Early morning walks…..the old cracked roadway from our local courthouse to the pedestrian overpass across the train tracks
Foorpath across the park and disappearing into suburbia.
Images for: https://ceenphotography.com/2017/07/07/cees-which-way-photo-challenge-july-7-2017/
The emerging summer brought together the Wyod. These were a silent minute forest folk who met each year at the site of the couch to decide the next procreators.
This was an honoured task, a task with risk, a task that would elevate the procreators to a position of high esteem among the assembled Wyod.
They communicated through gesture, a wave of the hands, a flick of the long fingers they possessed all had meaning and coupled with their unique facial gestures added layers of meaning to their purpose.
They gathered around the couch, no one was allowed onto the couch but the chosen ones. After much gesturing and nomination, a couple was chosen. Their selection was greeted with much physical animation. The Wyod knew they had chosen correctly when the two chosen immediately upon seeing each other reached out and touch one another, who set their focus upon the other, and both began the pre-procreation ritual dance.
They stood upon the couch and performed for the assembled Wyod. It was a mating dance aimed at stimulating the other. To the Wyod it was a sacred step towards procreation and the successful maintenance of life among the Wyod.
As they danced their bodies became more and more entwined, the level of attraction and intent had a similar effect upon the assembly who all moved in a rhythm as if one with the chosen ones.
The moment of inception was greeted with sparks, and an immense glow of light as one of the chosen Wyod encircled the other and pressed itself upon its partner. Then the custom was repeated, and by now the assembled Wyod were in a frenzy as they awaited the culmination of the ceremony.
The couple broke and where they had stood there was a pod, one that glowed an iridescent green glow. It sat on the couch before the assembled multitude who continued to dance as if out of control.
Then the pod turned a red, then a blue and the crowd now slowed and watched as the pod began to vibrate before exploding in a shower of golden stars. The stars settled upon the ground and the Wyod quickly gathered them up and holding them in their arms turned and made their way back into the forest where each Wyod would nurture the star they held until the following spring when it would produce a new member of their community.
And so, the couch would be left to tourists and bush walkers to ponder over its origin and purpose, until the next summer.
Written for: https://scvincent.com/2017/07/06/thursday-photo-prompt-peace-writephoto/
July 6, 2017 prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less) write about a beacon. It can be from a lighthouse or other source. Use the word literally or figuratively and go where the prompt leads you.
He was a beacon of hope to so many. He spoke the language they craved to hear.
To others, he was a beacon of disaster. Everything he said was a lie a falsehood designed to deceive and confusion.
Where he promised prosperity for all to others, he spelt poverty a modern-day Judas selling out those whom he should have supported for the lure of the mighty dollar.
He used people for his own ends, he cared little for their well-being concentrating totally on what was best for him.
In the end, he was justifiably condemned to rot in hell.
Written for: https://carrotranch.com/2017/07/07/july-6-flash-fiction-challenge-2/
Today’s prompt is: Your most eccentric family member.
My most eccentric family member is a cousin, who has spent so many of the past 30 years helping the local refugee population.
My cousin is a woman of great virtue and has this much admired never say die attitude to all she does.
Despite suffering at times the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, she pushes on in her quest to provide care and education for refugee families.
She stands up to the forces that might bring her down, she seeks assistance wherever she can find it, at one point I remember her saying she didn’t need any more clothing donations as she had nowhere to put it but rather needed cash as she was always short of it.
image: jo dover, fineartamerica.com
The assignment this week: take a nursery/Mother Goose rhyme, tongue twister or song, and give it a new spin. Modernize it, analyze it, hypo–theoreticalize it, satirize it, serialize it, fantasize it . . . then weave a tale around it.
Little Miss Muffet sat on her tuffet . . .
When Muffet was born, her parents thought her such a cute baby they named her Muffet in honour of her mother’s favourite nursery rhyme.
Little did they know of the torment that name would bring their daughter.
As she grew and went through school, she was faced daily with such embarrassments as:
Little Miss Muffet sat on her fat tuffet
Eating her turds all day….
It went on this way for much of her schooling.
The part about the spider coming down and frightening her away came when she was fourteen.
The spider was Alan Tusher, a long legged and long armed boy who took a fancy to Muffet and who saw Muffet as a character in the school yard slightly more maligned than he was.
Alan was known as ‘sticks’ because of his thin frame and long appendages. Sticks like Muffet had suffered a lifetime of abuse from the other kids.
By the time puberty hit him he was learning the art of survival.
He hated the ridicule of everyday.
Muffet he saw like himself, ostracised and always on her own.
He started to sit near her, and one day he moved and sat on the seat next to her.
Muffet thought he was being nice to her, but in fact, he was setting her up for his form of bullying. He asked her to walk along the river bank with him. Muffet was so pleased anyone would ask her to do such a thing she turned up early, in her best dress, a dab of her mum’s perfume on and waited for Sticks to arrive.
He didn’t show up, but the next day there was great laughter among the other students as someone had taken a photo of her standing in waiting for Sticks. It appeared on the class Facebook page with the heading: ‘Look who was seen awaiting her shining prince.’
Ashamed of being exposed as she was, Muffet vowed to never again to listen to anything a boy said to her.
Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2017/07/06/tale-weaver-127-nursery-rhyme-rifts-06-07-17/
This week your challenge is to write about:
I thought he was a builder, a quiet man, a father, a man of faith.
He worked on sites around the town.
Khaki overalls and a wooden lunch box.
In the excavation, I discovered the weathered document: Clearly stating: Government Operative.
A photograph of my once young father. A deadly young man.
Written for: http://sachablack.co.uk/2017/07/05/writespiration-123-52-weeks-in-52-words-week-27/#more-5530
We were sure that they had all been deported but as sure as eggs there they were standing in front of us without an obvious care in the world.
It had been a difficult time for us all what with economic crises bobbing up from day to another. The ones to blame we thought had been eliminated and or removed leaving our society pure and able to push forward and create a better world for us.
We watched them with disgust as they enjoyed the view across the bay.
Caucasians, how despicable.
Written for: https://bikurgurl.com/2017/07/05/100-word-wednesday-week-26/
I’ve bits not functioning as designed
I’m falling apart
grey and decrepit.
Once I could run for buses,
No more.
I sit watch and await,
a miracle. (140 Characters)
Written for: https://katmyrman.com/2017/07/04/twittering_tale-39-4_july_2017/
Image: – Mrs. White
It’s forbidden to like you
It’s forbidden to look at you as I do.
It’s forbidden to feel for you as I do
It’s forbidden to want you as I do.
In public, we are as friends
We laugh and share our stories
No one suspects how we lust
How we can’t wait to be out of the public eye.
It’s forbidden to touch you as I do
It’s forbidden to feel the silkiness of your skin
It’s forbidden to want to kiss you
It’s forbidden to consider any of these things.
We dress as twins
Our deception keeps us alive
My mother wants me to marry William
He works in accounts, a nice man
A safe man, a man of morals.
We meet in secret
Our embrace awakens our bodies
We crave the touch of the other
We lie together, you feast on my body
I graze across your form
Never sated, seeking more.
It’s forbidden that we meet
It’s forbidden we are in love
It’s forbidden and we’ll burn
It’s forbidden but I need you.
Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2017/07/04/photo-challenge-172/
Photo prompt is provided by Kecia Spartin
She was a real snake in the grass.
Untidy, loud, crass, neglectful and purveyor of whoreish ways.
You’d see her leaning against the bank wall watching the customers come and go. Waiting always waiting knowing that sooner or later a mark would come her way.
She could sweet talk her way into and out of any situation.
She had no sense of body space. She wore strong perfume to overcome you should you venture too close.
Plus, she had the biggest most falsely innocent eyes on any woman I knew.
She was the epitome of give with one hand and take with the other.
Morality wasn’t a virtue known to her.
But one day her luck ran out, and there wasn’t much sympathy for her. She’d stung far too many, and now her chickens had home to roost.
She was a sorry sight in the park sitting under the gum trees often singing to herself. But always with those big eyes, searching, ever vigilant.
Written for: https://flashfictionforaspiringwriters.wordpress.com/2017/07/03/fffaw-challenge-week-of-july-4-2017-2/
Morpethroad 