Whiteout Wednesday #9 –

She was the kind of woman who is infused with beauty and light and a loving reality emanating from an equally loving universe.

She was the comfortable woman

He was the kind of man tired, middle-aged, balding pushing a baby carriage I feel a wave of pity for the poor, toad-like bastard.

He was the kind of “I don’t really want more kids” man

She was the kind of woman who slept with rock stars, movie stars and sports legends You measure up nicely

She was the kind of stab you in the heart woman

He was the kind of man who’s incapable of anything resembling warmth, love and intimacy, I have money a lot of money

He was the kind of you’ll never want for anything man.

The original text:


She was the kind of woman who said, “I hope this special day is infused with beauty and light and that all your hopes and dreams crystalize into a loving reality emanating from an equally loving universe.” He would have been more comfortable if she just said, “Happy birthday.”

He was the kind of man who said, “Whenever I see one of those tired, middle-aged, balding schmucks pushing a baby carriage down Montana Avenue behind his thirty-year old, yoga-fied, Pilate- sized, armoire shopping, second wife, I can’t help but feel a wave of pity for the poor, toad-like bastard.” She would have been more comfortable if he just said, “I don’t really want more kids.”

She was the kind of woman who said, “What difference does it make if I’ve slept with rock stars, movie stars and sports legends? You measure up quite nicely to all those guys.” He would have been more comfortable if she just said, “Stand still while I stab you in the heart with my intrauterine device.”

He was the kind of man who said, “I’m a worn-out, emotional wreck who’s incapable of anything resembling warmth, love and intimacy, but I have a lot of money and you’ll never want for anything.” She would have been more comfortable if he just said…. No, actually, she was entirely comfortable with the way he put it.


Written for: https://blackcatalleyblog.wordpress.com/2017/03/29/whiteout-wednesday-9/

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Twittering Tales #23 – 28 March 2017


My neighbour sunbaked nude
For many years in complete privacy.
My drone flies over, hovers, then swivels
sending images to make my eyes pop.

Written for: https://katmyrman.com/2017/03/28/twittering-tales-23-28-march-2017/

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FFfAW Challenge-Week of March 28, 2017 – Mrs Louise Thrum


Image: Louise from The Storyteller’s Abode.

There was much expectation in the drawing room as the dinner group gathered to hear Mrs Louise Thrum sing her newest creation, her aria from her new opera, The Storytellers Abode.

Accompanied by her husband, Randolph Thrum with the assistance of her daughter the precocious Millicent Thrum there was a murmur of excitement as Louise prepared to deliver her finest composition to date.

As Louise prepared, Millicent dropped the entire score onto the floor. In the melee that followed the pages were mixed up and Randolph usually a very calm and affable chap was visibly disturbed such that he burped loudly before seating himself, his composure shaken to the core.

Louise not to be deterred launched into her performance.

Her magnificent voice was at once at odds with the sight of her bloomers around her ankles, her audience noticed and despite every good intention erupted into titters that soon exploded into full on laughter.

Louise, mortified beyond belief, stopped mid-performance, stamped her foot loudly and told them they could all sod off.


Written for: https://flashfictionforaspiringwriters.wordpress.com/2017/03/27/fffaw-challenge-week-of-march-28-2017/

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Wordle #148 “March 27th, 2017″ – Josh Lutalica


 This week’s words: Cheek Heavy Insect Skin a Razor- Drive a hard bargain. Instant Greed Helpless Meander Assail Mediocre Passage Lutalica


Josh Lutalica was often asked the question of what is it like to be you. He was an unusual man. Tall and thin, reserved, intelligent but with a wicked sense of humour and an infectious smile.

He didn’t play the games most other men played. He didn’t go to the pub after work, he didn’t swear and curse at his bad luck, he didn’t beat his wife and kids. He was what some thought of as a nice man, not a stand out as in extrovert, but a gentle man who seemed at ease with who he was.

He accepted his lot in life. You couldn’t say he was greedy, that wasn’t his style nor was he in any way helpless and from a distance it would appear he was mediocre and meandering his way through life in fact he was doing the opposite.

Josh Lutalica had a clearly defined passage to walk through in life. In the instant he decided anything, he knew where he was going and who he was taking with him.

He had that ability to know when to skin the razor, negotiation he developed a skill at and he showed on more than one occasion the cheek to bid high knowing he may have to bargain as time went on.

I saw him once being assailed by some angry parents, their children they felt had been short changed by him where in actual fact it was the children who had tried to heavy him and he had stood his ground not afraid to take them on at their own game.

It was all over a lizard insect that Josh had found on a trek through the Himalayas and his students believed he had made the whole story up.

Josh knew his truth, knew who he was, knew his limits and was prepared to stand by the man he was.


Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2017/03/27/wordle-148-march-27th-2017%e2%80%b3/

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Sunday Strange microfiction challenge – Princess Marm


Image: The Princess picking lice from the Troll: Theodor Kittelsen

It’s not easy being a troll. We get a bad wrap most of the time, well all of the time if truth be told.

If you take away the ugly factor what is left?

We are despised, shunned, cast out and feared in every place we live.

It’s true you know no one loves a troll.

I am grateful to Princess Marm for giving me sanctuary here in the dungeons.

Yes its dirty, damp and lice ridden but it’s a safe place out of the rain and gaze of those who would only do me harm.

I’m not like other trolls you may have met. I’m a vegetarian. Never liked the taste of meat and I know we are feared because we have a bad habit of eating humans but not me. My mother was beside herself as I was growing as I was more than content to munch on a carrot rather than a human leg.

“You’ll never amount to anything,” she would say as I pulled another carrot. “Think of what the neighbours will be saying.”

So from when I could I was cast out and sent a wandering the hills and dales, chased from one place to the next.

Then I met Princess Marm. She was initially frightened of me, I am a sight you have to admit. But when she saw I meant her no harm she started to communicate.

We were hesitant at first, as I had had nothing but bad experiences with the humans.

As it turned out Princess Marm was a lonely girl, shut away in the castle by her overbearing father and forever in need of contact of some sort.

I found I could pour out my heart to her and to my surprise found she also liked reading. I should point out that reading was the straw that broke the camels back as far as my mother was concerned. “Trolls don’t read,” she would exclaim and take from me whatever it was I was reading at the time and cast it into the stream that ran past the rocks we lived under.

One day while we were conversing about the literary merits of the novelist Charles Dickens, she stopped in the midst of our literary conversation to say she was sure she had just seen moving in my fur.

It was then that I had to admit there were many things moving in my fur and that it was a curse of me being a troll that ‘things’ thrived in my fur.

“We can’t have any of that,” she cried and urged me to sit in front of her while she began to preen me.

I have to admit it was and is a most satisfying feeling her fingers working their way through my fur and her gasps of delight as she extracted something from me. We both agreed Dickens’ work took on a whole new meaning and dimension as she worked her way around me.

So as time has passed we meet each Sunday and I sit patiently, enjoying the attention I have to say while Princess Marm picks and prods at my good self. It usually means a sleep uninterrupted by having to scratch oneself in the middle of most luxurious dream.


Written for: https://janedougherty.wordpress.com/2017/03/26/sunday-strange-microfiction-challenge-6/

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Saturday Mix – March 25, 2017 – Bastet – Spring


Image: Edgewood Garden, Washington State


A brief story about spring.

The first thing is the increase in warmth. The sun seems stronger, the light brighter and around you there appear the first of the spring blossoms.

You realise the season is changing as the days grow longer and the temperature such that you can discard warm clothes in the middle of the day.

I watched as a willy-wag tail flew about excitedly because he and his mate had nested on the clothesline next door. The sight of babies in the nest, feeding from their parent’s mouths has always reminded me of spring as a time of rebirth and renewal.


Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2017/03/25/saturday-mix-march-25-2017-bastet/

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WRITING CHALLENGE: See It, Write It – Jane’s New Shoes


No 3: The place where the nanny is crossing the street and the little girl almost gets run over – HOW would you set that up in a written story so we jump when we read it?*

No 3: The place where the nanny is crossing the street and the little girl almost gets run over – HOW would you set that up in a written story, so we jump when we read it?*

Nanny held Jane’s hand as they walked down the street. They were on a strict mission. Jane’s mother had instructed the Nanny to take Jane to Hobson’s Shoe store for a new pair of school shoes.

Jane being the headstrong girl she was had her opinions about fashion and that included school shoes. Her mother had been adamant that the shoes be the correct type, enclosed leather, so Jane would not be excluded from practical classes as she had the previous week.

Despite Jane’s argument that the shoes required were daggy and uncomfortable, Jane also argued that none of the other girls wore them and why should she.

Her mother hated one thing more than arguing with her daughter, and that was receiving phone calls and notes from the school saying Jane was not doing this or that or was not presenting homework nor applying herself to her studies.

The social embarrassment was more than she could tolerate and so it was that Nanny had been instructed to take Jane forthwith to Hobsons and return home with the prescribed footwear.

As they walked down the street Nanny kept thinking with each step that it was only three blocks to the shoe store and then three blocks back. She thought this as Jane went on with her incessant whinging about her overbearing mother who never listened to her and who didn’t care if she became a total social outcast as a result of buying the worst shoes imaginable.

They had to cross three streets on their way, and as it was close to midday, the streets were their usual busy selves. As they approached the corner of Main and Smith, the Nanny thought it wise to take Jane’s hand as the pedestrian traffic was heavy as people milled around waiting for the traffic signals to tell them to cross.

They were on the end of a long queue of people waiting to cross. Nanny was not paying much attention to the traffic or the people around her as she had walked these streets many times before and her mind was on automatic as she approached the crossing. All the while there was the constant complaining from Jane who, like her was paying no attention to what was happening around her.

The lights changed, and the crowd moved forward and spread itself across the pedestrian crossing. By the time, they had reached the kerb the lights had changed and were flashing red to wait but Nanny wanting to get her outing over and done with stepped out onto the road just as a car driving down the street arrived at the crossing. The old man driving had obviously not seen the red light and wasn’t paying close attention to the people crossing as he approached.

Suddenly in his peripheral vision, he saw a movement and slammed his foot onto his brake pedal. The car jerked to a stop, the lady and the child stopped and looked at him in horror. In a panic, he moved forward across the road and disappeared amidst a shower of car horns and expletives. The Nanny couldn’t help but notice the vehicle was being closely followed by another old man pressing on his car horn the entire time.

The nanny stepped back and took in a breath, then another. Jane was none the wiser she noted. Her mouth was still on about shoes and how wretched her life was going to be after today.

The Nanny stood at the crossing gripping the girl’s hand, praying she would shut up long enough for the day to be over and she would rid of the precocious child.


Written for: https://danalatorre.com/2017/03/24/writing-challenge-see-it-write-it/


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