First Line Friday -October 13th, 2017 – Crapsville.

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Your line for this week is:

The autumn chill descended over the town and with it came rot and ruin. 

It was a seasonal thing for the town of Crapsville. The locals came to accept their town was crap, and in a crap town, crap happened on an annual basis.

Any day now they knew with the winter chill would come the autumn storms. Huge storms. It would rain cats and dogs for days, the creeks and river would fill, flooding would occur, and the crap rise and float along the surface and the town resemble an above ground cess pool.

George Snotworthy, the town mayor, knew the drill by now and every year prepared the residents for the evacuations and relief efforts needed to survive the rot and ruin that followed each deluge.

George knew the Crappers as no one else. They were despite their afflictions salt of the earth people, ever willing to pull with their neighbour to get the job done when a crisis hit the town.

The floods did nothing for the local cemetery as too much water, meant no burials, meant, keeping an eye out for the odd corpse which might float to the surface at the most inopportune time as had happened the previous autumn when he discovered his great grandmother’s coffin drifting by his kitchen window.

In recent times the town council has ordered that every person buried in the town cemetery have lead weights inserted into their coffins to lessen the chance of them rising.

So, the heavy damaging rains of the autumn did nothing for the prospects of the oncoming winter. With so much water about the winter came with a vengeance with ice and snow and the good people of Crapsville hunkered down for a long and cold winter.

So, where the autumn brought with it rot and ruin the spring was a time of activity to grow, harvest and to store enough produce for the approaching winter misery. They were a progressive people the Crappers, no disaster was treated as the end of the world even though so often it felt like it as they had resolve and it was their resolve that allowed them to confront whatever came their way.

 

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2017/10/13/first-line-friday-october-13th-2017/

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Thursday photo prompt – Tower – #writephoto

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When he became a hermit, he thought of all the benefits of a life of poverty and chastity.

The prospect of a life of solitude was attractive to him as getting away from society and his past was the purpose of the exercise.

To try it out the Abbot sent him to the Tower, an ancient ruin on the edge of the monastery property. He was to spend three months there to see if this was the life for him.

He jumped at the opportunity. He saw it as diving straight in and was excited at the prospect.

To make it authentic once inside the monk who accompanied him and who never said a word the whole journey locked the door at the base of the tower and left him alone. He knew each week a box of supplies would be left for him.

Inside the tower, it was austere as he imagined. A single room at the top of the tower, a crude mattress on the floor, a table and chair and in one corner a small bookshelf crammed with meditative books.

A bucket inside the locked door he assumed was the toilet.

Left to himself the first thing that struck him was the silence. Outside nature did what nature did, birds chirped and small creatures that made noise did their best to shatter the never-ending silence.

He had been given a daily program to follow to help him adjust to his new life. Opening page one he read and began his three months.

Three months later the monk who delivered him came to collect him. In the past, the new monks were waiting by the door when he unlocked it to let them out.

This time there was no one there. He went up the stairs and found the monk on his bed. He was pale and obviously very ill.

The silent monk found cause to break his silence by reaching into his pocket and taking his mobile phone rang for help.

 

Written for: https://scvincent.com/2017/10/12/thursday-photo-prompt-tower-writephoto/

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Tale Weaver – #141 – Unicorn – 12/10/17

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“You can’t train them you know,” said Miss Marble to Miss Monty. “They are more than a horse with a horn on its head. Despite what mythology tells you Miss Monty unicorns are the most contrary of creatures.”

The youthful Miss Monty beamed enthusiasm at Miss Marble. She had come to see Miss Marble full of ideas about unicorns and having one in her back yard.

Miss Monty was a new arrival on Grimace Street, and as Miss Marble was the longest living resident in the street, she had a lot to say about who did or didn’t move into the street. Miss Marble thought Miss Monty would add an air of youthfulness to the street, as many of the occupants were getting older and added to that, Miss Marble saw Miss Monty as potentially producing a child, and it had been a long time since anyone had heard a child cry on Grimace Street.

“But Miss Marble,” pleaded Miss Monty, “it’s there in the yard now and its so beautiful surely you must know something about caring for unicorns.”

“Well,” said Miss Marble, “they are tricky creatures that much I do know. My Aunt Mara had one and had no end of trouble getting it to get along with the other animals on her farm. It had a nasty habit of hunting down the cats and eating them. Has your unicorn shown any such tendencies?”

“No. Not for cats that I’ve noticed but it does lick its lips every time a dog wanders by.”

“Feed it lemon grass is what I suggest,” said Miss Marble taking a large plant from off her shelf and handing it to Miss Monty. “This stuff will give its mind nothing else to think about but getting the taste out of its mouth and at the same time develop a craving for lemon grass.”

A week later Miss Monty reappeared at Miss Marble’s door. Her face showed no enthusiasm at all, in fact, she looked quite worn out.

“Oh Miss Marble,” she blurted out, “the unicorn has gone crazy I’m sure. It’s running in circles, snorting, swinging about his head, its already skewered Miss Mans’ pet rabbit and Mr Fanggo’s pet rat. I’m afraid to go near it as I could end up impaled as well.”

“Goodness,” said Miss Marble, “have you been feeding it the lemon grass?

“Yes just as you said but I can’t control what else it eats can I?”

“What else has it been eating?”

“I did notice it was eating the tomato bushes I had just planted. Poor things hardly get a go on, and the unicorn helps itself and goes all crazy.”

“Ugh,” retorted Miss Marble, “tomato bushes are the worst things for a unicorn. Whatever possessed you to grow them?”

“I like tomatoes,” wailed Miss Monty, “Miss Marble what can I do.”

At that Miss Marble dragged a huge book from one of her shelves and began pouring through the pages.

“Ah ha,” she announced and immediately went to her store of ingredients and began taking down bottles and mixing a teaspoon of this with a teaspoon of that until a thin vapour began to rise from the mixture.

“When I say turn round, you turn round right?” said Miss Marble eyes focused on what she was making.

“Pardon?” asked a querulous Miss Monty.

“It’s a potion that only works if you have your back turned, now turn round.”

The two women then turned their backs, and behind them, they could hear the sounds of something happening. This went on for several moments until a rather obscene expletive was heard and Miss Marble announced the potion was ready.

“Take it home and mix it in the drinking water, a day or two should see everything settle down,” instructed Miss Marble.

“Ok,” said Miss Monty taking the sealed vial in her hand. “What’s that book called?” she asked.

“My Aunt Mara’s Eastern book of magic cures for all things great and small,” replied Miss Marble replacing it on its shelf. “The small one beside it is Aunt Mara’s Western book of magic cures for all things large and horrific. But thankfully I don’t get much call to take it down and use it. Not much large and horrific around these parts. But back on the farm, Aunt Mara had to deal with no end of the horrific. Terrible times they were, large hairy beasts, small hairy beasts and hairy beasts that sometimes were large and sometimes small. Each one intent on doing you harm. Thankfully those days are past. Now you run on home Miss Monty and let me know how the potion works.”

“Thank you, Miss Marble, I’m sure it will,” said a somewhat relieved Miss Monty and off she went to administer her unicorn with Miss Marble’s potion.

After she had gone Miss Marble sat and pondered the wisdom of allowing Miss Monty to come and live on Grimace Street. For if she was seeing unicorns and everyone knew unicorns didn’t exist what might she come up with next.

At least the potion would make her sleep.

 

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2017/10/12/tale-weaver-141-unicorn-121017/

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Writespiration #136 52 Weeks in 52 Words Week 41

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What happens next in 52 words?

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Josie wondered how long she might stay. Going home was not an option. If she stayed longer,  she shivered at the thought, he’d come looking. Looking left she saw the train station. A viable option. Contemplating the evening sunset she weighed up her choices. She turned left, leaving behind what was yesterday.

 

Written for: http://sachablack.co.uk/2017/10/11/writespiration-136-52-weeks-in-52-words-week-41/#more-5567

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100 Word Wednesday: Week 40 – ‘Nurse Rachet’.

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The problem with the hospital was the food. All this healthy stuff was driving her crazy. Well crazier she concluded.

Where were the scrambled eggs and the lashings of bacon?

The milky cup of whatever wasn’t going to suffice and settle her morning cravings for a caffeine fix.

She was learning the game. Make it look like you are complying and everyone was happy.

She shuffled her food around a bit more knowing Nurse Rachet, as she knew her, would be by soon to inspect.

Nurse Rachet never smiled, just looked condescending and nodded if she approved. Approval was everything.

 

Written for: https://bikurgurl.com/2017/10/11/100-word-wednesday-week-40/

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In Other Words, discovery…

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Write a story or poem of 5 Lines or Less using the word discovery

 

What a surprise she thought as she read through his note.

That he replied thrilled her, and she knew it shouldn’t have.

But right now there were parts of her awakening.

How do I let this happen after all these years she asked herself?

With a smile, a mile wide, knowing full well the significance of her discovery, she let her fingers do the talking.

 

Written for: https://patriciasplace.me/2017/10/11/in-other-words-discovery/

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Wot I Shot Wednesday

Each Wednesday is a quiet blogging day for me so I am going to post a photo or two I took today and write a short story/explanation about it.

You are welcome to join in and share your Wednesday shots as well.

It could be something you see when you get out of bed.

Your own bleary-eyed face could be included though I know mine could be troubling to some and be not necessarily a good way to start your day.

The shot can be of anything you saw during the day.

Good or bad doesn’t matter as you’ll see with many of my efforts.

I would like you to tell me the story if any about your photo and its backstory if it has one. Try and restrict your enthusiasm to tell me to 100 words.

Here is my image this week.

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This is a photo of a rose I have growing in my front garden. Its a very old rose, it originally grew in my grandmother’s yard and when her house was sold my father rescued it and planted it in our garden. It comes under the category of a “Black Rose” because of the dark red colour. When I moved in with my dad and started playing with gardening he said I could do anything I wanted but don’t kill the black rose. Through neglect it thrives.

The above photo was taken yesterday BUT today look at it below!!

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I look forward to seeing what you shot on your Wednesday.

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Mundane Monday Challenge #130 : Learn Photography

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On my walk I saw this tomato bush growing in a person’s yard and spilling down onto the pathway. Here is a close up and you can see it is about to bear fruit but I wonder how long the fruit will last with passersby most likely helping themselves.

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For: https://trablogger.com/mundane-monday-challenge-130-learn-photography/

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Bonus Wordle – Shakespearian Style – Much Ado About Something

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This week’s fabulously challenging wordle comes with thanks to Cressida de Nova:

bough distils [*alternate spelling of distills] Owls musk [a strong-smelling reddish-brown substance that is secreted by the male musk deer for scent-marking and is an important ingredient in perfumery| a relative of the monkey flower that was formerly cultivated for its musky perfume, which has been lost in the development of modern varieties| *late Middle English: from late Latin muscus, from Persian mušk, perhaps from Sanskrit muṣka ‘scrotum’ (because of the similarity in shape of a musk deer’s musk bag)] viol [a musical instrument of the Renaissance and baroque periods, typically six-stringed, held vertically and played with a bow] Stained Swagger Sodden Strike tinctured [be tinged, flavored, or imbued with a slight amount of| denoting a dye or pigment|‘imparted quality,’ likened to a tint imparted by a dye] cowslip [a European primula with clusters of drooping fragrant yellow flowers in spring, growing on dry grassy banks and in pasture] Villain

 

The cast gathered for the first rehearsal, and there was an unparalleled anticipation among the assembled actors.

Arsewipe Guttersnipe had been cast as the villain Maximus Treacherus, and was relishing the fact that after auditioning so many times had landed a role in the latest production of Mr Shakespeare’s ‘Much Ado About Something’ a lesser known and not as popular play as his earlier piece, ‘Much Ado About Nothing’.

Guttersnipe knowing, he would be among a company of experienced actors had made sure the odours he usually excreted from his work as a cess pool cleaner were covered up by a generous dousing of his body in musk oil.

So, proud was he that it came as no surprise to see him swagger into the rehearsal space brandishing his script, his lines underlined and rehearsed thoroughly.

Gong Turdfetcher, his best friend, had secured the role of the viol player a skill Gong had perfected between stints down the cess pools with Arsewipe.

Gong had put on his best-unstained pants for the rehearsal and like Guttersnipe had bathed himself in musk to make his good self somewhat more presentable.

In the first scene of the play the beautiful Janice the town spinster played Mary Cowslip a small and diminutive woman who pined for the love of Darius of the Owls and ancient and long forgotten kingdom just to the left across the River Sucks beside the gnome forest.

Mary wasn’t all that experienced in applying makeup and had found a tincture that gave her face a more than frightening red appearance. Some thought she was simply sodden with some alcoholic substance and so sought to have her struck from the play but the director Francis Goodfanny would have no truck of such a suggestion and made the main accuser a lesser known actor known as Max the Distiler sit on a rough bough to have him consider the error of his ways.

The play was a huge success and Guttersnipe, and Turdfetcher received favourable mention after each performance, mainly that their smell was not as offensive as might be expected.

 

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2017/10/09/bonus-wordle-shakespearian-style/

 

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Sunday Writing Prompt #223 – Maggie Allcock.

This week we are asked to use this sonnet as an inspiration for our writing response.

 

Sonnet XVI by Pablo Neruda

I love the handful of the earth you are.
Because of its meadows, vast as a planet,
I have no other star. You are my replica
of the multiplying universe

Your wide eyes, are the only light I know
from extinguished constellations;
your skin throbs like the streak
of a meteor through rain.

Your hips were that much of the moon for me;
your deep mouth and its delights, that much sun;
your heart, fiery with its long red rays,

was that much ardent light, like honey in the shade.
So I pass across your burning form, kissing
you – compact and planetary, my dove, my globe.

 

Your hips were that much of the moon for me;

When you saw her your first thought was something like, “Well there goes a well-seasoned woman.”

She had hips that stood as the mark of a woman given much to childbirth and the associated rigour of such an activity. Her hips had been handy when the children were little carrying one on each hip as if she had inbuilt seating for such a purpose.

Her hips were a testament to a woman whose life had not been easy. Constant children arriving as if she had no control over it all given the fertility of both she and her husband. That their name was Allcock added to the mirth of a community forever looking for a reason to laugh at someone else’s expense.

But she was a good woman responsible for the well-mannered children around her, each one schooled in politeness and each one more than capable of being a valuable contributor to not just family but community.

For when disaster struck such as flood and fire the Allcocks were on the front line in offering assistance to all who needed it.

Maggie Allcock was a great cook. Her cakes and pastries were sought after and many wondered at where she had the time when you considered they eked out a bare subsistence from a bloke of land with what often appeared to have more rocks in it than workable soil.

She wasn’t an overly attractive woman and had a temper you didn’t want to antagonise her about. But as a mother she was first rate and her love of husband was never in doubt. They obviously found reason on many an occasion to procreate and enjoy the fruits of their labour.

Maggie Allcock’s hips were the mark of a remarkable woman and a woman we stood in awe of.

 

 

 

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2017/10/08/sunday-writing-prompt-223/

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