled within it.

 

 

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2017/07/21/first-line-friday-july-21st-2017/

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Thursday photo prompt – Mask #writephoto – The BBQ

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Cyril Rum was different to all of the people on Bush Street. Cyril was an angel. An angel on sabbatical as fate would have it who wore his human mask so well no one knew his true identity. That was apart from his neighbour Mildred Thrup who having no friends realised Cyril was the only one she was likely to have and so kept mum about him.

Cyril was intrigued by the human practice of the backyard BBQ but as he had an aversion to fire he had resisted all efforts by Mildred to engage in one. To Cyril, fire was a concept rather than a reality and one assigned in his mind to the downstairs department in the building where he worked, nine to five eight days a week.

He was amused by humans sticking to the seven-day week as he realised it was his boss’ little joke to convince the world there were seven days when in fact there were eight. It was he knew a sneaky way in which eternity had two days of rest instead of the earthly one.

But one balmy evening Mildred invited Cyril over and had the BBQ implements laid out, the fire already burning. Cyril sat well back wondering what good could come from this small inferno. As a young apprenticed Angel had his wings singed one day and had been cautious ever since.

He watched Mildred fuss about, chatting endlessly as was her want until she served him a plate of what to Cyril looked like a burnt offering. Being polite he cut himself a piece of the cooked meat and sank his angelic teeth into it.

Never had he tasted anything like it and by evenings end had helped himself to seconds and made Mildred give him the recipes she had used.

Later he thought to himself, upstairs would be intrigued by the evening’s activity. Learning from humanity was always such a novelty.

 

Written for: https://scvincent.com/2017/07/20/thursday-photo-prompt-mask-writephoto/

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