Wordle #162]- Cyril Rum Reveals his Asomatous.

Posted on July 3, 2017 by Michael

week-162

This week’s words: Absolute Precede Blip Cabal (n))  a small group of secret plotters, as against a government or person in authority. the plots and schemes of such a group; intrigue. a clique, as in artistic, literary, or theatrical circles.) Paper Asomatous (adj.)) Having no material body.) Hum Stand Above  Item Opaque Fremdschämen (v)) To feel ashamed about something someone else has done.)

Mildred Thrup lived on the same street as Cyril Rum, Angel on sabbatical from Heaven.

She was fascinated by Cyril being an Angel and even more fascinated when Cyril revealed his asomatous. Mildred being the spinster she was, and arch-conservative in so many ways found Cyril’s assertion pertaining to his asomatous somewhat confronting and her initial reaction was to adjust her top button on her very conservative blouse. She looked away and up above the door jamb where a sheet of opaque glass allowed a steady stream of light through though in truth she was not sure where to cast her eyes in horror as to what Cyril was going to reveal.

Cyril laughed at her embarrassment and told her there was absolutely no reason for her to be alarmed. He pointed out that what she saw as his human form was really an illusion created so as not to frighten her. Large feathered wings were a little disconcerting for the average human being.

Cyril had spent his eternity with barely a blip to his name until one day it became apparent that even in angelic circles there were those who possess ambitions well above their stations.

An angelic cabal was discovered who were set on discrediting Angels such as Cyril. The plot was to drive a wedge between the angels and create doubt where there had never been doubt before. To angels such as Cyril, this fremdschamen brought about an unheard-of shame among the angels. When they had it so good why make a stand against the eternity they had where all was and should be good.

The plotters produced a paper trail and preceded to undermine the good angels their good intentions. Their actions produced a hum of dissent among the good angels, Cyril included such that one last item the over throw of the heaven resulted in the destruction of the plotters who were all cast out, their wings blackened, their names tarnished and told they were never to return.

Cyril had been hurt by the cabal, the damage long lasting until finally in the hope that he would once again be in a position to exercise his absolute control again he had taken leave and had chosen to live among the sinful humans.

Every day was another step along the learning curve of humanity and Cyril was happy to have a neighbour such as Mildred Thrup to help him along that path.

 

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2017/07/03/wordle-161-2/

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Sunday Writing Prompt – July 2, 2017: Love Flowers – Head Over Heels

Posted on July 2, 2017 by Michael

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“Love Breaks My Bones and I Laugh.” Charles Bukowski

I never thought it could hurt so much and bring the ultimate joy all at the same time.

“You’re such a wimp,” she’d say as I lay there in the dust. “Get up and let’s get on with it, you’re on a promise so stop mucking about.”

I dragged myself up but underneath the mystery and expectation of the so-called ‘promise,of’ there was the nagging thought that I had broken my leg. It just didn’t feel right, like a stew with a touch too much salt in it.

I have to say I’d fallen headover heels in love with Emma. She was amazing in every way. Beautiful, intelligent and witty in every way and what was more she thought I was okay too.

I didn’t want to give up a minute with her.

Pain became a secondary consideration, and I put it out of my mind even though walking was proving to be somewhat difficult.

So, I hobbled along behind her my eyes focused on her delightfully shaped bottom as it jiggled its way in front of me.

My mind drifted to the images of her as she’d emerge from my bathroom, drop her gown and stand there resplendent in front of me, watching me react in the way I was supposed to.

She’d smile and descend on me, gathering me up and sending my mind to places I reserved for such moments as these.

But today she was a little impatient. I was lagging further and further behind, and she was irritated by my slowness.

By the time, we reached home she was well and truly pissed at me, and I knew the moment had gone.

“You’re injured, aren’t you?” she said so matter of fact. “I can see the pain in your eyes, sit down there and let me have a look.”

So, I complied, another reason for her to place her soft hands on me.

She touched my leg, and I jumped in pain. No matter where she placed her delicate hands I was jumping.

Within seconds she had rung for an ambulance, was in my bedroom selecting clothes for the hospital visit and looking bewilderedly at me.

“You men have one thing on your mind no matter what might be ailing you at the time. The promise babe is on hold. I was so looking forward to having you this afternoon. What a let-down. Now I’m going to have to spend untold hours at the hospital waiting for you to get fixed up.”

With that she sat down with a thud, shaking the lounge and adding to my already amount of pain.

“How did this happen?” she asked.

“I was in a hurry to meet up with you I jumped the Barber Shop fence and went arse overhead onto the pavement. It didn’t occur to me I had done any damage until later when I was walking with you.”

“You’re in love babe, that’s the problem. All sense and common sense, in particular, goes out of your mind. No sane person ever tries to jump the Barber Shop fence it’s just too high and too dangerous.”

We sat in silence for a bit waiting for the ambos. Then she looked over at me and saw how forlorn I was looking.

She smiled her captivating smile and said, “But you’re so adorable, so helpless, I might just take advantage of you right now.”

My hopes rose and inch or two just as there was a knock on the door.

 

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2017/07/02/sunday-writing-prompt-july-2-2017-love-flowers/

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Saturday’s Hunt-01 July 2017 – Grief

Posted on July 2, 2017 by Michael

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Google images: Labelled for Re-use

Your task today is to choose an emotion (love, hate, fear, joy, etc.) and fully personify it. 

It started as an ordinary day.

I was at work early. I like to avoid the morning rush. ‘Figures of Speech’ is a popular work place.

As I clocked on around the water cooler there was the usual bunch of similes arguing that ‘as’ was superior to ‘like’. Assonance garbled on in their own lingo, thankfully no one paid them much attention. It was like this every morning, and I couldn’t wait to get to my office and settle in for the day.

Just as I did the message came over, “Three metaphors and a personification, to the office immediately.”

Obviously, a job had come up, and as I was the only one in at that time, I headed to the office.

When I got there, the metaphors had already received their orders, and I was given a piece of paper.

‘The Dooley Funeral at Mortuary Street’, they needed ‘Grief’.

So, I fronted up to the venue, and there it all was. Old man Dooley laid out and around him was gathered his family.

Grief is not an easy emotion to get right. As a personifier, I would have my work cut out for me.

Grief was a subtle business. Too much and no one believed you. Too little and they felt you weren’t trying.

Grief was about projecting sadness. You had to achieve a certain removal from the present as if caught in the memory of the loved one. It didn’t matter to me who it might be it was a matter of projecting and having your audience believe there was sufficient grief being expressed.

I approached the open coffin and looked down at the deceased. I hesitated, my hand went to my mouth, I audibly gasped at the sight of the old man, I shook my head, with head down in my hand I shed a tear, just a little one, no point in over doing the tears, that can be a tad too ostentatious.

I felt an arm around my shoulder, and a comforting voice offered to show me to a seat. I sat in the front row, gazing straight ahead, wiping my eyes at appropriate intervals, nodding to the mourners my acknowledgement of their concerns.

My grief was obvious, the gathered family felt it, the whole service took on an air of solemnity which as it turned out was what the family hoped for as no one apparently was sorry to see the old man go. Hard for them to generate grief when the sad fact was Old Man Dooley was not a good man.

But my appearance gave the service some validity, they went away knowing grief had been there present and they all felt it.

After, I debriefed at the office eager to cast off the shackles I always feel when an emotion is called for.

I called my supervisor requested some happiness as my next job, saying I needed an up after my last job. She agreed and gave me the rest of the day off but warned me that tomorrow there was a job requiring anger and I should prepare.

 

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2017/07/01/saturdays-hunt-01-july-2017/

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Cee’s Which Way Photo Challenge – June 30, 2017

Posted on July 1, 2017 by Michael

Taken early one morning in June, Maitland NSW Australia.

The Hunter River looking west, I liked the reflections in the water.

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This one is taken looking east with the sun reflecting of the water.

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For: https://ceenphotography.com/2017/06/30/cees-which-way-photo-challenge-june-30-2017/

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Music Prompt #8: “Calm Before The Storm” by Sarah Ross #amwriting #musicchallenge #music

Posted on July 1, 2017 by Michael

https://www.youtube.com/watch?list=RDZH80uXuaZoI&v=X9d5Zd3AMIk

 

She asked him the question: Why did you lie?

Shrugging he doesn’t know why,

Or does he?

It’s about saving grace

Deep inside alarm bells ring out

He wants her to love him

To see him as a good man

But his undermining her trust weighs heavily on her.

Placating her, hiding his flaws

It is the calm before the storm

A state he generates to save his arse.

Like a series of battles

He lurches from one to the other

Desperately clinging to her

Fearful she’ll walk away and leave him alone.

She looks at him ruefully

Her disappointment obvious

She wants him to trust her

Be himself

Not pretend he is someone else

A bigger man that he really is

After all, she thinks lightning can strike but twice

Is more than bad luck.

 

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2017/06/30/music-prompt-8-calm-before-the-storm-by-sarah-ross-amwriting-musicchallenge-music/

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Thursday photo prompt – Flight – #writephoto – Birds at Sunrise

Posted on June 30, 2017 by Michael

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Dawn is a favoured time for me.

It heralds the new day and marks the end of the darkness.

Outside I hear the birds chorus

It goes on and on and always with an intensity that suggests something very important is being discussed.

Some morning I get up to watch the sunrise, and against the twittering of birds, I see the sun poke its head over the hill to my east.

Then the kookaburras start, their laughter echoes across the valley as from tree to tree they fly staking their territory for all other birds to marvel at.

Some mornings I wander down to the back fence where if I’m quiet enough the ducks will come and sit along the fence line in front of me.

They are big ducks, enough for a family of five I think. But I don’t have the wherewithal to do anything apart from wonder at their size and tastiness.

Lastly, as the sun spreads itself across the yard and begins to warm my shivering self, I hear the Magpies begin their ceremonial warbling. It is melodious and warming on a cold morning as if another language is being spoken to welcome in the new day.

 

Written for: https://scvincent.com/2017/06/29/thursday-photo-prompt-writephoto-flight/

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June 29: Flash Fiction Challenge – Frayed

Posted on June 30, 2017 by Michael

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June 29, 2017 prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story about something frayed. It could be fabric, like a flag or garment. It could also be nerves or temper. What is it to be frayed?

 

Roger and Mary’s marriage was frayed to breaking point. Long had gone the means of communication they once enjoyed. Nowadays their relationship consisted of a series of grunts in greeting the start of a day the ending of the same.

The trust they held in one another was considerably threadbare, their physical contact was tattered, ragged and holey. In fact, Mary found Roger shabby in every way.

It was the start of another day, and Roger grunted to Mary to pass the sugar as he sweetened his coffee the only sweet thing left in his frayed and moth-eaten life.

 

Written for: https://carrotranch.com/2017/06/30/june-29-flash-fiction-challenge-2/

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Tale Weaver #126 – Death (2) – 29/6/17 – The Red Heart

Posted on June 29, 2017 by Michael

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Google images: Labelled for re-use.

Death did on occasion find a soul with a red heart attached.

He was never too sure who put it there, but he suspected it was the Giver of Life from upstairs.

Before him lay, Amy Wallace, 84 years of age and about to breathe her last.

One of the things Death liked about his job was a person’s life was there before him at the moment of their death. It made determination easy.

Amy Wallace’s life had been a difficult one. Abuse as a child, a neglectful mother, a disrupted childhood, rape as a teenager and a child from the first rape, a marriage to a disturbed man full of perversities and then a withdrawal from society inside a second marriage that was safe and secure.

What made Amy’s life different was her determination to not just breath and keep breathing but to do something with each breath she took.

It took her a long time to acquire the courage, but after years of re-living her past, she decided to write her story. It was not only an act of incredible bravery to face once again the demons of her past, but in her writing, she reached out to other victims of abuse and so took on an advocacy role, one she never imagined could happen.

Her work opened doors for other abuse victims to reveal and tell their story and take the first tentative steps towards healing and finding peace in their lives.

Amy Wallace was no great stand-out woman. She was a small lady, and as Death looked at her lying in her bed, her long brushed grey hair sitting either side of her face he couldn’t help but marvel at what she had accomplished.

The red heart was a clear indication of where she was to go next. Reaching down he took her hand and led her to the waiting angel.

 

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2017/06/29/tale-weaver-126-death-29617/

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Tale Weaver #126 – Death – 29/6/17

Posted on June 29, 2017 by Michael

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Google images: Labelled for re-use.

It was another day, and Death looked around the nursing home. There were numerous occupants taking their next to last breath. Death was glad he didn’t have to breath it seemed like such an onerous task. He felt sorry for those for whom pneumonia was the cause to take away their lives but everyone had an appointed day and who was he to argue about it.

It never ceased to amaze him that souls were surprised when it all happened. Admittedly he wasn’t the most welcoming sight in the hereafter, but everyone has a job was how he’d argued it.

On busy days, he left the souls floating around above their bodies as he went around and assessed each soul for its likely destination. Which wasn’t all that hard he had to admit. It was either an upward journey or a downward one.

The two angels, who represented their respective destinations were always hovering around waiting for Death to finish with the souls before giving them either a helping hand on the upward journey or a push towards the down elevator.

The Angels were known to argue from time to time over his determinations but his word was final, and when disputes arose he would point to his job description outlining the fact that his word could not be disputed and that he had determined correctly.

The old man in room 222 had passed away, alone and in the spirit of a man who had lived his life alienating as many people as he could. There was no one there to hold his hand as was the case so often and Death always though it was a quaint custom as if the dead or near dead actually gave a rat’s arse when Death stared them in the eye.

The old lady in Room 343 had passed from the mortal world and into his with a tribe of teary people gathered round her bed. They clearly mourned her death and Death couldn’t help but find a smile in the old lady’s first words to him, “Get me out of here.”

Often in the background, he’d hear the two angels, Wayne and Greg, discussing the preferred destination of the respective souls. Death paid them no heed for he had learned over eternity that they were greedy entities who didn’t really care what happened even though he knew they’d argue the opposite.

He’d learned that the middle ground between the up and down needed to be used as if he wasn’t careful he’d find the angels pushing and shoving a soul between them as neither thought the soul belonged to them.

To save himself grief he’d listen for a moment or two then with a flick of his fingers send the often-bewildered soul into the glass room where they got to see below as well as up top.

He often didn’t have time to meditate nor consider their objections and arguments as some days he was run off his feet, well if he had feet he was sure he’d be run off them. It was exhausting when there was a natural disaster in one part of the world, and in another, some lunatic had blown him or herself up.

It came as such a disappointment to them to discover there was no heaven as they imagined it just a lot of dissatisfaction over the promises made.

Death had long thought of humans as such a fickle lot.

If they only realised the man upstairs was a nice man but one not to be trifled with and the man downstairs was also a nice man and one who loved a good trifle.

Checking his list, he moved on to the next room. A Mrs  Wallace he noticed. This Mrs Wallace had a red heart against her name. Not many souls possessed a red heart. When he saw her, he knew why immediately.

 

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2017/06/29/tale-weaver-126-death-29617/

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Writespiration #122 52 Weeks in 52 Words Week 26 – Toast

Posted on June 29, 2017 by Michael

photo4design.com-80204-bread-toast-with-jam-on-it.

This week write about

Toast.

My grandson and I meet each week after his day at school. We make great toast, or we did. Each time the smoke alarm goes off no matter how careful we are. However, rushing to quieten the alarm is no fun. Toast with strawberry jam, it doesn’t get any better than that.

Written for: http://sachablack.co.uk/2017/06/28/writespiration-122-52-weeks-in-52-words-week-26/#more-5528

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