Forlorn the frog sat by the pond wanting to contemplate his navel.
Forlorn the frog wondered what the fuss was all about.
Forlorn the frog wanted to be a man again.
Forlorn the frog knew he needed to improve his outlook.
Forlorn the frog tried, unsuccessfully, to break into a smile. (279 characters)
Written for: https://katmyrman.com/2018/03/13/twittering-tale-75-13-march-2018/
Image: © Enisa
The camping trip was well underway, and after a night of tales tall and true, we decided to call it a night.
We were four couples, and after zipping up our respective tents, we settled for the night only to awakened by the sounds of movement around the perimeter of our camp.
My wife grabbed my arm and from the other tents came the cries of fear and concern as the others called to each other.
I went outside to see what the noise was and shone my torch, but there was nothing to be seen.
I decided to stay on watch, and my wife joined me preferring that to being alone in the tent.
The only sound was a hum, a lulling hum that put us both to sleep.
When we awoke the first of the morning light was poking its way into the camp.
The only thing was, there was only our tent still there.
Written for: https://flashfictionforaspiringwriters.wordpress.com/2018/03/12/fffaw-challenge-week-of-march-13-2018/
This week’s words: Cyan (Greenish – blue) Mumble Tragedy Vaunt (verb) to boast or brag Paraffin (noun) a white or colorless, tasteless, odorless, water-insoluble, solid substance not easily acted upon by reagents, consisting of a mixture of hydrocarbons chiefly of the alkane series, obtained from crude petroleum: used in candles, for forming preservative coatings and seals, for waterproofing paper, etc. Nod Asleep Faucet Scantily Koi no Yokan (Japanese) The sense one can have upon first meeting a person that the two of you are going to fall in love. Differs from “love at first sight” as it does not imply that the feeling of love exists, only the knowledge that a future love is inevitable. Tradition Gradual
Cyril Rum, Angel on sabbatical, was woken by the sound of his back door being treated with a profound sense of urgency.
He’d been asleep, well as asleep as an angel could be, after all as he didn’t need sleep, he tended to see it as an unfortunate interruption to most things.
Cyril who had up until his sojourn to earth spent his eternity at the right hand of God and was now taking a well-earned respite from his divine duties.
He aimed to study human kind and see if he could make heads or tails of it.
He found at his door his neighbour Mildred Thrup from whom he had already learned a lot about human nature.
Mildred looked her agitated self and was mumbling under her breath something Cyril was unable to decipher.
Mildred, Cyril had discovered was very much a traditionalist and saw most things as they should happen as opposed to what actually happened.
Cyril had learned that when Mildred was worked up over something it was best to let her settle gradually before you pushed her for the answers you wanted.
“There’s been a tragedy,” she gasped, “I was down at the butcher’s buying a kilo of sausages when Alfred the butcher made a pass at me. I had on my cyan dress, you know the one with the red flowers and I have to say never have I been put in such a position. The butcher of all people making a pass at me.”
Cyril could see Mildred was agitated and made her sit down as he brewed some tea.
“I’m a well beyond middle-aged woman, in my day I had my share of suitors, but I don’t want to vaunt my attractiveness, but I did turn a few heads.
But Alfred is not someone I have ever looked twice at. You know he slicks his hair back with paraffin? Greasy is what I call it.”
Cyril was listening to this, and as he turned off the faucet he heard Mildred say, “it’s not as if some sort of Koi no Yokan moment is going to happen is it? I’m not likely to wake in the middle of the night feeling horny for Alfred now am I? We might nod to each other on the street, but nothing has ever happened beyond that. I’m beginning to think when he sees me he imagines me scantily dressed and ready for the picking. But I put him in his place let me tell you.”
“I’m sure you did,” replied Cyril puzzled over what all the fuss was about. Angels didn’t have sexual urges or desires of a physical kind so to him Mildred’s concerns were all new.
To Cyril any thought of Mildred dressed in any sort of scanty way found him curling his lip in further puzzlement.
Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2018/03/12/wordle-187/
Prose Challenge – Write a story in no more than 100 words that includes the following words:
When spring arrives the fairies in my garden rejoice the arrival of the first blossom.
From the moment the first bud is visible they come out of their winter abodes and set to work to nurture and care for everything that heralds the season of regrowth.
They see themselves as co-existing with the nature surrounding them.
For the fairies the nectar of the buds is life-giving, stimulating and the precursor to their pursuit of a partner.
The males adorn themselves with colourful blooms and at the Fairy Spring Fair perform a mating dance, some successfully others needing more practice.
Written for: https://sammiscribbles.wordpress.com/2018/03/10/weekend-writing-prompt-45-spring/
Esme Atcastle was born to Martha and Gus Atcastle. Martha was a charwoman, and Gus worked in the fields cultivating the crops that fed the castle and particular Barnabas, Duke of Field.
The Duke was a good man and treated his workers well. His wife, Agnes, was a caring woman who too loved to spend time among the workers. Once per month a castle dinner was held at which all the inhabitants of the castle would come together.
Esme grew up in this idyllic atmosphere but was taught from an early age what to do if the castle ever came under threat of an attack.
These were tough times, and the countryside was beset with thieves and villains, and so the castle inhabitants were not naïve enough to think they might be spared some sort of incursion.
In the early hours of the morning, Esme was woken by her mother telling her to get ready as there were men outside the castle demanding entry and she should be ready to hide in the well when and if the time came.
Esme could hear the noise outside, the shouting back and forward of the guards, the oaths and curses of the intruders.
Her mother suddenly grabbed her and hurried Esme down the corridor, through the archway and into the yard outside the castle kitchen. Lifting the lid on the well, she lowered Esme in telling her to wait there until she back to rescue her.
At the bottom of the well, Esme stood waist deep in the water listening to the noises coming from on top.
The shouts of the men were littered with the screams of women, the cries of pain from men obviously injured, the clash of steel on steel as the warriors came into combat with each other.
On top of that, there was the smell of burning, with whiffs of smoke seeping down into the well, Esme terrified by now cringed against the wall of the well praying she would not be discovered.
After a while, the noise of conflict died down and was replaced by the celebration of voices she did not recognise.
She could hear the strange voices of men, a language that was unfamiliar and the occasional cry of a woman, one of which she was sure was her mother.
After a time Esme realised how cold she was. She hoped that soon the lid would be opened and she would be rescued.
As time went by, she became more and more desperate. Here was no way she could climb out of her own. She was so cold she began to cry out.
Her cries went unanswered, as there was no one left to hear her cries of desperation. Most of the castle occupants were either dead or had fled into the countryside.
The castle was deserted, save for the cries of the forgotten child: “Help me?”
Part 1 – https://summerstommy.com/2018/03/09/thursday-photo-prompt-arch-writephoto-the-cleaning-lady/
Part 2 – https://summerstommy.com/2018/03/10/thursday-photo-prompt-arch-writephoto-the-cleaning-lady-part-2/
Part 3 – https://summerstommy.com/2018/03/11/thursday-photo-prompt-arch-writephoto-the-cleaning-lady-part-3/
The Cleaning Lady gathered her vacuum cleaner and headed off down the hallway towards the statue of Sir Cedric the Grizzler.
She knew all about Sir Cedric who in history had been better known as “Pain in the Arse Cedric.”
There wasn’t a day go past in his lifetime where he didn’t feel the need to complain about one thing or another. His saddle wasn’t on right, his spurs not sharp enough, his dinner was too hot or too cold, the list was endless.
In battle he suffered many defeats which he blamed on a number of issues, the weather was too hot or cold, his sword got stuck in its scabbard, his horse ran the wrong way and even on one day he claimed the enemy smelt so bad he could bring himself to engage with them.
Today his statue stood in solitary guard over the corridor leading to the castle exits.
The Cleaning Lady knew that as she’d approach he would start. She’d hear his voice saying, the vacuum was too loud, if she bumped his statue she’d hear him claim he was being assaulted, and when she attempted to dust him off she’d hear, “Get your dirty filthy hands off me.”
Cedric was predictable, but his voice seemed to think he had some sort of authority. She ignored him, not spooked as she was by the child’s voice and quickly did what she had to do to finish her shift and leave the castle to its own misery.
The End
Written for: https://scvincent.com/2018/03/08/thursday-photo-prompt-arch-writephoto/
The child’s voice was as distinct as it has always been and sent a shiver down the Cleaning Ladies spine.
She turned and looked back down the passageway but saw only the lonely hallway, albeit less dusty.
She turned left and began working her way down the corridor toward the Jolly Knight. Once again she concentrated on her job as she moved closer to the armour standing proudly at the end of the hallway. Knowing what was to come she drew in a short breath and took her trusty duster from her work belt.
No sooner had she started dusting then the armour gave a twitch, and a shudder and the unmistakable sound of giggling started. It came from deep inside the armour and no matter what the circumstances the Cleaning Lady could never stop it.
She had researched the armour discovering the belonged to Percival the Jolly Knight. Percival was an ostentatious fellow who loved the wear feathers in his helmet and was known at the time as Percy of the frilly garter.
But the Cleaning Lady had her job to do and waited as she finished off attending to the Jolly Knight’s armour for his final outburst: “giggle, giggle giggle, oh stop it!”
Despite the eeriness of the moment she steeled herself as she turned right and looked down the dusty hallway towards the statue of Sir Cedric the Grizzler, anticipating his reaction to her disturbing his eternal vigilance.
Written for: https://scvincent.com/2018/03/08/thursday-photo-prompt-arch-writephoto/
I’ve known that to suffer is to grow.
Pain manifests itself in so many different ways.
The physical pain we can put our finger on, get treatment and hopefully recover.
Psychological pain is a whole different matter. Often we can’t explain it, it’s more how we feel. Like miserable but once explored, and this is not always an easy matter either, the subject of the pain can be addressed if not cured.
We all go through periods when we feel unwell, out of sorts, just not ourselves. We know so many of us find ways to express that pain, some cut themselves, some withdraw, some shut their minds to whatever it is through drugs and alcohol.
Not everyone gets the opportunity to become ‘enriched’ by it.
I think to become enriched requires us to be aware of what it is in the first place. Understanding and knowing ourselves and being honest about the feelings we are experiencing and most of all owning them can contribute to the enrichment process.
I don’t think I have always won when I’ve applied that to myself as each time it’s a whole new situation I have had to deal with and I’d admit I haven’t always dealt with them in any definitive way.
We like to practice denial. We like to think we can manage anything that comes our way as to admit you can’t often triggers feelings of failure and weakness.
The bottom line for me is knowing there are things I can control and things out of my control. As much as I’d like to, I can’t control everything.
The pain of disappointment and failure is always real. Understanding what that pain is helps us grow, enabling us to know where the fear is coming from and how we can deal with it in such a way as to not push us over the edge.
Written for: https://reinventionsreena.wordpress.com/2018/03/08/reenas-exploration-challenge-week-27/
March 8, 2018, prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story that features a balloon. It can be a party balloon or a hot air balloon. How does it add to your story? Go where the prompt leads.
He was so full of hot air he could have easily floated off and never be seen again.
For him, it was all about the gusto of being who he was or who he thought he was.
“BS baffles brains,” he would say, as he’d go into another tale where he humiliated some hapless soul unaware of his egotistical motives.
It came as no surprise to anyone when his balloon did bust. It was spectacular, sudden and left him a shadow of his former self. Exposed and vulnerable, his descent and flatulent self becoming a source of embarrassing ridicule.
Written for: https://carrotranch.com/2018/03/09/march-8-flash-fiction-challenge/
It was a case of his cup runneth over. It runneth over with talent in so many ways. He was good at sport, a fine scholar and his tongue could produce on one day the most profound statements, and on other days he was hypercritical of all and everything around him.
His obvious talent went to his head, and his criticism of others was irritating, to say the least.
His mother had always said he was a hyperactive child and as an adult, that feature of him wasn’t one to endear him to those around him.
He loved the latest gadgets. Phones, in particular, took his fancy and he would be the first to have the newest smartphone on the market. To make it worse, he would thrust himself into your space, and if you were hypersensitive, he could be very confronting.
But he was never fazed, he carried on, and even in death, besides being laid to rest with his latest phone, he insisted the many cups he had won during his life be displayed on top of his coffin.
Written for: https://rachelpoli.com/2018/03/09/time-to-write-random-words-8-creative-writing-prompt/
Morpethroad 