100 Word Wednesday: Week 25 – Fishing with Grandad.

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Going fishing with Grandad was an experience.

He had favourite spots where he knew he’d catch whatever was on that day.

He was fussy about his bait. Worms were his preferred bait, prawns for the days when he was more interested in sitting and watching the harbour than catching anything.

He always carried a hessian bag with him to hold his catch. One day he caught a few before realising the bag had a hole in it. He reckoned the fish were swimming out of the bag and back onto his hook.

It was a story to remember.

Written for: https://bikurgurl.com/2017/06/28/100-word-wednesday-week-25/

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FFfAW Challenge-Week of June 27, 2017 – The Bunyip Will Get You

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Image: Mark with @any1mark66.

My mother would shriek telling us the bunyip would get us if we didn’t behave.

We loved to play along the creek that ran behind our place. It was an adventure wonderland as there was no end to the exploring we did and the things we found.

One day she’d discovered we’d used her best bed sheets to dump mud from the creek on. We argued there might be gold in the creek, but mum just roared all the louder.

“He’s gonna get cha,” she yelled at us dragging her best linen into the laundry.

We went back to the creek and noticed there was something different. The water was more murky than normal.

I picked up a rock to lob into the brown water just as a scaly hand shot out and then everything went black.

My brother John and I had become statues on the creek bank. In the distance, mum was singing to herself. Birds flew round us, and a large duck crapped on my head.

Our new lives had begun.

 

Written for: https://flashfictionforaspiringwriters.wordpress.com/2017/06/26/fffaw-challenge-week-of-june-27-2017/

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Twittering Tale #36 – 27 June 2017

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It’s a long way to the top if you want to rock and roll.
Songs in my head but I want off now.
Whose idea was this?
My feet long for the earth.

Written for: https://katmyrman.com/2017/06/27/twittering-tale-36-27-june-2017/

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Photo Challenge #171 – Does She Dare.

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Image: Natalia Fadejeva

She couldn’t remember the last time everything went smoothly.

Maybe it was yesterday?

Last week?

Last year?

Now she felt it was all too late.

Forces had taken hold, there was no way out.

She longed for change.

She longed for a new location.

To every turn there was another turn,

One called guilt weighed heavily upon her.

To counter it she stayed away.

Reeled herself in should she fall again to temptation.

The mind is willing she told herself

But the flesh is mighty weak.

In her quiet moments she lusted,

She fantasised, she imagined herself in his arms

His strength entwined around her

Keeping her safe, secure and allowing her to project

A life that was uncomplicated

Where her desire was met and she felt sated.

For so long her body ached to be touched

To be held,

To be shown some glimmer of attraction.

The gentle man was so close

She could reach out and touch him

Feel his warmth encircle her

Know within him there was hope

For a life where so much was destroyed.

She could find succour,

Not left bleeding, allowing life to ebb away.

Turning she saw the gentle man once again,

He stood before her, hand held out

She wondered if she dare reach back.

 

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2017/06/27/photo-challenge-171/

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Wordle #161 – Ronny Scarp

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This week’s words: Insulin Posture Shake Suffer Cloudburst Immure (v.)) to enclose within walls. to shut in; seclude or confine. to imprison. to build into or entomb in a wall. obsolete. to surround with walls; fortify.) Hereafter Slovenly Radiate Gladiola Restaurant Galimatias (n)) Nonsense (A secret that must be kept on pain of death.)

When you reached the hereafter, there were only two considerations. You caught the lift up, or you took the lift down.

The lift down meant an eternity of fine restaurants, great food, the finest sushi and public bathhouses.

The lift up meant eternal hymn singing, a decent ham sandwich on every street corner and endless choir rehearsal.

This was eternity where everyone was catered for in one form or another.

The thought of downstairs as being a world of suffering was a long-held myth. Sure, you could be given a decent shake up, your slovenly ways made plain to you that they would not be tolerated and you’d better shape up, or you’d be shipped out. Tolerance wasn’t a virtue espoused in the downstairs department. You wanted tolerance you took the lift up.

It was during a cloudburst of biblical proportions that Ronny Scarp came face to face with his eternity. He became stranded, suffered a major diabetic attack as his insulin levels peaked or didn’t peak whichever way you wanted to think about it. Either way, Ronny found himself staring into his eternity unsure as to whether or not he was an upstairs or downstairs man.

The beauty of the hereafter is that you are immured from the constraints of the earthly life, in the hereafter you can radiate your own kind of goodness, tolerance or indifference safe in the knowledge that a good immurement ensures you of a hereafter that could possibly be just yours.

It surprised most people that Ronny should die such an inglorious death. For in the next life Ronny was able to exercise his galimatias, his secret love of cooking and found in Hell’s Restaurant just the place to practice his culinary skills.

Not only was a closeted chef he also harboured a passion to be a florist and so he soon had the restaurant adorned with the finest gladiola he could find.

Hell’s Restaurant was a changed place under Ronny Scarp’s direction.

But one thing he did insist on was his restaurant staff carry themselves with as correct posture as they could manage. After all, Ronny argued a meal delivered by a well-postured waiter made the meal all that more palatable.

 

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2017/06/26/wordle-161/

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Writing prompt 25th June, Mothers

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Image: Mother’s Love.

My mother would have been 92 years old this year. Sadly, for her and for me she died in 1983, aged 57.

At the time of her death, all her children had moved out, and she and my dad were the only ones at home.

Mum was an active woman, she played tennis until arthritis in her hands stopped that, but she found an outlet in playing lawn bowls and on the day of her death she had been to bowls.

My mother I suspect had a kidney disease that led to her laying down for a nap and never waking from.

Losing a parent is always a hard thing no matter the circumstances but losing a parent so suddenly brings on a numbness that stays with you forever.

My mother was a housewife, she came from a period where being the keeper of the house and looking after the kids was what mothers did. Every morning as I grew up she would have some kind of cooked breakfast for me. Often left overs from the day before. She would have to radio on (we didn’t have a TV in those days), and there was the morning newspaper delivered to our front yard.

The one thing I recall was the futility of telling mum you were sick and couldn’t go to school. Unless you were covered in spots or had a limb missing her reply was always the same: “You’ll be alright once you get going.”

To my eternal annoyance, she was always right.

She read romance fiction, but not Georgette Heyer, I suspect Georgette was a tad risqué for mum. She had us up at 6.30 every Sunday morning to have us to Mass at 7 am. Afterwards, there was always bacon and eggs for breakfast.

As a cook, my mum left a lot to be desired. All meats, no matter what, would be cooked to resemble elephants arse.

But she had a sense of humour, she encouraged us to play sport, play outside and to on occasion read. I think she was pleased to see how each of her children turned out. We all have traits of our mother about us, and I think that is a good thing that she lives on inside of us.

MUM

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2017/06/25/writing-prompt-25th-june-mothers/

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Writing Prompt #213 “It’s All in the Title” – Jess Sops

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The Girl Who Became a Bear

Jess Sops was a lively girl, and it came as a great surprise to everyone around her when she turned into a bear. Unusual as it was, as in Australia, there were no bears apart from the few to be found in the zoos.

Jess Sops just disappeared one day and where she had been when she vanished a bear was to be found.

It was an unusual bear in that it wasn’t a recognisable bear as in a grizzly or a panda. Rather Jess Sops had become a bear unique to herself.

When she was first discovered it was apparent Jess was struggling to get the hang of being a bear.

She would sit and preen herself, lick her bits and behave as if she was a cat in a bear’s skin. As you know people can be cruel in their criticism and Jess as a bear had a thin skin and took all criticism of her bearedness to heart.

Breathing deeply, she took to growling, worked hard on a growl that would be both scary and believable. By standing on her hind legs and achieving a height that was always going to be impressive, she sucked in a huge breath and roared her anger at the world. It sent the locals running, Jess Sops was becoming a living breathing bear, one to be reckoned with but more so one to be respected.

The community rallied together, and steps were put in motion to rid the community of the potential Jess Sops presented to them. They ensnared her in a trap, sedated her, transported her to the local zoo, placed her in a cage and waited for her to wake up.

Upon waking Jess Sops roared her dissatisfaction and threw herself on the bars of her cage.

She was decidedly unhappy never thinking people would see her as any sort of danger. After all, Jess Sops had been a lively girl. It came as a surprise to her community as well as herself that she needed to be locked up to protect them as much as herself.

She fell into a dark place, sat in the back of her cage and when she wasn’t sleeping she cried soft bear tears.

She liked being a bear, she liked the instincts that came with being a bear. Living in a cage was not addressing any of her needs. So, she withdrew. The zoo keepers worried about her. They tried to give her foods they thought she would like. She refused, chewing only on some bamboo shoots.

One morning they discovered her cage was open and Jess Sops was gone. Her tracks led to the forest on the edge of town.

They never recaptured her, she roams the bush, well away from humans who had the sense to leave Jess Sops alone, for she had become a lively bear.

 

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2017/06/25/writing-prompt-205-its-all-in-the-title/

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Saturday’s Mix–24 June 2017 – Shifting the Piano

The task today is to write a short prose or poetry piece that illustrates the importance of sound in the world around us.

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Bang, crash, hold on!

Hold your end up!

Ugh…can’t, thud, ugh, puffing, puffed.

What’s wrong with you? This was all your idea!

I didn’t think it would be so heavy.

It’s a piano idiot. Heavy is its middle name.

Grab hold. Lift.

Grunt, puff, shove,

Crash, smash, tinkle,

Mum’s best vase? How are you gonna explain that?

It stepped in front of us?

For goodness sake. One two three lift!

Grind, scrap, splinter,

I’m losing it

Hang on

Can’t

It’s going!

No, we’re half way up the stairs!

Its toppling, sorry!

Thudding over it spits out an assortment of melodic notes

Lands with an almighty crash on the bottom floor,

Dust clouds up towards us

A single middle C is heard.

Dust settles

Our laboured breathing subsides

We are alive

And middle C is still singing.

 

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2017/06/24/saturdays-mix-24-june-2017/

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First Line Friday -June 23rd 2017 – My Parents.

This week’s first line:

My parents are not generous, with money or affection. 

 

Expectations are low

Father works away

Mother is ill,

Spends her days in bed

Says she is ill unable to cope

We kids run wild, except for me

I care for her

Run errands

Feed her meals of milky slop.

My father’s home on weekends

Collapses in his chair

Says leave me alone, I’m too tired to play.

Mother staggers from her nest

Feigns interest in him and us.

He falls asleep until Sunday night

Packs his bag and away he goes.

Mother retires to her bed

The cycle begins again.

I shop and buy the chocolates she craves

Two-minute noodles for the kids and I.

My parents don’t know generosity,

They never received what they cannot give.

 

 

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2017/06/23/first-line-friday-june-23rd-2017/

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Cee’s Which Way Photo Challenge – June 23, 2017

Early morning at the local train station.

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East Maitland Station, 6.30am in June, our winter….the building lit up is the old ticket office in the days when the train ran to Morpeth.

Today the old East Maitland to Morpeth Station and platform has been maintained.

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For: https://ceenphotography.com/2017/06/23/cees-which-way-photo-challenge-june-23-2017/

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