Wordle #158 – One Man’s Golem’s Truth

Posted on June 5, 2017 by Michael

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This week’s words: Background Please Awestruck Tend Parallel Mal de coucou (n.)) a phenomenon in which you have an active social life but very few close friends—people who you can trust, who you can be yourself with, who can help flush out the weird psychological toxins that tend to accumulate over time—which is a form of acute social malnutrition in which even if you devour an entire buffet of chitchat, you’ll still feel pangs of hunger.) Smoke Spill Nerve Strong Desire Golem’s Truth (A secret that must be kept on pain of death. )

You have to understand the background to the story. You need to understand the boy was bound by Golem’s truth and no amount of coercion or goading was going to change anything.

He was lucky in that he was a perfect example of mal de coucou. Always out, always wanting to please, always a strong desire to suck up to anyone who might afford him the attention he craved. It was all to no avail as try as he might friends were hard to find mainly because he came across as such a shallow character and he tended to end most evenings after buttering up a so-called friend with a request or in some cases a demand for money.

There was no doubt he had a real nerve to be putting the hard word on people. He was especially awestruck by anyone who purported to be famous in any way. Even if a guy had lit a match to allow a possible celebrity to smoke that was enough to have him on your doorstep, so to speak.

The Golem’s truth for this guy lay in his living a parallel life. On the one hand, he was a married man, three kids house in the burbs on the other hand he was a flyby the seat of your pants guy, out and partying, rubbing shoulders with the so called rich and famous only to go home each night alone never to spill his guts to his wife, who incidentally loved him with a passion though I could never understand why.

Had he revealed his secret, his Golem’s truth, his wife was more than capable of bring about his demise.

 

written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2017/06/05/wordle-158/

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Tale Weaver – No 122 – 1/6/17 – The Doomsberry Park – Part 6

Posted on June 5, 2017 by Michael

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Image © Mara Eastern (Used with Permission)

“Just along a bit’ proved like so much in Doomsberry Park to be further than Trica anticipated.

“Be careful where you step,” shouted a voice to her left.

“Oh, I am sorry, but I can’t see you, can I?” said Trica wanting to apologise and get to talk to someone as she made her way along the path.

“Occupational hazard in these parts, getting stepped on, run into, bumped and pushed.”

“Well, I am sorry. What is your name?

“Evan Davy.”

“Evan??”

“Yes, Evan. Are you going to make fun of my name? Typical of your younger generation. If my name was Twaddlebutt or Whatfour you wouldn’t bat an eyelid would you.”

“No, I’m not going to make fun of your name, it’s just taken me by surprise when I think of the names I’ve learned along the way.”

“Huh, I’ve heard that before. Anyway, you’d best be getting along, I believe you are looking for Maunchy Munchinson. She’ll have heard all about you by now. Bad news travels fast in the Park. Now, mind you don’t step on my tail.”

“You’ve a tail?”

“Well that’s the last straw, get going before I materialise and we all know you wouldn’t like that.”

“Stinky words?

“And tail. Now begone.”

With that Trica heard a scurrying as Evan moved away.

Trica turned to continue only to discover the path had changed. Where prior it had been a windy path now it was straight, and at the end, she could see figures in black milling about.

This was what she had been looking for so she hurried along wanting and hoping that Maunchy Munchinson would be there to greet her.

As she drew nearer a small woman, dressed in black, a sharp pointy hat on her head stood in the middle of the path.

The woman stood with her hands on her hips as if growing impatient. From under her hat flashes of grey were mixed with her abundant stock of dark hair. There was something about Maunchy that suggested both ‘don’t mess with me’ and ‘can I help you, dear’.

Of course, Trica thought this was in keeping with the whole nature of Doomsberry Park.

“Well, you took your time I have to say that. Stop along the way to chat, did you? The snail in the fez? Adolphus?”

“Well yes there were a few stops. But I want to see Maunchy Munchinson.”

“I am Maunchy Munchinson. I’m important, and I’m busy. So, what do you want?”

“Hello Miss Munchinson, I’m Trica, and I’ve had a heck of a time getting here. I’m a witch chaser and I’ve love to interview you.”

“Witch chaser? As in you’ll chase me?”

“It’s a figurative term Miss Munchinson.”

Maunchy looked her over, it was one of those faces that told you, you weren’t getting very far and it reminded Trica of the help she’d received along the way. Both helpful and unhelpful all at the same time.

“I don’t do interviews, too much bother and a waste of time. On top of that I can see straight away, I don’t like you.”

Suddenly Trica felt isolated. The other witches were now watching, muttering among themselves and Trica was beginning to feel uncomfortable.

Maunchy Munchinson looked Trica over and then turned away beckoning her to follow. She walked to where the other witches were gathered. They were standing around a cauldron giving Trica furtive glances as she approached.

The cauldron was a large round pot hung over a raging fire, steam floated out of it, and when Trica stopped, she could hear it bubbling away. Though it wasn’t a normal bubble as she was sure she could hear what she imagined were groans, burp, farts and the odd obscenity.

“Girls are playing with a new recipe,” explained Maunchy, “we’re seeing what goats pee, mixed with carrot and tomato juice might bring to the table. Nothing so far apart from a lot of words we didn’t know existed.”

Just then the witches gasped in surprise as a new word came from the cauldron and the witch with the note pad noted it down.

“That’s eleven,’ she exclaimed, and the other witches leant in closer to the bubbling vat. One witch a woman somewhat taller than the rest held her hand over the cauldron and with a deft flick of her fingers dropped in more ingredient.

There was an explosion, a series of long drawn out farts and the contents of the vat materialised into a spectre the likes of which terrified Trica. Whilst Trica stood there trembling the witches, Maunchy included, broke out into a generous round of applause.

“Is this what you do?” asked Trica stepping a little further away from the witches.

“It’s all we can do now days,” explained Maunchy, “play with things, see what happens, mix a bit of that with a bit of this and that then see if anything interesting happens. Agnes Whistledung takes copious notes, Maggy Gustywindcharm is the recipe guide, the others offer support and encouragement, oh and the little one on the end, Crazy Manzy Pansyheart, she sings and keeps us entertained.”

Suddenly Trica had learned a lot. She looked at Maunchy Munchinson and asked, “So an interview?”

Written for:  https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2017/06/01/tale-weaver-no-122-1617-the-park/

 

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Saturday’s Mix–3 June 2017 – Behind My Place

Posted on June 4, 2017 by Michael

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Image © morpethroad

It’s always been there

A farm behind my place.

There was a dairy once,

Fields that grew potatoes

Attracting a mechanical digger

And rows of men and women

Dragging metal drums as they made the harvest,

Filled huge hessian sacks

Before shipping them to market.

Today they grow feed crops

Raise cattle for  the meat market

Breeding new generations

From a very contented bull.

 

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2017/06/03/saturdays-mix-3-june-2017/

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Writing Prompt June 4th – Story Elements

Posted on June 4, 2017 by Michael

The words are: Glass, Darth Vader, napkin, cellphone, lighter, book, anger, trouble, mind

The task is: I would like you to progressively, in the order that I wrote the words, create a story or a poem or whatever you feel like.

 

With the tinkling of glasses and the tapping of attention, we knew something was coming. Sure, enough at Archie’s fifth birthday there was Grandad doing his bit for Archie’s Star Wars theme.

Grandad made a triumphant entry as Darth Vader, breathing heavily and uttering in his deepest voice; “Archie, come to the dark side.”

Archie was folding napkins and was somewhat non-plussed by Grandad’s entry much to grandad’s disappointment.

Mum had her cellphone out snapping pictures and urging Archie to stand with grandad who beneath his hot, heavy mask was probably breathing very heavily.

Dad as always frustrated by his father’s antics took out his lighter as he headed out the door to have a smoke in the garden.

Archie meanwhile had taken a fascination to Aunty Iris’ gift, a book, entitled “The Illustrated Star Wars” and was soon in a corner, huddled into the beanbag studiously turning the pages of his new-found treasure.

Grandad was not happy and as we all knew an angry grandad was never a pretty sight. There would be trouble and Grandad always wanting attention turned his mind quickly to gaining what he most craved.

In hindsight, we thought he went a little too far in taking out his light sabre and slashing Archie’s new book in half.

 

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2017/06/04/writing-prompt-june-4th-story-elements/

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Tale Weaver – No 122 – 1/6/17 – The Doomsberry Park – Part 5

Posted on June 4, 2017 by Michael

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Image: © Mara Eastern (Used with Permission)

Trica was never one for venturing down dirt tracks overgrown with vines and vegetation which did all it could to hinder your progress but she was focused on finding Maunchy Munchinson, and if it meant struggling along this track and having her legs, arms and other bits scratched and bruised then so be it.

After persevering for some time and beginning to experience that feeling of hopelessness, she came to a small clearing. There was a sign in front of her announcing: “The Village of Doomsberry”.

Looking around all she could see was a vacant block of land. Not a village, not even a building could be seen.

“All a bit sad isn’t it,” said a voice to her right.

Trica turned to where the voice had come from, but there was no one there.

“Are you another faceless voice?” she asked after all she was getting a bit fed up with voices that came from nowhere and from bodies that had no bodies.

“Afraid so,” said the voice, “it’s better this way.”

“How could it be better, I find it rude that everyone in here seems to be a voice and nothing more.”

“As I said its better this way. If I manifested myself to you, you’d run off screaming. It’s no coincidence the Doomsberry Asylum is located outside the gates to the park. Lots of former visitors in there you know.”

“Are you hideously deformed, or all jelly and pus or something?” asked Trica.

None of that, if I showed myself to you, you’d know immediately why its best I’m invisible. In fact, my wife says I’m at my most attractive when she can’t see me.”

“It’s all so silly if you ask me.”

“You see our problem is out words stink.”

“Your words stink?”

“Yes, horrible so I’m told. You’d reel and probably keel over it would be so over whelming.”

“Well,” said Trica I’ve enough issues with stinky words to contend with.”

“Well good, glad we’ve settled that. You won’t need to ask that question, again will you?”

“No, but can you tell me about the village of Doomsberry?”

“That I can. The doomsberry was ab actual berry you know. Sweet and succulent, people came from miles around to sample it. There was an annual doomsberry festival at harvest time. The berries grew all the way around the town, hence the name, of course.”

“So, what happened?”

“Doomsberry was the meeting place of the witches you see. They brought wealth and prosperity to the place. Then one day there was a dispute over ownership of the berries and one of the witches made up a potion, in haste and hatred I have to add, spread it over the berries and killed them all off. It was a terrible time. The community exiled the witches but it meant the end of the good times for the community. Over time everyone either died off or moved away. Soon it was a ghost town and over the years the buildings all collapsed and now you see it as a vacant parcel of land.”

“That’s so sad,” said Trica who had listened closely.

“No doomsberries is even sadder. They could give you a well-earned tilt to your kilt or a lift like you wouldn’t believe.”

“Well I have to be getting on,” said Trica, I still want to find the witches and talk with Maunchy Munchinson.”

“The witches? Just along a bit and around the corner,” said the voice, you watch out for the leaky cauldron, step around the cactus grove and take a left at the big red wand, don’t go right that’s just a dead end, I think, not many come back who turn right to verify that theory.”

“Thank you,” said Trica, “do you have a name?”

“Name? Oh, its Augustus Snotfellow, on account of my nose. But you’ll have to take my word for that.”

“Thank you, Augustus,” replied Trica as she stepped towards the sign conveniently pointing the direction to “Just Along a Bit”.

Written for:  https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2017/06/01/tale-weaver-no-122-1617-the-park/

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Tale Weaver – No 122 – 1/6/17 – The Doomsberry Park – Part 4

Posted on June 2, 2017 by Michael

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Image: © Mara Eastern (Used with Permission)

Trica headed off down the path in what she thought was a reasonable direction. The vegetation was stunning and she was distracted at one point by a rustling in the grass to her left. Looking down she saw a giant snake winding its way into the thick foliage.

The sight of such a huge reptile did unnerve her but she was determined to reach the far side of the park and there find the witches group and Maunchy Munchinson. Turning back Trica stopped in her tracks. The path she was following had disappeared and before her was a wall of lantana vines and a tropical forest that was going to be almost impossible to get through.

This was what she feared about the park. The stories were true that things changed in the park. Usually when you weren’t looking which was a nuisance when you thought you had the direction you needed to be going in firmly set in your mind.

It was then she heard a voice. Voices she had concluded were not unusual in the park and this was another who seemed to be talking to her.

“Hey what are you doing here?”

“I’m on my way to see the witches,” answered Trica.

“Foolish girl,” came the answer, “you’ll not find them here. They live way over to the north.”

“Everyone knows that,” came another voice.

“You’re wasting your time, might as well go back,” came the first voice.

“No,” replied Trica, “I’m going to see Maunchy Munchinson and I’m sure the path was right here in front of me.”

“Deceptive, this park,” came another voice.

“Maunchy Munchinson? She’s a witch, isn’t she?” asked a voice. Trica was getting confused by all the voices who seemed to have their own agendas and who seem to speak at once.

“Yes,” answered Trica now feeling more determined than ever.

“Salt of the earth,” came a voice she hadn’t heard before, but one that was laced with an air of authority. “Give her my regards when you see her. Lovely woman, you’ll like her.”

“And who might you be?” asked Trica

“Adolphus Crapstick, at your service.”

“But where are you?” asked Trica looking everywhere for the source of the voice, the first positive one she’d heard in the garden.

“Here there and everywhere to be honest. You can’t see me. If you could you’d be horrified to be sure. Best it’s this way. Even my wife likes me most when she can’t see me.”

Trica was growing more and more intrigued by the happenings in the park. Voices with no bodies and paths that disappeared.

“So where should I go Adolphus? I do want to reach the witches group.”

“Got to hand it to you for determination. You are going to need it my dear. You see the gap in the bushes to your left?”

“Yes,” said Trica looking about and seeing a small gap and dirt track leading off into the undergrowth.

“Well take that path and stay on it, don’t deviate or you may encounter things you don’t want to encounter. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” said Trica her interest further piqued by this last statement. “Thank you, Adolphus, for your assistance.”

“My pleasure, it’s nice to meet someone who values my advice. Not everyone around here thinks I have anything worthwhile to say.”

At that a chorus of voices broke out in: “Don’t listen to him.” “Go back.” “Cut and run.” They sounded all around her and she was frightened by the intensity of the chorus.

“Don’t pay them any attention. Jealousy is such a curse don’t you agree? Most of them wouldn’t know a witch if they saw one. Then again most of them are here because of the witches, but maybe I shouldn’t have said that?”

Feeling somewhat unnerved again Trica decided to take the dirt track and see what lay in store for her.

 

Written for:  https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2017/06/01/tale-weaver-no-122-1617-the-park/

 

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June 1: Flash Fiction Challenge – Contented

Posted on June 2, 2017 by Michael

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June 1, 2017, prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story about feeling content. Explore what is contentment and any direction will do. Go where the prompt leads.

She watched him breathing deeply, the look on his face told her so much but she wanted to hear what he might say.

“So how are you feeling?”

“Very contented,” he replied in between breaths.

“So, what does that mean?

He waited a few minutes before replying. “I feel loved like never before, you have accepted me with all my flaws, and despite that, we get along so well.”

“You are worth it babe,” she said kissing him lightly on the cheek.

“You make me feel so good about myself.”

“It’s what happens when both of us are contented.”

 

Written for: https://carrotranch.com/2017/06/02/june-1-flash-fiction-challenge/

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Tale Weaver – No 122 – 1/6/17 – The Doomsberry Park – Part 3

Posted on June 2, 2017 by Michael

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Image: © Mara Eastern (Used with Permission)

Trica entered through the doorway and stood mesmerized by what she saw. There was Doomsberry Park just as she’d been told and as she’d imagined. It stretched out in front of her, a conglomeration of vegetation of every kind and a criss-cross of paths leading in directions she knew not.

Her first task was to find the centre of the park as from there she knew she would be able to locate the witches and in particular Maunchy Munchinson whom she had come all this way to find.

First, she took out her compass but to her surprise it did not want to cooperate. The directional dial spun from clockwise to anti-clockwise and eventually settled with the pointer showing her north.

As she took a first step the dial spun again and for every step it pointed in a different direction. Feeling exasperated she put the compass in her pocket and decided to follow the path thinking it had to lead somewhere which at the moment was better than nowhere.

The walk through the park was nothing short of exhilarating. The vegetation was lush and green and she noticed the exotic alongside the not exotic. Occasionally she saw small piles of weeds on the side of the path evidence she took as someone must be here.

Around a sharp corner, she came upon the centre of the park. There were groups of people huddled over tables playing chess, checkers and at one end a group working together on a jig-saw puzzle the like of which she had never seen before. It must have been at least six feet square and around it were groups of old men arguing with each other over which bit went where and why.

Trica stood and watched as around her activity occurred and she looked to ask one person sitting on her own as to how to find the witches group.

“Excuse me,” she began, “but can you tell me how I might find the witches group?”

The woman she addressed looked up at her and then looked her up and down. “And who might you be?” she asked.

“I’m Trica,” she replied, “I’ve just found my way here and now I’m keen to find Maunchy Munchinson.”

“What on earth for?” asked the woman incredulously.

“I’m a witch chaser and I’m chasing an interview with Maunchy Munchinson.”

The woman looked back down at her book and continued to read. Trica waited a few minutes before thinking there was going to be no information gleaned from this woman and began to look for another source of information. As she moved away the woman said: “It’s down the path and left at the hag’s cottage. You can’t miss it, though you might wish later you did.”

“Thank you,” answered Trica and began to step towards the direction the woman had given her.

“The witches meet at the end of the path, a bit like at the end of the world. Remember the way my dear, it can be a long way back. They aren’t there for no reason you know.”

Trica listened to the woman’s words and headed off thinking; ‘In a garden like this what could there be that might bring you harm?’

 

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2017/06/01/tale-weaver-no-122-1617-the-park/

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Thursday photo prompt: Knock #writephoto – Dinner at the Dumps

Posted on June 2, 2017 by Michael

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From the moment, we arrived at the Dump house we knew we were not in for a pleasant evening. The door knocker said it all. Aggression, intolerance, arrogance and a pretty good smattering of ‘eat shit and die’.

Door knockers can say all those things, and the Dump’s house was one of those that spoke of defiance in the face of logic and common sense.

Inside the furnishings were all polished within an inch of their lives and you had the feeling that should you sit on anything the moment you stood up a servant would appear with a polishing cloth to remove all vestige of you having been there.

We were greeted cordially I have to say, but the first thing we noticed was there was not a lot of opportunity for conversation as Ronny Dump was a man who liked to dominate the conversation, or should I say the diatribe he started the night with.

From politics to the economy he had an opinion on it and was only more than happy to look you down and argue the futility of any argument contrary to his.

It came as no relief to be served dinner, which I must add was superb, the steak and tomato sauce a combination I might not serve but in another man’s house and I didn’t have to cook it, so I was fine to indulge myself.

After dinner, he continued and by the time we were wanting to leave, for our sanities sake, he had enlisted three other guests in supporting his claims for business improvements that would benefit his own financial concerns.

It was a most unpleasant evening and as we left, glad to be out of the place, the door knocker again reminded me that all was not well in a world that promoted self-promotion over the good of all.

 

Written for: https://scvincent.com/2017/06/01/thursday-photo-prompt-knock-writephoto/

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Tale Weaver – No 122 – 1/6/17 – The Doomsberry Park – Part 2

Posted on June 1, 2017 by Michael

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Image © Mara Eastern (Used with permission)

Tricia had decided that as a witch chaser first class she would go all out to find Doomsberry Park. After all, it couldn’t be all that hard to find a park that was written about so much.

On top of that, she really wanted to meet up with Maunchy Munchinson the head witch of Doomsberry Park. Maunchy was a legend in witch chaser circles, and a meeting with her would put Tricia up into the higher echelons of witch chasing.

Tricia had read and re-read the reports about the park. Between the southern and northern gates of the Doomsberry Estate was a doorway that led into it.

The Doomsberry Estate was the largest parcel of land within the town and easy to find. The difficulty arose in determining the southern and northern ends.

But undeterred she set off. She had a compass which she reasoned had to give her the right directions at least. She had also read every Harry Potter novel several times over and so knew all about things that changed for no explicable reason.

Her friend Lorraine had spent the day before going over with her the plans for the day. Lorraine was a stickler for organisation and didn’t want her friend Trica getting side tracked and going off course. Lorraine had maintained that the doorway to the park was behind the giant mulberry tree in the southern corner of the Doomsberry Estate.

Tricia knowing, she needed luck as well as guidance noted all of Lorraine’s suggestions as anything to get her into the park was a step she didn’t want to ignore.

The southern end of the Doomsberry Estate stretched from one end of Happy Doomsberry to the other end of Unhappy Doomsberry, and Trica knew she didn’t want to go there.

There was a mulberry tree, thick with mulberries and Trica couldn’t help but sample a few or was it three?

But look as she did there was no doorway anywhere to be seen.

She gave up on the mulberry tree theory and headed north, she hoped, at least her compass suggested as much, in search of another entrance. A little way along she heard a voice.

“Hey, you there, you the one looking for a way into the park?”

“Yes,” mumbled Trica looking about for the source of the voice.

“It’s up the hill a bit more. Look for the snail wearing a fez, and you’re almost there. But don’t tell him you heard that from me. Ok?”

“Ok. But who are you? I can’t see you.” answered a bewildered Trica.

“Best you can’t,” said the voice, “you wouldn’t believe me if you saw me.”

All Trica could see was the Estate wall stretching out into the north.

“Get going, don’t dilly dally girlie,” warned the voice with a touch of irritation now added to its voice.

With that Trica hurried on looking for the improbable sight of a snail wearing a fez.

A few minutes later on the side of the wall was a snail wearing a fez. To make it more puzzling, the snail was sipping on a coffee while reading a newspaper. She stopped to look closely as the snail muttered: “Damn terrible state of affairs if you ask me. The world going to pot is what I say. Look at this will you, climate change deniers are all over the place, and soon my home here on the ledge will be gone, be too hot to sit and I’ll die from exhaustion if not a good old frying in the sun.”

“Excuse me,” asked Trica, “but do you know where the doorway into the Doomsberry Park is?”

“Look for the gargoyle with the bent nose,” said the snail not looking up, “but I wouldn’t go in there if I were you.”

“Why not?” asked a curious Trica.

“Witches. The place is lousy with witches. Nasty creatures pop you in a cauldron quick as look at you.”

“But I want to meet Maunchy Munchinson.”

The snail looked up, “Then you must be crazy. She’s the worst of the lot. Crazy woman is what I say.”

Trica was slightly disturbed by the snail’s advice but determined to press on. “Thank you, Mr Snail, but I want to find her.”

“You’ll only live, if you do, to regret it,” he said going back to his newspaper and muttering things about the modern youth having no regard for the wisdom of their elders.

Trica found the gargoyle with the bent nose, at least she surmised it was the right one as they all seemed to have bent noses and the one she chose had the more bent nose than all the others.

Beside the gargoyle was a door handle. It was a shiny door handle, one Trica assumed was well used.

Turning it, she looked through into the garden.

 

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2017/06/01/tale-weaver-no-122-1617-the-park/

 

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