The tourist asked the way to Cregan’s Castle.
I said go to the end of the street and turn right.
At the post office turn right.
Then at Shannon’s Hotel turn right.
The tourist said if I do all that I’ll end up here.
That’s right I said, the Castle is just across the way. (Characters 268)
Written for: https://katmyrman.com/2018/02/13/twittering-tale-71-13-february-2018-its-a-sign/
This week’s words: Twist Smirk Visitor Process Transfix Compunction (n.)) a feeling of uneasiness or anxiety of the conscience caused by regret for doing wrong or causing pain; contrition; remorse. Updraft Octagonal Profane Wabi Sabi- In traditional Japanese aesthetics, Wabi-sabi (侘寂) is a world view centered on the acceptance of transience and imperfection.[2] The aesthetic is sometimes described as one of beauty that is “imperfect, impermanent, and incomplete”.[3] It is a concept derived from the Buddhist teaching of the three marks of existence (三法印 sanbōin), specifically impermanence (無常 mujō), suffering (苦 ku) and emptiness or absence of self-nature (空 kū). Urge Wednesday
This is the story of Leo Bigfoot and his sister Leanne Smallfoot.
Leo was seven feet tall and his sister Leanne, six foot three.
Their true identities are secret, as the story will illustrate. Both brother and sister were imperfect as their height caused them great episodes of compunction as the process of living required great dexterity on their part.
In order to deal with and accept their imperfections, they embraced wabi-sabi a Japanese aesthetic showing them a pathway to accepting themselves for who they were.
This newfound lease on life gave them the twist they needed to make something of themselves.
They made Wednesday their day when they greeted visitors and urged them to join them for tea and scones.
Leo had the ability to transfix an audience with tales of their lives and became known at times to utter profanity when his tales touched on their religious background.
He often smirked when recounting their upbringing, well to do parents who locked them away in an octagonal prison where Leanne, in particular, suffered from the icy updrafts as her parents insisted she wore the flimsiest of smocks.
But today wabi-sabi saved them and they loved to wabi-sabi their mornings, and each adopted a unique mantra: “I may be imperfect, but I am me.”
Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2018/02/12/wordle-186/
It’s hard to imagine the exhilaration I felt at hearing your voice. It had been so long and I was thrilled to hear from you.
Your account of your time away was as always fascinating. But the part that left me feeling a mile high was hearing you say you loved me and that you missed me.
For the rest of that day, the euphoria stayed with me, and I looked forward to you coming through the gate.
Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2018/02/11/sunday-writing-prompt-241-euphoria/
Prose Challenge – In 150 words or less, write a story in which the weather (either good or bad) plays a major part.
She was described as a fair weather friend best illustrated by her reaction when rumours started to circulate that I had been found conducting some dodgy financial affairs.
No one likes being accused of anything that makes you potentially appear to be in the wrong.
She heard the rumours and quickly jumped to all the wrong conclusions.
Yes there were some decisions made that left my clients wondering about my ability, as a financial planner but not every financial choice will always be a winner. Will it?
The fact my client who suffered the loss was also a friend to both of us didn’t help.
The client liked to talk and talk he did. My name was mud within hours of social media exposure.
My fair weather friend vanished as if in a cloud of smoke. She wasn’t having her name sullied along side mine.
Written for: https://sammiscribbles.wordpress.com/2018/02/10/weekend-writing-prompt-41-weather/
As Valentine’s Day drew nearer Tommy was looking forward to connecting once again with Summer.
Their relationship had progressed from polite nodding acquaintances to fiery lovers.
Summer worked away a lot and had promised Tommy that she would be back for Valentines Day.
Tommy had made the necessary arrangements so he thought. A home cooked dinner, his best china, aromatic candles and starched napkins.
But as the evening went by she failed to show up. By late evening he was ready to pack it in and take himself to bed.
As the clock turned over to eleven he heard a knock on his door.
Looking over there was an envelope on the floor. He picked it up and opened it and read:
“Happy Valentine’s Day Tommy
Sorry I’m late.
Well open the door, its cold out here.”
Tommy opened the door to discover a naked Summer holding a huge bunch of red roses. She marched in past him, delivering a soft peck on his cheek and disappeared into his bedroom.
Tommy couldn’t help but giggle as she wiggled her bottom as she went by.
Written for: https://lindaghill.com/2018/02/09/the-friday-reminder-and-prompt-for-socs-feb-10-18/
Its that time of year again when we look towards one we love with thoughts of what can we do to express the love we feel for them.
When you live in a fantasy world its easy to imagine the love of your life as being all the things you think are important. The practical world is of course a whole different kettle of fish.
There are plenty of romantic stories about unrequited love, where the relationship has been going on for some time all in one person’s head. Because we are humans part of our biology is to experience attraction to another person and usually this is physical in nature especially if you are male.
But looking beyond that is where it gets tricky.
One day a man was standing on one side of a pond and across the other side saw a beautiful woman.
She was staring back at him and he wondered if his unusual appearance was the reason.
As there was no way they could cross over to speak she floated a note over to him. He watched as the note came near and upon reading it he discovered her name was Catherine.
He responded with a note of his own and over the next few weeks they floated notes back and forth.
Catherine was a writer, her memoir she was writing and she shared pieces of it with him.
From her writing he discovered a woman of amazing compassion and passion in what she was writing. Hers was a story of abuse and trauma.
At times he felt tears for the ordeal she had been through but she made it clear she didn’t want his pity, she wanted him and who he was for she too was discovering the man he was through the notes he wrote.
For the first time in so long he felt her love directed at him and he found trust in whom she was. She too discovered she needed him in her days and they continued to communicate in this way dreaming of a time when fortune might allow them to meet and find in each other the physical comfort they both desired.
For as they aged they grew closer together, the pond was always there but the love for one another never waned. They leant on one another, vented at times, revealed their inner souls confidant the other was not judging but understanding the opinion of the other.
Being needed and love for who they were was enough to get them through the day to day of life. They lifted each other from the depression of their respective worlds, where they were trapped with only the words of the other as succour.
In this story love reaches a different height. The couple explore the loyalty of the other, discover that despite their age they can experience love again, it awakens them, gives them reason to live, laugh and trust.
Written for: https://reinventionsreena.wordpress.com/2018/02/09/reenas-exploration-challenge-week-24/
My entry this week, the bridge across my local railway.
For: https://ceenphotography.com/2018/02/09/cees-which-way-photo-challenge-february-9-2018/
Image: Australian Fireweed
February 8, 2018, prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story that includes fireweed. You can use it as the plant, a flower, a metaphor or as the name of someone or something. Go where the prompt leads. Burn bright when you write.
It’s everywhere round here, it grows prolifically in the back paddock though at present it’s very dry and the plants and pastures are struggling.
In good times it grows in fields of yellow but it’s a nuisance as the cattle bypass it. The Pastures Protection Board consider it a pest.
Sometimes the farmer comes by, hoe in hand and chips them out. He’ll nod to me across the fence make derogatory remarks about spending his time chipping when there is so much more to do.
But next year the fireweed will reappear, and we’ll nod to each other again.
Written for: https://carrotranch.com/2018/02/08/february-8-flash-fiction-challenge/
When Percy Jones woke up he was surprised to find himself dressed in his best suit. Looking around and past the array of flowers that seemed to be piled on top of him this wasn’t the sanctuary he was thinking he was going to.
The walls were stark and there were no choirs of angels. There might have been he thought and maybe they’d gone for a smoko so he gave them the benefit of the doubt.
He distinctly remembered being at the fishmongers yesterday buying a delicious haddock in anticipation of supper that night with his great love Edna Crapstop and tonight was going to be a special evening for Percy.
Outside, a man handed him a pamphlet announcing sanctuary for all if they prayed that night. He was reading it when the lights went out and here he was.
Percy Jones only wore his best suit for births, weddings and funerals. Even though it was a tad tight around the waist he knew in his present condition that he’d soon grow out of it.
Written for: https://scvincent.com/2018/02/08/thursday-photo-prompt-sanctuary-writephoto/
Image: Google images Labelled for re-use
Cyril Rum, Angel on sabbatical, was up early
Normally Cyril liked to have a quiet morning, some tea and on occasion a piece of toast with strawberry fruit spread. Cyril had discovered a liking for strawberries and was thankful that in the creation of the earth the sweet red fruit had been included
His taste buds rejoiced as he rolled the sticky fruit round in his mouth.
It was then he heard the sobbing. It seemed to be coming from his back door and Cyril unaccustomed to visitors was puzzled as to what it all meant.
He opened his back door to find a small child, a girl he thought, sitting on his step, her head buried on her knees crying somewhat uncontrollably.
She wore a dishevelled outfit; dirty t-shirt, grubby shorts and very unruly hair.
“Goodness me,” said Cyril, “whatever is wrong?”
The girl looked up startled at hearing his voice. She wiped her snotty nose on her already wiped upon sleeve and bust into even louder sobbing.
Cyril looked around wondering if he should call Mildred, as she would be sure to know what to do as she was far more used to the goings on of people.
“Come inside child,” said Cyril trying to sound kind and not irritated at having his morning interrupted.
The scruffy child stood and accepted his invitation. He seated her at the kitchen bench and poured her a cup of tea unsure if small girls even liked tea but thinking how it made him feel relaxed and content he applied the same logic to her.
Just then his neighbour Mildred knocked on his door and a relieved Cyril invited her in.
“Oh my Cyril, what have you here?” asked Mildred taken aback at the sight of the girl.
“Found her on my back step just now,” answered Cyril, “do you know who she might be?”
The girl had wrapped her hands around the tea Cyril poured and was sipping it slowly.
“She looks like one of the Casey children,” said Mildred. “Are you a Casey?” asked Mildred to the small girl.
“I’m Amy,” replied the small girl,” and I live at number 23.”
“That’s the Casey’s alright,” said Mildred, “why were you on Mr Rum’s back step?”
“My mother hasn’t come home. She went to the shop yesterday and hasn’t come back, I’ve been alone and we’ve no food.” revealed Amy immediately dissolved into tears.
“Oh dear,” uttered Mildred, “ the Casey’s are a poor lot, a heap of kids and not a lot of support or care. The father moved out years ago and the mother has been fending for herself.”
Cyril immediately pictured number 23, the yard full of toys, seemingly multiple children playing and never a parent in sight.
“What of the other children, your brother and sisters?” asked Cyril to Amy.
“Mum sent them off to her sisters and brothers and there’s just me and I don’t know what to do,” she wailed.
“Here,” said Cyril handing Amy a piece of his toast which she gobbled down in no time flat. Food wasn’t something Cyril, being an Angel, had a great deal of.
Mildred said she’d go to Number 23 and see if there was anyone there and that Amy should stay with Cyril till she returned.
It wasn’t long and she returned grim faced announcing the house was deserted. Mildred may have been a single woman and somewhat like Cyril a bit of a recluse but she was resourceful and quickly rang the police to see if they knew anything about Amy’s mother.
All inquiries about the mother proved fruitless and it become clear that Amy had been abandoned.
Mildred looked at Cyril and saw his bewilderment. “Sometimes,” she said, “ the pressure of life gets too much and its easier to give everything away and run away. Amy? Did your mother tell you if you were alone, to go to Mr Rum?” asked Mildred.
“Yes,” replied Amy, “ she said Mr Rum would look out for me.”
There was an occasion some time ago when Cyril had helped Mrs Casey with a domestic issue but that was a while back and he had not seen her since.
“She’s abandoned her family,” said Mildred.
“Call the sister, she’ll take her in,” said a pensive Cyril, “she can stay here with you until then, I think she needs a woman’s touch more than mine.”
Mildred made the call and the next day Mrs Casey’s sister, Lee arrived and after some discussion and a word in private with Cyril, she gathered the abandoned Amy set off.
They went first to Amy’s house to pack a bag and found on her bed a several bags containing new clothes, dresses, shorts, underwear and shoes, with a note from Cyril saying, “I hope these are enough to get you started. Mildred selected the colours.”
Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2018/02/08/tale-weaver-158-february-8-abandonment/
Morpethroad 