Twittering Tale #18 – 21 February 2017

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Alone at last she looks, and says its been so long.
Alone at last he looks, says I’m glad today has arrived.
Alone at last, holding hands.

Written for: https://katmyrman.com/2017/02/21/twittering-tales-18-21-february-2017/

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Wordle #143 “February 20th, 2017” – Karthups the Plumber

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This week’s words:

Apple Frigid Pane Gall and Wormwood (Extremely disagreeable and annoying.) Dive Cinch Halfway Grime Wind Vintage Palinoia ((n) Compulsive repetition of an act until it is performed perfectly.) Pause

Karthups the Plumber* suffered badly with palinoia. Such was his problem that he might spend hours changing a single tap washer. It had to be right and what others would probably see as a cinch in any other way was for Karthups a matter of life and death.

For Karthups it wasn’t ever a matter of diving into any job. He assessed it, evaluated it, made a sketch plan of how to attack it and halfway through the job would go back and reassess how it was all going.

Some non-understanding clients saw it all as a lot of gall and wormwood that their job would take so long to complete. Karthups had a habit of pausing when he spoke to you causing you to suffer the anxiety of not being sure if he would get back to you or not.

One time he was commissioned to do a big plumbing job on an old vintage house with vintage plumbing and every piece in urgent need of updating. There was a lot of grime to contend with, and Karthups knew that when there was grime his palinoia oozed to the surface and his preparation time doubled. Everything from the fittings in the bathroom, for example, to the pane of bathroom window glass was scrubbed clean before any work could begin.

In the winter it was often a job to relieve the frigid pipes of the stresses of a very cold winter when he would have to go outside and more often than not suffer the harsh winter winds to find the space through which he would crawl in and under the house.

But despite his all-out palinoia about every job, there was nothing palinoic about his eating of his apple for his lunch each day. Yes, he did have a set way of eating one, but always it was done with a precision that to others looked like the only thing Karthups found to be a cinch in life.

 

Karthups the Plumber first appears here: *https://summerstommy.com/2017/02/18/saturday-mix-lorraine-18-02-17/

 

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2017/02/20/wordle-143-february-20th-2017/

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Vistula Historic District – A Must See!

This week we are asked to seek inspiration in random places:

1st stop: Wikipedia! Click the Random Article button, and the article you get, the title is your title

2nd stop: http://writingexercises.co.uk/random-image-generator.php , where you will generate a random image which you should post and connect with your written piece.

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It was all about the lucky dip of life. His trip to his local travel agent had resulted in him agreeing to a random holiday to a random destination. The agent had warned him that these were holidays for the broad minded and adventure bound.

At first, he didn’t know what to make of the email he received the next day telling him his trip was confirmed and that he would be leaving the next week for the Vistula Historic District.

He hastily googled the name and discovered that it was a historical site renowned for its collection of anchors.

The headline: “If you Love a Good Anchor, Vistula Historic District is the place for you.”

A little further down he read:

“Come and walk the rolling sand dunes and marvel at the anchors embedded into each one. A unique and rare experience for the well-travelled sea-faring aficionado.”

After careful study of the Google site and finding nothing more about the District other than the anchors, he decided there had to be more to it than that. Surely it would have restaurants, hotels, a casino, after all, who didn’t have a casino these days.

 

Three weeks later he returned home a shell-shocked man. The Vistula Historic District was as it promised. All anchors. The only surprise was the local theatre group who performed a very lame production of “Anchors Aweigh”. As his trip was a package deal, he was awakened each morning by an overly enthusiastic guide called Herman who took him and his party to another part of the dunes to view the anchors that were there. Each anchor had a story, and Herman was determined to tell him the story of each.

Like so much in life, the sight of one anchor on the first day was exciting but by the tenth day of what seemed to him to be the same story repeated each day he was ready to use his brute strength to ram of the anchors through Herman, in fact, ram anything at Herman who never seemed to shut up.

He did in fact, marvel at Herman’s enthusiasm and his ability to find something exciting day after day connected to objects that all seemed to have been made in the same factory.

So after a day or two at home recovering he ventured to his travel agent and presented him with an ornamental anchor suggesting he insert it in a place no one would want to hoist it from.

 

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2017/02/19/writing-prompt-february-19th-randomize/

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Sunday Strange microfiction challenge – Dolores Hubbard

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Image: Pierre Puvis de Chavannes

Dolores Hubbard was fed up.

Life was a pile of shit that kept getting bigger as each day went by.

Her husband, the very virile Barry Hubbard, was responsible for the myriad of children she was now in the care of. As babies they were ok. As growing teenagers, a nightmare.

Lately, the Anderson boys from the farm down the road had begun coming round making overtures about one daughter or another with the prospect of courting.

Dolores had discovered a good dose of buckshot in the arse was enough deterrent to send them on their way.

She wasn’t having daughter of her’s going the same way as she had done. After all, when she thought back on it, it was all her mother’s fault telling the very youthful Dolores on her wedding day that it was her duty to obey her husband and comply with his wishes. So she had, and now she was reaping the consequences of allowing her rampant husband such ready and easy access to her body.

Baby after baby had appeared with no end in sight as far as Dolores was concerned. To make matters worse, Barry showed no signs of slowing down either.

So by now with all ten children, so far, growing rapidly and producing mountains of washing such that her day began with a load of washing, then to hang it out and then to think about feeding the hungry lot. The older children did help with the younger ones, and she was grateful for that.

One morning while at the clothes line with an another load of once grubby clothing she saw in the sky a hot air balloon. Dolores never had time to dream, but at that moment she did.

The balloon landed in her backyard and carried her off to new lands, new people a place where children and randy husbands did not exist. For a few moments, she felt released from the present torment of husband and children.

But it didn’t last as she felt a tug on her skirt and the youngest, a small boy she called Sprat was telling her he had filled his pants.

Gathering him up she wondered if it would ever end.

 

Written for: https://janedougherty.wordpress.com/2017/02/19/sunday-strange-microfiction-challenge-2/

 

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Saturday Mix — Lorraine 18.02.17

Trying two out of three: beetle-1968837__340

Almost Free on the Fives: write a five line free verse with a total count of 25 words.

Almost phallic she mused

Looking from the fungus

To her one love.

Shame they are not one and the same

She could cook him then.

 

Pick Three: a person, place, object and write a piece of flash from 25 to 150 words.

Plumber, bathroom, fountain pen

Karthups had been called for. A problem in Mrs Cooper’s bathroom. All his life he’d been knee deep in it. It was either that or up to his elbows in it.

Mrs Cooper showed him the bathroom. Stood well down the hallway as Karthups got to work. A quick thrust and out it popped. The offending object. A brown fountain pen.

He held in his rough workman’s fingers wondering its circumstances in being dropped it down the toilet. How could something so fine cause such a problem?

Pens fascinated him. He longed to be a writer. But he lacked confidence beyond a few rough sentences.

He offered the pen to Mrs Cooper who recoiled refusing to look at it as he was sure she was aware of where it had been.

He placed the pen in his top pocket knowing it had a tale to tell.

 

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2017/02/18/saturday-mix-lorraine-18-02-17/

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SoCS Feb. 18/17 – ham

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It’s after all my mother was one to never lie. But I am ham-fisted.

Both physically and intellectually.

I made a life skill of tripping over things, I couldn’t catch to save myself and you could guarantee that if I walked across a room I’d bump into something.

That made my life hell as a kid growing up. I was always the last picked for any team game the captain groaning as he pointed to me when there was no one else to select. I became very good at playing left right out.

One time they asked me to stand in goal as there was not much chance the ball would come to that end of the field. So the most part I stood there sucking in the air dreaming of what I might achieve should the ball come my way. A step to the right, arm extended, a deflection, goal saved, I’m a hero.

The reality was, ball coming, panic, no muscle wanted to listen to the other, ball struck, wrong arm extends, ball flies into net, team decries my incompetence, and I’m left to suffer their derision.

On another occasion, I was asked to speak in a debate. All prepared, notes at the ready, called to the rostrum, notes mysteriously were jumbled, made no sense, the audience laughed, my mind was more and more fuddled, sat down, disgraced myself and in my head was NEVER AGAIN.

So ham-fistedness has plagued me all my life. You name it, and I have stuffed it up in one way or another. As for relationships don’t get me started. I think apart from my dysfunctional ham-fisted marriage the prospect of a connection with me has terrified all women who have contemplated such a thing with me.

At least living the single life, I’m the only who sees my latest ham-fusted effart.

 

Written for: https://lindaghill.com/2017/02/17/the-friday-reminder-and-prompt-for-socs-feb-1817/

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Finish off Fridays #8: The Summons 17.02.17

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Photograph: (c) Lorraine

The Story Begins: I had never been summoned to Number 208 before; I nervously adjusted my coat and hat.  

There was something about the summons that could not be ignored. The thought of doing so gave me a weak feeling down in my precious waters. I didn’t want any accidents so I turned up looking my best and feeling nervous.

I pressed the doorbell and a resounding boom rang out. The door opened and Lurch stood there, at least he looked like Lurch. “You rang,” he said.

I showed him my summons and he let me in, pointed to a waiting area and left me there. A man in a pink suit with black bowtie entered and announced that my number had come up. I gulped. My number? He nodded knowingly, shrugged and pulled out the syringe. My day had come. The day my body was given to science. Instinctively I pulled my coat around myself. Fate could be cruel I thought.

 

 

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2017/02/17/finish-off-fridays-8-the-summons-17-02-17/

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