Envy: Vera Winston_Jones, Part 3

Posted on April 29, 2018 by Michael

envy_by_iza_nagi-d63gwwn

Vera with tea-cake and cup of sugar in hand made her way to Mary Dowd’s front gate. As she went though the gate squeaked in protest and she wondered if the gate and the Mary she had met yesterday were of a similar ilk.

The Mrs Dowd she met yesterday certainly appeared a fearful woman but sometimes thought Vera that could stem from a lack of confidence.

She stopped such thoughts at that moment. She’d lived a life of solitude for so long she was in no position to judge the behaviour of others.

Their beach side home was situated in a cul-de-sac off the beach thoroughfare, and so she had no neighbours. There were houses either side, but they were rented out on weekends and holidays by families who came and went without a greeting her way of any kind.

Her isolation had suited Ernest as he saw Vera as the wife he brought out on special occasions when he needed to appear in public with a woman on his arm, he thought made him look good.

He ignored her requests to be able to get out more telling her the yearly holiday to some exotic place he chose should be enough as he expected her to be at his beck and call.

But all that had changed now. She was determined to be her woman, living with Ernest was the means to an end, but she was now going to discover who Vera was and what she might achieve on her own.

Part of that determination was establishing a friend with her next-door neighbour, no matter how hard it might turn out to be.

Vera had never been all that observant in life. She tended to take things as they were, as she knew she didn’t have much control over what happened around her.

But standing at Mrs Dowd’s front door, she saw there was no bell to ring. In front of her was a fly screen door and behind that a solid looking front door. It looked old and heavy. It must be an old house she thought having no idea of what the age of a house meant only that when they replaced the door on the beach house, their choices were nothing as solid as this door appeared.

She knocked on the screen door hoping she would be heard. As she did, she was oblivious to the panic on the other side.

She heard footsteps, then the rattling of locks before the door opened and Mrs Dowd stood before her looking far less dishevelled than she did the day before.

Vera with a smile on her face stood before her, a cup of sugar in one hand and the teacake in the other.

“Good morning Mrs Dowd,” said Vera trying to sound confident and cheerful, “I wanted to come and say thank you for your hospitality yesterday.”

“Oh,” replied Mary, “that’s alight, glad I could help. And call me Mary. Are you settling in ok?”

“Oh yes thank you. And I’m Vera. There’s so much to do, and I thought I needed a break, and so I’d come over and say hello, return your kindness and share this tea cake.”

“Oh, that’s lovely. Do come in,” said Mary instantly regretting her invitation. Her mind was racing thinking over what she had done to the house to make it presentable. ‘Thank goodness,’ she thought, ‘I vacuumed earlier.’

Vera came in and as expected cast an eye over Mary’s house. It was a simple place, adequate furnishings and looking beyond where they were standing she could see a well-lit back room.

“Lovely place you have Mary,” remarked Vera not sure her’s was any better.

“Thank you, Vera. Since Ray, my husband, left I’ve not been able to do a lot to it, but its home and thankfully mine, ” said Mary determined to show Vera she was a woman of means.

 

 

Earlier parts can be read here:

Part One: https://summerstommy.com/2018/04/23/envy-mary-dowds-story/

Part Two: https://summerstommy.com/2018/04/24/envy-vera-winston-jones-story/

Part Three: https://summerstommy.com/2018/04/25/envy-mary-dowd-part-2/

Part Four: https://summerstommy.com/2018/04/26/envy-vera-winston-jones-part-2/

Part Five: https://summerstommy.com/2018/04/28/envy-mary-dowd-part-3-2/

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Sunday Writing Prompt “-gasm” – The Coming of the ‘gasm’.

Posted on April 29, 2018 by Michael

chocolate

The word had spread like wildfire. The annual ‘gasm’ was coming, a momentous event in the lives of the villagers.

The ‘gasm’ was something all villagers aspired to. So when the news came that it was coming there was mass preparation.

Every eligible male and female set to work to make themselves a worthy candidate. Families suddenly found themselves pitted against each other.

Squabbles that had long sat unresolved were once again brought to the fore as an advantage of any kind could mean success or failure.

The older members of the community looked to the horizon for signs of its coming. A cloud in the distance, an unexpected wind shift or even a sense of unseasonable rain might be indicators of the impending ‘gasm’.

In the households of the male candidates, the preening and cleaning went on vigorously. The best outfits were assembled, and arguments erupted as to which might bring the most attention that would lead to ultimate selection. Their loads were tested, muscular strength; hardness and resilience came under scrutiny as the day came closer.

For the males, the eventual winner would be revered by the village for the coming year.

In the female households, the choice of costume was crucial. Should she be too bright, all in white, dressed too perky or all natural? The debate of such matters raged day and night. For the female selected would also be revered all year, bowed to in the street and honoured by every family.

On the fourth day, a trumpet sounded the arrival of the ‘gasm’, and the village dutifully gathered in the town square. On either side were the eligible males and females.

Breaths were held as the ‘gasm’ inspected the males first. There were gasps of disappointment as the ‘gasm’ rejected one male after the other. Finally one survived, a tall, muscular male who stood proudly before his village.

Next the females were subjected to the same perusal. In their case, the ‘gasm’ would hover over each candidate and shed light on them. Like with the males there were sighs of disappointment with the rejection of one female after another.

In the end, one stood out, a small strongly build female dressed in white and blue tulle.

The selected couple were then taken to the ‘gasm’ room and locked in. The village would wait expectantly for the couple to emerge holding a red sash to pronounce their successful ‘gasm’.

The woman would be with child, the male triumphant as the giver of seed strong enough to ‘gasm’ with the female.

There was never any jealousy from the unsuccessful males or females, as they believed their day would one day one.

Over the next four months, the village would watch with fascination as the woman grew in size until the day arrived and she gave birth. Once the child was born, the ‘gasm’ was considered complete.

 

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2018/04/29/sunday-writing-prompt-gasm/

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Weekend Writing Prompt #52 – Emergence

Posted on April 28, 2018 by Michael

butterfly

Mrs Smithenfdd was an old lady who had it in for us kids. Her overgrown house was between mine and my mate Johnny’s. It was a dark house, the shutters closed and the front door never opened unless Mrs Smithenfdd came out to yell at us.

Mum was always getting phone calls from Mrs Smithenfdd complaining about us and mum would tell us not to play near Mrs Smithenfdd’s.

Johnny and I loved to dream up stories about Mrs Smithenfdd.

We thought of her as a witch huddled over her cauldron, mixing in a rabbit’s foot, cow poo, cat’s whiskers, dead chook bones and boys underpants. That last one always cracked us up. But we both kept a count of how many pairs we each had.

One school holidays we built each other up to be brave and look through her window.

We had to be careful of her small brown fluff-ball dog, Please Louise, who always barked at us.

Johnny and I shimmied up to the back window. Through the window, we saw Mrs Smithenfdd reading the paper. She looked up, to our horror and saw us.

Immediately we ran. Over the fence and home to my place just as mum was answering the phone.

She hung up and turned to us, “You boys are to go over to Mrs Smithenfdd’s and apologise for frightening her as you did,” she said as we stood there frozen to the spot.

Would she yell at us and turn us into toads?

We knocked on her front door and waited.

Mrs Smithenfdd opened the door and invited us in. As we wandered in, Please Louise gave us a good sniffing.

She made us sit in her kitchen, and poured us a glass of water.

Then she placed a book on the table. It was a scrapbook and inside was the story of Mrs Smithenfdd.

She had been in the war. A spy who had been captured and tortured. She had survived horrific conditions, and near the end of the war, she escaped.

Our eyes were opened that morning. We changed our opinion of our neighbour, we learned about her, and we were humbled by our assumptions of her.

As she let us out, she invited us to drop by again for a chat as she missed the company of children.

 

I saw this week’s prompt as an opportunity to write a little more about the characters I wrote about last week. I thought they needed a little more exploring.

 

Written for: https://sammiscribbles.wordpress.com/2018/04/28/weekend-writing-prompt-52-emergence/

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Envy: Mary Dowd Part 3

Posted on April 28, 2018 by Michael

envy_by_iza_nagi-d63gwwn

Since the day Ray had left, Mary had organised her life around a schedule of events she tried to stick to. It was how she coped with the loneliness his absence imposed on her.

She spent her mornings tidying up the house, she’d never cope if Ray or anyone turned up and her house was not spit-polish clean.

If the day was sunny there was washing to hang, and the garden was always in need of her attention, though the hour or so she’d spend out there didn’t seem to be benefitting it.

Mary preferred when she was in the garden to find a spot where she could hide. Sometimes behind the hydrangeas, often in her fernery as her previous neighbours had a habit of finding her and wanting to discuss the most inane things like the fruit fly in their tomatoes or whether or not to use rose spray before or after the yearly prune.

Today she decided to sit in her front room, read, and watch for any activity from her new neighbour. Underneath it, all Mary was a curious woman and her new neighbours were a source of curiosity.

She took her seat beside the side window where she thought she could discretely keep an eye out for anything going on.

Her book was a memoir by an American author about her childhood abuse. The local librarian had suggested it as a few patrons had read and recommended it. Any book with the word ‘secret’ in the title intrigued her, and so far she had enjoyed the story, as troubling as it was.

There had been no movement next door since the man had left. She began to wonder about her new neighbour. She imagined that Mrs Vera Hyphenated would have the best furniture in which to store her expensive and beautiful ornaments, framed citations from Prime Ministers and trophies attesting to her skill in playing bridge and maybe even an accomplishment on the harp she had seen entering the house the day before. Mary’s mother had a beautiful china cabinet, which was destroyed one year when the flood went through her house. She had always admired it and hoped to acquire it when her mother died, but it was not to be.

There was so much of the past now lost, destroyed or simply forgotten and she wondered why time changed so much.

She looked up to see Mrs Hyphenated coming out her side door. To Mary’s horror, the woman turned left out of her drive and headed towards Mary’s front gate.

Mary immediately went into a panic and dropped her book, and rushed to her room. Knowing it could be a few seconds before the woman knocked on the door, she grabbed her brush and ran it through her hair. She checked herself in the mirror, quietly cursed herself for her lack of makeup, but truth be known she rarely used any nowadays. She looked at herself in the mirror and saw the age lines creeping across her brow, and the deepening rings under her eyes. Old age sucks she said to herself then checked to make sure she hadn’t slopped anything down her shirt while having breakfast. All seemed to be the best it could be.

She heard the knock on the door and upon opening it found her new neighbour standing there with her hands full.

 

 

 

Part One: https://summerstommy.com/2018/04/23/envy-mary-dowds-story/

Part Two: https://summerstommy.com/2018/04/24/envy-vera-winston-jones-story/

Part Three: https://summerstommy.com/2018/04/25/envy-mary-dowd-part-2/

Part Four: https://summerstommy.com/2018/04/26/envy-vera-winston-jones-part-2/

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Time To Write: Picture Prompt 16 [Creative Writing Prompt] – When a Good Smite is the Answer.

Posted on April 27, 2018 by Michael

ttw-pp-16

“Why are we here?” she whispered in his ear.

“The speaker is a world-famous evangelical expert on the next life. You’ll have to be quiet as he is softly spoken,” he said in reply.

“I can’t hear a thing. Can we move closer?”

“No it’s all booked seats, and these are the best ones I could get.”

“Ok. What was that he said?”

“He said the next life is awaiting us all.”

“Well not all of us, I mean we know what’s there, but some will be disappointed after all the atheists are in for a huge let down when they find they were wrong all along.”

“Shush, keep your voice down. We don’t want anyone knowing who we are.”

“It would take us a minute to clear this whole question up.”

“We aren’t allowed to clear things up, we’re here to observe, that’s our mission.”

“We’re angels, we know stuff, and these people are morons believing this guy. Listen to him, eternal flames, damnation, God’s wrath, truly where do they get all that stuff.”

“Someone told them hell was the absence of God. They all believe it.”

“ Sometimes I think if we told them this was hell we’d save so many of them a lot of angst.”

“Yes, but it would upset the balance, wouldn’t it. You’d have people accepting that it is and no one would be trying to prove it isn’t. Chaos would take over, there’d be blood spilt, more wailing and gnashing of teeth than would be good for any of us and we’d be stuck up there looking down wondering where did we all go wrong.”

“Hey, but did he say they could pay their way into heaven by donating to his good deeds cause?”

“I think he just did.”

“ I think I should smite him.”

“Good idea, haven’t had a good smiting in so long.”

“You first smite or me?”

 

Written for: https://rachelpoli.com/2018/04/27/time-to-write-picture-prompt-16-creative-writing-prompt/

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April 26: Flash Fiction Challenge – Fishing

Posted on April 27, 2018 by Michael

working-template-for-ff-challenges15

April 26, 2018, prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less) write a fish tale. It can be about fishing from any angel, about those who fish, or what might be caught. Go where the prompt leads.

The angel looked down on the row of men, each with a pole, each with a line extending into the water.

One man pulled in his line and on the end was a wriggling beast the man removed and dropped into a bucket at his feet.

Inquiring he was told they were fishing. It was an earthly pastime, and people found it relaxing.

The angel thought it looked easy and taking the pole from a sleeping man cast the line in. From the water came a rush of swine fish reminding him of his ability to cast out swine.

 

Written for: https://carrotranch.com/2018/04/26/april-26-flash-fiction-challenge/

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Reena’s Exploration Challenge #Week 34 – The Meaning of Life

Posted on April 27, 2018 by Michael

Drawing_XIII_by_Georgia_O'Keeffe_1915

Image: Drawing XIII by Georgia O’Keeffe 1915

Reena’s Task: Have you ever been inspired to think of a life, while viewing a mountain, river, animal, bird, insect, plant or any other element of nature? Pen down your thoughts in whatever manner they occur to you. Let it all flow … there need not be a conclusion, as a flow depicts the spirit more than anything else.

It was to be an exciting lecture, advertised around the campus as a discussion on the meaning of life.

Professor Emeritus Knowitall waltzed into the lecture theatre resplendent in his flowing academic gown and took centre stage.

He looked around the packed auditorium and asked the question we were all waiting to hear:

“What?” his shrill voice rang out, “Is the meaning of life?”

Immediately there was a chorus of forty-two, some had signs depicting the number, most rolled around with laughter.

The Professor stood stony still; his gazed fixed us as we settled down following the frivolity of his question.

“Mr Adams has a lot to answer for,” he said, “I hope when he arrived in the next life the question was answered for him.

It is a question we all at some time find ourselves asking when the inexplicable occurs and our own humanity is questioned.

My question today is whether or not the meaning of life applies to just humans. Can the fly on the wall ask that question, the lion roaming the savannah, the polar bear in the Arctic, the humble mouse in your house?

Some may well argue that in the animal world life is about survival, how well your instincts allow you to see danger and act on it before you are eaten.

But as humans, we have what we call reason, and we apply that to a lot of things we do. It assists us in knowing right from wrong, it causes us to question the motives of others when we can’t understand the motivation behind, for example, random acts of violence on other people.

The whole point of life comes under scrutiny when we can’t understand why things happen.

My question is, do we need to understand, do we have to have empathy with everything happening around us?

Isn’t it a matter of accepting the differences and allowing those differences to make up the pattern of life we see?

The fly on the wall is a fly doing what a fly does. The man who cleans the cesspool at the end of the street does it because that is what he does and he does it to earn a living. The butcher, baker and candlestick maker all operate on the same basis.

Its who they and what they do.

You are students. But you are students with ambition, want to succeed in what you do, but eventually, you will settle for whatever it is you settle for. Who knows at this stage what they might be.

I am a Professor, it’s who and I and what I do and I get to come here and discuss questions as to the meaning of life, and you all have an opinion, you will all most likely be correct, and that correctness will reflect the context from which you come.

A staunch religious background will deliver a reason complementing that background, the same for those from a more secular background and so on.

So those of you who said forty-two at the start of this session may well be right, it may well be a random number, it may well be a puzzle to spend hours debating, and we may never know the answer because for each of us it is something different.

But it creates debate, and while ever it does, we can have so much fun listening to each other’s opinion.”

With that, he stopped his talk, gathered his gown about himself, and waltzed off the stage to a standing ovation.

 

Written for: https://reinventionsreena.wordpress.com/2018/04/27/reenas-exploration-challenge-week-34/

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Thursday photo prompt: Splash #writephoto- Toad

Posted on April 27, 2018 by Michael

splash

‘Not another one,’ thought Toad as a dark pebble hit the pond. Toad hated his revere being disturbed as he sat in the bottom of the pond, doing things only toads know about.

How was a Toad to achieve irresistible beauty if his solitude was constantly disturbed by those pesky kids?

“Splonk, splash, splonk.”

He shifted slightly to save himself the continued interruption of the falling pebbles. Above he could see the kids aiming to make a bigger splash than before.

Patience was not something Toad possessed. He had selected this particular pond because of its seclusion.

‘What a mistake,’ he thought, ‘now I am in the firing line,’ as another pebble zinged past him.

Toad decided to take matters into his own hands. Shifting to his left, he could see a boy about to throw a pebble seemingly in his direction. He let his tongue, long, green and sticky streak out of his mouth up through the pond and slapped the boy on his leg.

It happened so quickly the boy didn’t see it coming or going.

The boy jumped back and looked horrified at the pond, which quickly settled into its sedate self.

The boy nursing a slapped shin, the Toad’s tongue having stung him considerably, showed his mates the red welt that was now evident. The wound grew redder, it stung more, and the boys decided to take their friend home to seek help.

Once they disappeared Toad grinned to himself and thought it clever his tongue could do what it did. The wound he inflicted would be gone by the time the boys were home, but he knew he had scared them off and now he could get back to his current purpose.

Beautifying himself for his rendezvous with the cute little female toad, two ponds across.

If he breathed in hard enough most of the bulbous warts on his head might disappear.

 

Written for: https://scvincent.com/2018/04/26/thursday-photo-prompt-splash-writephoto/

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Envy: Vera Winston-Jones Part 2

Posted on April 26, 2018 by Michael

envy_by_iza_nagi-d63gwwn

Vera woke and paused to take in her new surroundings. There was light coming through the curtains against the window for her to assume it was the beginning of a new day.

As she rolled over in her bed, her new reality loomed over her. Her single bed was uncomfortable, her back was aching, but she had chosen to move into the smallest bedroom leaving Ernest the larger of the bedrooms. Also, the bedroom she chose had a bathroom adjacent, and to Vera that was important.

The room had a built-in wardrobe, enough room for her small dressing table, her bed and her good self.

Everything had been sacrificed so they could have what they had now. A three-bedroom house in the suburbs, a place where she hoped to be anonymous.

Immediately she could feel the resentment towards Ernest returning. It had been all his selfish fault, his poor business decisions, his fling with his secretary and now this, a penniless existence surviving on their meagre savings. She had no idea how long they might last as money matters had always been controlled by her husband. That she decided was a terrible mistake she’d made in trusting him, and she was sure it wasn’t going to happen in the future. Already she had taken charge of their finances, putting what little money and assets they had into her name.

She could hear movement in the house and knew Ernest after their hushed argument last night was up. He’d promised to put together some bookshelves for her before he went out job hunting. There were a few pieces of timber in the old garage at the back of the house he thought would do the job.

By the time Vera ventured out of bed and put her face on, appearances were important for Vera, no matter your circumstances, Ernest had constructed a sturdy set of shelves for her.

He was all ready to go out and dressed more casually than she’d seen him in such a long time. He said goodbye as she was switching on the kettle.

In recent times their only communication had been through argument. She found no reason to be civil to him but plenty of cause to be hostile.

She heard him drive off and realised she had the house to herself.

With a coffee in hand, she sat and looked out though the back window. Behind the house was a farm, stretching across an expanse of green to another road.

Vera thought the view was pleasant, at least something here might be bearable she thought.

She didn’t know how long she and Ernest might survive, but they were in no position to split when together they had nothing, divided it would be less than that.

Her mind turned to her neighbour Mary Dowd. A strange woman, seemingly meek and scared was her first impression. Hospitable enough but not in any warm, welcoming way. She wondered if all the residents in the street were the same?

From Vera’s first impressions there didn’t appear to be a Mr Dowd and Vera thought maybe it was possible to survive on your own. Though she did note that Mary Dowd didn’t appear to take much care of her appearance.

Vera spent her morning unpacking boxes, the kitchen firstly as she needed to get that organised, plus the items she needed for her room and bathroom. The rest she left either where they had been dumped by the removalists or in Ernest’s room.

At the bottom of a box marked ‘miscellaneous’, she found the sugar and her mind turned to her neighbour. Looking at the clock she saw it was close to morning teatime, she could return the sugar and take in the teacake she had bought on her way from her previous life.

 

Part One: https://summerstommy.com/2018/04/23/envy-mary-dowds-story/

Part Two: https://summerstommy.com/2018/04/24/envy-vera-winston-jones-story/

Part Three: https://summerstommy.com/2018/04/25/envy-mary-dowd-part-2/

 

 

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Tale Weaver – #168 – April 26th – The Every day on Grimace Street

Posted on April 26, 2018 by Michael

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Image © Mara Eastern (Used with permission)

 

It was garbage night on Grimace Street, and all the bins were lined up in front of their respective houses in anticipation of being emptied the next morning.

Miss Marble, of 46 Grimace Street and resident witch, was also busy. To her garbage night, as necessary as it was, was also danger night.

As many of the residents benefited from her assistance in the form of various potions and what have you, there was always the danger of one of her potion bottles ending up in the wrong hands, and she couldn’t afford that to occur.

As it was social media was a threat in that it only took some careless remark from a resident about her and she imagined all sorts of trouble could eventuate.

She took from box in her workroom a tiny butterfly type creature and set it loose.

This creature was a Finder Flyer, and it flew the length of Grimace Street searching each bin as it passed over for any items that Miss Marble would not want in them.

For any bin discovered to contain what Miss Marble referred to as undesirable, the Flyer would deposit a drop of saliva that Miss Marble could identify and search the bin to recover what should not be there.

Most weeks everything was fine as the residents adhered to her request to return their empties to her.

Tonight she registered that Mr Fatswalter, at 6 Grimace Street, had put a potion bottle in his bin. He had done this before, the last time because Miss Marble had rebuked him about his carelessness in showing the potion to a non-resident.

Plus Mr Fatswalter was getting a bit senile and forgetful, and so Miss Marble had decided he could only receive his potion directly from her. Despite his age, he was a bit precious about his hair, and so she’d given him a hair-restoring potion, and he was proud of his head and hair.

She quickly found the said bottle and returned home, put the Finder Flyer back into its box, this time with a healthy reward of six fireflies, Finder Flyers loved fireflies. In fact, if they were any bigger than the palm of your hand, they would be quite scary.

With the street now sound asleep she retired to own bed confident the garbage collection would hold no surprises for the residents but more importantly the collectors.

 

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2018/04/26/tale-weaver-168-april-26th-the-every-day/

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