#LyricalFictionFriday: “No” #fictionfriday

Posted on December 17, 2017 by Michael

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This week’s line:

I think it’s so sweet…how you let your friends encourage you to try and talk to me…but let me stop you there…“

 

I’m not unapproachable

Nor am I a demon, an ogre or a monster

But still no matter what you flee from me

Just when I think I’ve made a friend in you

I’m left high and dry, alone again you might say.

So, I sit on the periphery, in a spot safe and sound

Where no one has to be affronted

As I practice insignificance.

 

Written for: https://marquessamatthews.com/lyricalfictionfriday/

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Sunday Writing Prompt #233 “Creation Myth” – Cyril Rum’s Version of Creation.

Posted on December 17, 2017 by Michael

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“It was all a bit of hit and miss,” said Cyril Rum, Angel on Sabbatical from Heaven to his neighbour Mildred Thrup’s question as the origins of everything. They had been discussing the state of the world and how there was so much bad within it when Mildred asked Cyril the question.

“It all started with an idea He had one day looking at how the earth was evolving. He was mighty pleased with the earth, the growth of all sorts of life forms thrilled him and being a bit of an amateur gardener he was forever curious about plants and flowers. Ferns he thinks are his best creation the way they unfurl with new life, gives Him quite a buzz when I think about it.

He loved the dinosaurs, after all, size does matter, where do you think that whole idea came from,” said Cyril with a twinkle in his eye.

“But in making the universe He wasn’t all that thorough when it came to cleaning up after Himself, and so there was a heap of rubbish floating and flying around space, and He forgot that fact when a rather large piece of rock fell on the earth it potentially might trigger the end of the dinosaurs. Only a few survived. The birds of course and creatures like the crocodiles and sharks who were protected by staying underwater and not being reliant on eating from the land.

Along the way, he experimented, and we still joke about what He must have been thinking when He tried out the platypus.

But eventually, through further trial and error, humans, as we know them evolved and so they present Him with another dilemma.

He gave them a brain and a sense of their own destiny and along with that came greed and self-centredness. You’ve no idea how mad that whole concept makes Him. Instead of appreciating all they have they constantly whinge about wanting more.

So before long man became his own worst enemy and we had wars and all that breaking out. He tried a few things to rectify the situation, floods and famines and the odd plague but humans always found a way of surviving.

He sent His Son, and He made an impact. But the zealots have taken over, and now He has a real dilemma, and a reason I am here is to study man and see if he is worth saving.

The Earth has always been a beautiful place full of so many natural wonders we deities find it fascinating that man is set on destroying it all.”

Cyril then stopped and looked at Mildred still trying in his mind to understand man and what he was on about.

“You were never meant to become God you know Mildred, it just can’t and won’t happen but living in harmony with your world can happen and will happen the day you all realise your purpose is to enjoy the earth, not kill it.”

“So,” asked Mildred, “the whole seven days thing?”

“Oh that, a good tale, impressed a lot of people over the years but let’s face it he may be God, but even He can’t do everything at once. Omnipotent as he might be,” said Cyril smiling to himself.

“We’ve a long way to go,” said Mildred sipping her tea.

“Yes, you do, but time is on your side.”

In that instant Mildred thought she saw a flurry of feathers behind Cyril’s back but dismissed the idea as his claim to be an Angel was enough for her to deal with for now.

 

 

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2017/12/17/sunday-writing-prompt-233-creation-myth/

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Weekend Writing Prompt #33 – Time

Posted on December 17, 2017 by Michael

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Write a story in 175 words where the central theme is time travel.

When the leap occurred, it wasn’t anything like he expected. There he was twenty-five years into the future looking in on his own funeral.

There was a sense of satisfaction at being present in so much as he didn’t believe be would live another twenty-five years.

Around the casket were gathered a whole bunch of people he had to look at carefully to ascertain who they might be.

His children were all there looking older and in some cases a bit more ragged than he knew them. Beside them were a group of adults he realised they were his grandchildren and in their arms their own children.

He listened to the words spoken of him, of his record as a father and grandfather and how much he meant to all of them.

At the end, a small grey-haired lady spoke a few words in between tears in a lilting accent that left him aghast.

She came he thought, as he suddenly found himself propelled back into his reality.

 

Written for: https://sammiscribbles.wordpress.com/2017/12/16/weekend-writing-prompt-33-time/

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SoCS Dec.16/17 – contrast

Posted on December 16, 2017 by Michael

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The contrast was as obvious as day and night and up and down.

The problem was opening your mind to see it. Most people only see one side of any issue, like being for it or against it and we have an almighty problem stretching our minds to see the same issue from a different opinion.

But in this case, was an orange actually orange or a construct of our human vision, the contrast of thought and opinion was as expansive as the whole notion as to whether or not there was a definitive answer.

The debate raged back and forth, the scientists argued from a scientific perspective, the emotionally attached from a purely emotional level and that is when there was a clear contrast of opinion as accusations flowed back and forth, things got personal and one participant staged a one-man sit-in in protest at what he called the ludicrous suggestion that orange was a colour our brains played tricks with and that it wasn’t actually orange as we saw it but some alien colour too complicated for our brains to process.

I left it there at that point, the protestor had gathered around him a small band of contrasting folk, some black, some white, some for and some against but arguing he had every right to protest.

On the way home, I stopped in and bought a bag of oranges, and as I packed them in my car, I couldn’t help but remark to them what saucy wenches they were.

 

Written for: https://lindaghill.com/2017/12/15/the-friday-reminder-and-prompt-for-socs-dec-16-17/

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December 14: Flash Fiction Challenge

Posted on December 15, 2017 by Michael

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December 14, 2017 prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story using the phrase “only in…” It can be used to tell a story about a profession, a place or situation. Go were the prompt leads you.

 

Well only in Australia can you have Christmas on a stinking hot day. I’ve been told it’s because we are upside down and back to front and there is an element of truth in that.

But on days of extreme heat, I have to deal with blogs where snow flakes cascade endlessly and even though there is a psychologically cooling effect on me I shake off the snow drifts on my psyche and realise that outside I could fry eggs on the footpath.

I plan to have a cold meal Christmas Day, baking is a fool’s game down here.

 

Written for: https://carrotranch.com/2017/12/14/december-14-flash-fiction-challenge/

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Music Prompt #18: “God Rest Ye Merry Gentleman” – Pentatonix Version #musicchallenge #amwriting #Christmas #MLMM

Posted on December 15, 2017 by Michael

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With the weather heating up Cyril Rum, Angel on sabbatical from Heaven, wasn’t sure he’d made the right decision in coming to earth to see how humans did what they did. Today was going to be a hot one, he sensed it and began to think how the other half of eternity must be feeling when it was like this all the time, or at least, so he was told.

He flicked on the radio he had recently acquired from his good neighbour Mildred Thrup. The radio had an interesting mix of news and music, and it was a way of learning the ins and outs of life on earth.

“God Rest Ye Weary Gentlemen” was playing, and his immediate thought was he knew the gentlemen in question.

There had been so much fuss about the Son being born to an earthly woman and like when anything different happened word got out, and people came from all directions to check out that the Son of God had been born in a manger in Bethlehem. Cyril had been one of the angels responsible for leading the gentlemen to the baby’s side and let’s face it he thought if it wasn’t for him they’d still be walking in circles as they had little to no sense of direction. It was little wonder they were weary but hadn’t they come a long way he thought. Here he was centuries later, and they were still talking about them.

Just then Mildred knocked on the door and in her hand, she carried a parcel wrapped in tin foil.

“Good morning Mildred,” said Cyril, “what’s that you have there?”

“Good morning Cyril, glad you are up I have a small Christmas pudding for you,” she announced looking decidedly pleased with herself.

“I don’t know what a Christmas pudding is,” said Cyril looking his inquisitive self.

“A tradition we have at Christmas Cyril. A treat, a dessert packed with fruit and goodness for you to enjoy on Christmas day,” explained Mildred.

“I’m beginning to see that it’s that time of year. Christmas is everywhere I see, people decorating their houses, the shops all shiny and glittery and just now I hear “God Rest Ye Weary Gentlemen.”

“It’s an exciting time Cyril so I thought you might like a pudding to go with your Christmas,” replied Mildred looking around and noticing that Cyril’s house looked the same as it always did…. sparse.

“Well, I’m not sure about Christmas. We celebrate his birthday at a different time,” said Cyril.

“You do? When?” asked Mildred.

“Every second Angelic Millennia, a huge celebration, days of plenty and speeches and all that, songs of praise and a feast like no other,” said Cyril momentarily remembering where he had come from.

All this confused Mildred so instead of taking the matter further she decided to cut her loses and carry on as a lot of things Cyril said to her were confusing.

“Anyway Cyril, come Christmas day, slice off a bit of pudding, add some ice-cream or custard and enjoy.”

“Thank you, Mildred,” said Cyril placing the pudding on his table. As Mildred got up to leave Cyril went into a chorus of ‘God Rest Ye Weary Gentlemen’ in a baritone voice that stopped Mildred in her tracks. His voice was sensuously alluring, and she listened mesmerised until he finished.

“Oh, my Cyril but that’s a magnificent voice you have,” gushed Mildred.

“Third baritone in the Angels Choir,” he replied, “I was always told I have the voice of an Angel.”

“Yes,” stammered Mildred heading out the door unsure her senses would ever recover from what she had just heard.

“Did I mention I knew the Gentlemen concerned?” called Cyril but Mildred had already left down the path to her place.

 

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2017/12/15/music-prompt-18-god-rest-ye-merry-gentleman-pentatonix-version-musicchallenge-amwriting-christmas-mlmm/

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Thursday photo prompt – Mists – #writephoto

Posted on December 14, 2017 by Michael

fog

It was the best time of day to be out and the little man hurried along as best he could. Most mornings he walked the streets, even though his Plantar Fasciitis was giving him the gyp he knew if he kept going it would warm up and he’d make it around his circuit.

He needed to keep going as he knew the fog would lift soon and the stinking heat of the day would descend and if he didn’t get his jobs done before that happened there would be no getting anything done. Once the heat set in it was shut up the house, turn on the air con and do things internal.

He liked this time of day apart from the occasional other walker and the workers on their way to their respective employment there was little to interrupt his revere.

He walked with head down, you never knew what you might spy on the ground and some days he had been lucky in finding spilt change on the ground.

There was the respectful “Good morning” to other walkers and the admiration for the joggers already looking hot and bothered as they jogged by.

On the homeward journey, he’d often run into a few other walkers he had gotten to know and they’d stop and pass pleasantries before hurrying off for the same reasons as him.

On this day, he reached home just as the sun was finding its way through the fog. The intensity of the initial beams a foretelling of the day ahead.

 

Written for: https://scvincent.com/2017/12/14/thursday-photo-prompt-mists-writephoto/

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Reena’s Exploration Challenge #Week 17

Posted on December 14, 2017 by Michael

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1 A teacher and writer of English and Drama, a parent, naïve and yet willing to learn all I could, the perpetrator of numerous mistakes where I learned eventually to pick myself up off the floor and move forward.

 

2 Rejoicing in the freedom to be me, reaching out to my children and grandchildren doing all I can to be there for them.

 

3 Growing old with a modicum of wisdom and being loved for the person I am.

 

Struggling against the stream of life I have come to a pond of tranquillity where every day is a good day, some better than others.

 

Written for: https://reinventionsreena.wordpress.com/2017/12/14/reenas-exploration-challenge-week-17/

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OLN #210 Breaking for holidays

Posted on December 14, 2017 by Michael

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The Anthology is now ready for ordering by Amazon.

In Europe:
In the US. 

Living across the pond does ensure

Isolation, a sense of being alone

Forgotten at times and not considered

The intellectual equal of those with whom you rub
literary shoulders from time to time.

So here I am in the anthology,

Page 105 so I see, a whole page is flattering indeed.

What wonderful assembly of writers

From all walks of life, in every shape and form.

I am somewhat embarrassed to be in the same room

As I never consider myself a poet of any substance.

I’m grateful nowadays to have studied Wordsworth

More grateful I am not like him.

Our response to language is contextual

We come at it from our own perspectives

That much I have learned and for that I’m respectful.

I have ordered my copies, they should arrive in the new year;

Determined that in my next life I might come back as a mailing agent.

But to all lucky to be included, congratulations,

I look forward to reading your words,

I will grow from them, learn from your perspective

Appreciate your skill and ability to shape our beautiful language.

Merry Christmas to you all,

Best wishes for 2018, may you continue to shape your words

With wisdom, exploration, and feelings of love.

 

Written for: https://dversepoets.com/2017/12/14/oln-210-breaking-for-holidays/

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Fairy Tale/Tale Weaver #150 – 14th December – The Prince Who Forgot

Posted on December 14, 2017 by Michael

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Prince Croakalot was in serious trouble. The love of his life the beautifully green Princess Lillypad was angry beyond words.

The Prince was becoming more and more forgetful. Yesterday was the anniversary of their first meeting and where in the past Croakalot had showered her with gifts from the pond the day had passed with not a single acknowledgement of the day’s importance.

Princess Lillypad had voiced her concerns to all and sundry around the pond, and it was agreed that Croakalot was fast becoming Prince Scumalot.

The Prince oblivious to all the fuss being made about his lack of memory went about his Princely business, or what he thought was Princely business.

There was a meeting with the pond newts, the Prince turned up but at the last minute remembered it was for the next day which meant he was late for the Water Hyacinth Christmas decoration committee meeting.  Yellow-legs Hopper, the Chairperson, was not at all pleased and voiced her concerns upon Croaklot’s arrival as he had been responsible for a delay and Yellow-Legs hated delays. Her disliked centred largely around her awareness that hoppers of her species had a short life span and getting things done was paramount when it was highly likely she wouldn’t be around by Christmas.

In the meantime, Princess Lillypad was consoling herself by decorating her own Lilly pad in tastefully regal ways with a royal flourish here and there to set the mood in her part of the pond.

That night the Prince failed to return home and after much pacing, or rather frantic hopping, the Princess sent out a search party who returned having found the Prince living the high life in the Lady Bugs Brothel where he had been found in the embrace of one Long Legs Red Spider the notorious male species seductress who was just about the ensnare him in her lustful wed of intrigue when he was rescued by the Princely guard.

It was clear after this event that Prince Croakalot was losing his mind and so it was decided that he would be retired from Princely duties and send to the distant western Lilly pad where he could live out his final days surrounded by all his toys and memories of tadpolehood.

 

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2017/12/14/fairy-tale-tale-weaver-150-14th-december-the-prince-who-forgot/

Posted in Uncategorized, Writing prompt | Tagged , , , , , | 5 Comments