FLASH FICTION FOR THE PURPOSEFUL PRACTITIONER- 2018 WEEK #26 Joyce’s Nightmare.

Posted on June 27, 2018 by Michael

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Image: Pedro Fogueras pexels-photo-626164 shadow

Having conveyed Joyce, my aged companion, to the hospital the night before I had a sleepless night worrying about her. My last sight of her was being bundled into the ER and told it would be best if I came back in the morning.

When I returned, I found her in a state of agitation. She grabbed my arm and stated she had had a terrible night.

Apart from the uncomfortable bed and the constant probing of the medical staff she had endured a nightmare that had disturbed her.

In her nightmare, she was locked in a room made of a material that stretched and upon touch engulfed her.

Around her voices ridiculed her.

Joyce was visibly shaking as she recounted the ordeal and finished by saying she wanted me to take her back to the hotel.

When the Doctor arrived, I recounted Joyce’s ordeal to him.

He agreed she would be better off with me in the hotel and so transport arrangements were made.

We arrived back just as Roger, our tour guide, was taking the rest of the group on a tour of the local haunted castle. Joyce was happy to give it a miss.

 

Written for: https://flashfictionforthepracticalpractitioner.wordpress.com/2018/06/27/flash-fiction-for-the-purposeful-practitioner-2018-week-26/

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JSW Prompt 6-25-2018 – A Father and Daughter

Posted on June 26, 2018 by Michael

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Dolores Fortune was an unhappy woman. She’d been born unhappy and stayed that way throughout her life.

Life had treated Dolores in unkind ways and she, in turn, made sure she returned the favour as often as possible.

She’d married several times, and on every occasion, the men in her life suffered her unhappiness.

She regretted having children, as they were a burden to her, forever demanding her attention to which she felt great resentment.

Her second husband was a small man who worked on ranches and farms around the district. He had been married previously to an equally demanding woman, and their marriage had produced two children, a boy and a girl.

The girl she particularly disliked, she was so much like her father and was often away with the fairies. Dolores hated the weekends when the girl came to stay as she took all the attention away from her as the girl’s father doted on her.

Each occasion she found herself alone with the girl was an opportunity to criticise her and get her to do jobs to keep her busy and away from the things she liked.

When the girl reached puberty, she ran away, mixed with the wrong crowds, ended up pregnant and all this afforded Dolores the opportunity to poison the father against his daughter.

The girl drifted away, fell into an abusive marriage, had children of her own and all the while Dolores fed her father everything that poisoned him of his daughter.

And so they saw nothing of each other, the daughter thought the father had abandoned her and spent her life believing so.

In later years she wondered if her father was still alive and searched for him.

An old man appeared, frail, confused by life and in a far away city. She found the courage to contact him, and he was overjoyed to hear from her, believing her to be lost forever. They re-united, they cried over the past, hugged and found a love for each other long thought dead.

In the background, Dolores, true to herself found a reason to go about poisoning him again, reminding him of the wayward girl and the disgrace she brought on the family.

But he saw not the wild child, he saw an adult, a woman who had grown in life, who was compassionate, loving and caring and he dismissed the poison still being flung at him and embraced a love only a father and daughter can sustain.

 

Written for: https://athling2001.wordpress.com/2018/06/25/jsw-prompt-6-25-2018/

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Twittering Tale #90 – Pick a Card

Posted on June 26, 2018 by Michael

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With apprehension, I entered the fortune tellers booth.
She was shuffling the cards as I sat down.
Card one: death, card two destruction, card three chaos, card four disease.
She laid them in front of me
her eyes surveyed the four
shaking her head, she said
‘You’re in for a rough day.’ (280 characters)

Written for: https://katmyrman.com/2018/06/26/twittering-tale-90-pick-a-card-26-june-2018/

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Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers Week of 06-26 through 07-02-2018

Posted on June 26, 2018 by Michael

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Image: Yinglan

They said if we looked hard enough we’d find it. We doubted our ability to locate what so many thought was precious to their identity.

They said we’d find it on Last Hope Mountain.

Much had been eroded from our lives, the ability to see clearly had vanished as people sought the validation of a false god, perched on a throne espousing so much he cared little for except what benefit he gained for his own bulging coffers.

So many realised they had been taken for a ride by a man who lied and cheated, oblivious to the damage he was doing to the people’s soul.

We had trudged for many days through the detritus of what was once a proud and viable nation.

In front loomed the Mountain and on top a tattered and torn flag, struggling to suggest there was hope when around it all seemed lost.

 

Written for: https://flashfictionforaspiringwriters.wordpress.com/2018/06/25/fffaw-challenge-171st/

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Thursday Photo Write – Wings #writephoto

Posted on June 26, 2018 by Michael

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The flapping of wings I could hear from the kitchen, and I thought it must be a bird in distress.

But it wasn’t it was the three strangers* standing in my back yard, the gesticulator doing all the flapping, the other two were focused on a nearby tree where a flock of black cockatoos had settled and were doing what they do best, making a lot of noise.

The birds obviously intrigued them as they were totally engaged in their observation. I took the opportunity to go out and explain to them what the birds were and that they were flock birds who lived mostly out in the bush and who in my opinion had two sounds, loud and louder.

The note taker stopped when I said that last part and looked at me as I smiled at her well aware of the joke I had made.

I was well aware by now that they were not imbued with a sense of humour, at least not one I could comprehend.

The one who constantly gesticulated stopped and turned to me as if wanting further explanation. All I could offer there and then was that the birds lived in their world and we in ours.

They turned back to continue their observations.

There was silence apart from the persistent squawking of the cockatoos until the one with a whistle blew it and the birds were silent. As one the flock looked down on the three strangers, and as one they stretched their magnificent wings and flapped in unison before settling back onto their respective branches and picked up their conversations where they had left off.

The three strangers looked at one another and then at me. The note taker smiled radiantly at me and left me with the feeling all was right in the world.

b2ap3_large_Glossy-Black-Cockatoo-by-Maureen-Goninan

 

Written for: https://scvincent.com/2018/06/24/new-photo-prompt-wings-and-last-weeks-beginnings-round-up-writephoto/

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Wordle #202 – The Marooned Octopus

Posted on June 25, 2018 by Michael

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This week’s words: Pint chase fists cease sleeping bag octopus marooned metal breathless pennyworth wastrel (noun). a wasteful or good-for-nothing person. wanderjahr (noun). A year spent travelling abroad, typically immediately before or after a university or college course.

Finding the octopus, tentacles curled into fists in the sleeping bag was a tad unnerving but not unexpected. After all, during the wanderjahr one had to expect the unexpected.

It was in the town of Slothful that the incident of the octopus occurred. That we were three thousand feet above sea level made it all the more intriguing.

My youthful companion, Mans-Catherine and I had spent a tough day climbing and trekking the hills around the town and had retired to the pub for a pint or two. Having a sweet tooth, Mans-Catherine purchased a pennyworth of liquorice allsorts to chew on around our campfire.

The discovery of the octopus in her sleeping bag had upset her, and she was at first reluctant to climb into her bag for fear there might be another in there. She had visions of being chased around the campsite by an octopus demanding she vacate what was clearly a warm and comfortable abode.

This excitement was all she needed having been basically a wastrel for most of her life living in squats and sheltered doorways the opportunity to go on this trip with me was too much to refuse. Initially, she was breathless with anticipation only too happy to cease her wastrel ways in favour of a more constructed lifestyle.

Meanwhile, we concluded the octopus must have been marooned in Slothful for how else could it have ascended the three thousand feet above sea level to this quaint town. As we pondered the problem of what to do with the marooned octopus, we noticed it had wrapped itself around one of the metal supports of our tent.

 

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2018/06/25/wordle-202/

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Sunday Writing Prompt – Things Watery – Row, Row, Row Ya Boat – The Strangers Part 2

Posted on June 24, 2018 by Michael

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Row Row Row ya Boat.

I hadn’t noticed them standing on the bank until I was well and truly a long way into the centre of the stream.

There were three of them and I knew who they were as I’d encountered them before. That day they had followed me until in trying to escape them I jumped off a building out of desperation to be rid of them.*

They had saved me from destruction and filled me with a warmth I hadn’t anticipated. Since that day they had disappeared as if satisfied they had made their mark on me or were content in that I had nothing more to offer them.

I’d lived much more comfortably since then. Their presence had unnerved me and I was getting on with my life especially aware they had given me a second chance on life.

Today was a day off and I decided to go out on the stream to relax in my canoe and take in the natural beauty of the landscape on both sides of the stream.

That they were there immediately set me on edge. Why were they back? They looked them same, dressed in the same tight fitting jump suits, sexless in shape, though they looked very feminine to me, and with those same piercing blue eyes. Being in my canoe I was a fair way from them and they seemed intrigued by me being where I was.

The one who gesticulated was doing so again, the next was taking notes and the third stood passively fiddling with the whistle it had dangling around its neck.

Having witnessed them before I began to understand that often they were questioning what it was I was doing as if most of my traits were a mystery to them.

I enjoyed being out on the tranquil water, there was no wind, the water was mirror like and there was no one else out that day so having the stream to myself was idyllic.

About a kilometre or two along the stream there was a small cove that I intended to pull into and have my lunch.

I decided to ignore the three watching as I figured they couldn’t do anything with me out in the canoe, and I would leisurely make my way to my destination.

As I made my way around the curve towards the cove I noticed they were now on the opposite side of the stream eyes still fixed on me. The note taker was furiously taking notes and the other two were muttering as I’d seen them do before.

Upon reaching the cove I pulled the canoe up onto high ground and found a spot to settle on for my lunch. Once I was seated they crowded around me peering at me with what I assumed was curiosity.

Knowing they were not to be afraid of I invited them to sit with me. Again they muttered, gesticulated and noted before the third one with the whistle moved to sit. Then the other two.

The note-taker, who had been the one to smile at me and fill me with warmth, looked at me and once again bathed me in warmth as she smiled at me. I offered her a piece of my sandwich, which she took, examined it with great care and showed it to her companions who did the same.

Nothing was said; they didn’t eat the sandwich but continued to stare at me as I consumed my lunch.

Once finished I made to get back into the canoe for the paddle back. The note taker gestured that she ride with me and I didn’t mind as the other two hovered nearby.

She sat there until I reached the home shore. She smiled again and this time I smiled back causing her to swoon as our smiles collided.

The three as I drove off were all in deep discussion and I wondered and hoped that I would see them again.

 

* https://summerstommy.com/2018/06/24/first-line-friday-june-22nd-2018-the-strangers/

 

 

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2018/06/24/sunday-writing-prompt-things-watery/

 

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First Line Friday: June 22nd, 2018 – The Strangers

Posted on June 24, 2018 by Michael

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Image: Pinterest

The strangers with her on the rooftop paused in unison.

They had been doing that for some time now.

Since yesterday when they first appeared, they had been by her side and all efforts to shake them had failed. They said nothing to her but communicated to eat other through a series of grunts and guttural sounds.

They had piercing blue eyes, expressionless faces and one gesticulated a lot, the other jotted notes on some sort of writing implement and the third had an old-fashioned police whistle around its neck. Every now and then it would blow into it, and she heard nothing but to them it meant something, as that is when they stopped in unison turning to face each other as if to compare notes and observations.

It had been unnerving over night for her to find them in her bedroom, standing at the end of her bed watching her, she assumed as she slept.

She was determined to shake them off and had spent the morning running from place to place, doing everything she could to give them the slip.

But they hung around, just like a bad smell and now she found herself on the rooftop, and they were there with her.

There was a sense of desperation about her, she was a very private person, and she didn’t appreciate the attention they were giving her. Prying into her life was a very unpleasant experience.

She edged closer to the safety fence. She was by now feeling totally confined by the three watchers. She’d tried talking to them, but they were either uninterested in talking or didn’t understand what she was saying.

The three pressed closer, their gaze penetrating her, she could tell, maybe they wanted her to make a decision she thought, maybe they wanted to see an action from her to complicate the situation.

She climbed to the top of the fence and jumped. The wind in her face gave her a sense of momentary freedom. By now she didn’t care about living, she just wanted to be free of them.

As the ground drew closer, she felt hands take hold of her and gently lower her to the ground. This unnerved her further.

She looked at the three who were once again standing in unison before her. Now she was totally flummoxed. Why? What? She asked herself.

It was then the one taking notes smiled a smile that filled her heart and soul with a warmth she had never before felt.

The next part can be read here:

https://summerstommy.com/2018/06/24/sunday-writing-prompt-things-watery-row-row-row-ya-boat/

 

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2018/06/23/first-line-friday-june-22nd-2018/

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Reena’s Exploration Challenge #Week 42 – Challenge

Posted on June 24, 2018 by Michael

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Challenge

The challenge sits in front of me, daunting in its literal form.

I can see it requires me to step away from my comfort zone, explore the dark patches of my psyche.

I put pen to paper knowing there is an unknown, an area I will either embrace or shy from.

The words flow as I find myself cringing in the expectation of discovery, of a revelation I am not sure I want to make known.

Then a voice says, you can do it, after all, for the most part, you are anonymous, those who read it will only know your words, not your true self.

But I reply that is the issue; my words are my true self.

Then a calming voice whispers in my ear, you are who you are, don’t be afraid, those who know you, love you, nothing can change that.

So I take on the challenge, and here I am.

 

Written for: https://reinventionsreena.wordpress.com/2018/06/21/reenas-exploration-challenge-week-42/

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June 21: Flash Fiction Challenge – Not All is Lost

Posted on June 23, 2018 by Michael

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June 21, 2018, prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story about “not all is lost.” It can include recovery from disaster, an unexpected insight after a fall, or however the phrase moves you. Go where the prompt leads.

The rain hadn’t let up and mum was more worried so she and dad started moving stuff. The water was getting closer, higher each hour. We kids were ordered to stay in the front of the house as the water was going to come through the back door before reaching the front.

Mum had all the heirlooms packed and feared the worst when dad said the water had stopped rising and all was not lost.

They watched, all afternoon as the water stayed at the one level. Dad said it was dropping and we drew a sigh of relief.

 

Written for: https://carrotranch.com/2018/06/22/june-21-flash-fiction-challenge/

 

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