Twittering Tale #62 – 12 December 2017


Photo from the Commons at Pixabay

Washed clean after years at sea, the bottle and message remain a mystery as it can’t be opened.
Speculation is rife. What if someone is desperate? What if its the map to secret treasure?
All we know is the bottle was made in 1735.
Its historical significance outweighs its contents. (280 characters)

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FFfAW Challenge-Week of December 12, 2017 – The Dinner Date


Image: © yarnspinner

It wasn’t the sort of dinner date one would look forward to in hindsight. All that was left was a few dried scraps of tissue. The rescue was left to sweep them up. The police hoped there might be DNA to identify which bits were his and which were hers.

No one was sure what had happened. They had ordered a sweet and sour pork, fried rice and a beef and black bean. Somewhere along the line, everything went wrong.

First, he began to shrivel, and then she followed suite. There was a breeze, and before anyone knew it, they were being blown out into the street.

The doors were hurriedly closed and the police called but there wasn’t a lot could be done though someone’s suggestion of pouring water on the dried tissue was treated with an air of disdain.

The restaurant’s reputation suffered, it was avoided, and the couple involved whose surname interestingly was Crisp lived on in folklore.


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Wordle #182 – Jessica Tulip


This week’s words: Imply  Fishnet Saudade ((n.) in Portuguese folk culture) a deep emotional state of melancholic longing for a
person or thing that is absent) Ether Fast Coruscant ((adj.) sparkling or gleaming)  Tulip Lenient Extravagant Glitch  Incline Meaning Malfunction

Jessica Tulip loved the fashion industry. It was always fast and furious when the time came for a show, and in the current climate, she greatly missed her Portuguese mentor Pedro Coruscant the most effervescent and sparkling man she had ever worked with. She had moments of great saudade where she sat in the corner, tears running down her cheeks, as problem after problem confronted her.

The fishnets were not right or the wrong colour, the skinny model, kept having costume malfunctions which meant the organisers were threatening legal action if the model in question walked the catwalk one more time with her nipple on display.

In her mind, she asked what Pedro Coruscant have done in this crisis. Glitches in the fashion industry were like occupational hazards, a hem might drop, not every model was a perfect size eight, stuff went wrong everyone was human, and she knew Pedro would always be lenient and never imply it was anyone’s fault.

But without Pedro, she was inclined to panic and go over the top in the most extravagant ways.

She knew her behaviour was not good for those around her and so she needed to get it together and lead by example rather than go off into the ether where no one was really sure what she was on about.

So, with a new pair of fishnets and a small piece of blu-tac Jessica Tulip set herself the task of rectifying the issues that had plagued her throughout the day.


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Sunday Writing Prompt #232 “It’s All In The Title” – Whispers in the Wall


Whispers in the Wall

The old wheel creaks and groans

Prefers days of gentle water flow

When not too much is expected of it.

The trickling stream caresses memories

Of days long gone

When the churning meant productivity.

Now the ghosts in the walls

Whisper of past glory days

Of laughter at the end of a day’s work

And drinking and eating late into the night.

Now it’s a matter of time

Neglect and progress has superseded

Its purpose and usefulness.

A relic to the past,

The whispers in the walls are all that is left

They engage with each other

Regaling tales of underdogs and topdogs,

For there is no one else.


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Conversations with Marjorie Nettlespawn


I heard her coming down the drive and then the rattle of the gauze door as she came in, puffing slightly, her hand on her Fitbit and a quick glance to see the steps she had travelled.

This was my neighbour Marjorie Nettlespawn who would pop in each morning at the end of her walk. On her feet where her red joggers, always resplendently clean and in her track suit I’m sure she ironed daily.

My reaction was to slip the kettle on and boil water for a coffee she always loved at the end of her walk.

“6000 steps,” she announced, “any news on no 5?”

This was a reference to my children in whom Marg took a very healthy interest. All my children she knew by number rather than by name, and I found it a quaint way to talk about them with her. Whatever the problem she always had an opinion and I was forever grateful that she didn’t judge them but rather reacted to their various issues with compassion and care. It was like she lived her life through my kids which was ok as I always thought I had enough to share with her.

“No,” I replied, “she still thinks her ex is going to bring the kids back on Christmas day, but we have reservations about that as he is going to be about 5 hours away on Christmas day and unlikely to drive all that way on Christmas day. So, we wait in hope, hope we don’t have a distraught mother her Christmas night.”

“Life’s hard sometimes isn’t,” she remarked. “Did 2 get away ok?”

“Yes, he and his family are away for two weeks. Back at Christmas. They have a time-share up north, and so they are spending a week there then catching up with friends in their old home town.”

“Good they spend some quality time together isn’t,” she remarked sipping on her coffee.

“Yes, they’ll be back for Christmas this year so that will be good having them around this year.”

“Christmas is such a good time,” said Marjorie, “so glad you let me share some of yours.”

“Well you are always welcome, and the kids like having you here.”

“Thank you. How is 6 going? Any luck with a job?”

“No nothing has changed. I ran into a neighbour who works in disability housing, and she was saying it’s not unusual for people with disabilities to change jobs, stop jobs even when you think they might be happy there. So, the struggle goes on.”

“I understand. So, how’s the garden looking?”

“Oh, picked you some roses this morning. Take them home with you I know how you like them and there’s a double black rose for you as well.


“Oh, so beautiful,” said Marj admiring them. “Thank you I do love the scent of those black roses; all that Turkish Delight comes to mind when I smell them.”

She sat there smelling the roses, which I’m sure took her to places other than here which was fine as I liked Marjorie a lot and enjoyed her company. Then suddenly as always happened, she was up and off saying thanks for the coffee, and she’d drop by the next morning.

I looked forward to it.


So, my day began, watering and a quick walk. Life was good most days.

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First Line Friday -December 8th, 2017 – Death By Roses..


Death by roses, she thought, death by roses. 

What way to go. Beaten to death by a black rose.

It was true she realised, he’d been a thorn in her side all this time so she shouldn’t have been surprised when he unleashed his anger upon her.

It all started with the box of chocolates. She’d made the gesture as it was Christmas and all that. But he’d looked at her with disdain.

He immediately unleased his wrath claiming the chocolates proved his worth to her. Yes, they may not have been the top shelf chocolates, but they were all she could afford, and they were given with love.

Her immediate thought was: “How typically male. It’s all about size.”

He regaled her for the next half hour about all the things he had given her and done for her and the fact that every visit he made to her was accompanied by a bunch of expensive roses.

She shrunk into herself as he poured the words she hated to hear. Unappreciative, ignorant and stupid.

Finally, he had hit her with the roses he had bought her today. Yes, they were expensive black roses, but all the same wasn’t her profession of love enough for him.

Apparently not as a thorn struck her in the temple. There upon blood flowed forth and she knew their time was at an end.

Their relationship was dead. She knew it. He knew it.

She reached out, took his arm and shoved the roses he held into his face.

His look of surprise she took home with her.


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Saturday Mix – Opposing Forces, 9 December 2017

Our words this week are:

– exit and entrance

– major and minor

I need to make it clear to you that you cannot use the main entrance until you exit from the minor entrance.

I know it’s all a nuisance, but the major insists the entrance can only be used upon exit from the minor one.

Yes, I know the minor one is a task having to crawl on your hands and knees to exit it but what might you expect from a minor entrance if you could simply waltz through it. After all the major did say the major entrance upon entry would lead you to places of major interest, and you would want to pass that up, would you?

So please exit the minor entrance, then enter through the major entrance where the major exhibits are sure to captivate your attention in no minor way I can assure you.


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