Wordle #160 – Mundane


This week’s words: Mundane Neat Vent Spine Wrapper La gaudiere (n.)) the glint of goodness inside people, which you can only find by sloshing them back and forth in your mind until everything dark and gray and common falls away, leaving behind a constellation at the bottom of the pan—a rare element trapped in exposed bedrock, washed there by a storm somewhere upstream.)  Nudge Partial Tentative Backwards Oppose Smile


He had been labelled mundane from an early age. Though a neat and tidy boy there was something about his character that left you wishing there was more.

As a result, he went through life as a person on the edge of people’s attention and was often forgotten when it came to being recognised or for that matter thanked.

For the most part very few if anyone noticed anything la gaudiere about him. Even his parents sometimes forgot he was there except when the firewood ran out, and they remembered he was in charge of keeping the fire box full.

It was then they would vent their displeasure at him. Lazy, inconsequential and overall so mundane that if he had any spine would have done something about himself long ago.

He would smile at them, he had the ability to pass himself off as impervious to their taunts and would, once they were gone, step backwards into his own little world.

He wrapped around him a fantasy in which he was happy to live. There was little point he reasoned in opposing anything said to him as he didn’t have the skills to fight back, he lacked the where with all to think quickly and so to everyone’s observations always appeared tentative when put on the spot.

It took him forty years to realise he did something to offer. A small woman out walking her dog had watched him as he hurried by each day. She saw something in him that if maybe, she gave him a gentle nudge might allow them both to strike up some conversation.

So she gathered her wits about her and with a bit of cajoling, some encouragement and a lot of hope discovered his la gaudiere, if only partially at first but in time he allowed her to see it. She was impressed, there was more than she anticipated and nothing she saw said anything mundane about this man.

He had the rarest of elements within his person, she kept nudging him to loosen up and in time found a partner she loved and whom she discovered was not as tentative he might have believed.

So, each with a smile a mile-wide walked hand in hand off into the sunset, wrapped in each other’s love, never to take a backwards step.


Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2017/06/19/wordle-160/

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Saturday’s Mix–17 June 2017 – 17


I didn’t live at 17 Prime Street, but I wished I did. It was the best house on the street. A well-manicured house in which lived an even better-manicured family, the Quanders.

Quincy, the father, sold cars and from all accounts, he sold a lot of cars. His wife the lovely Queeny was principal at the local Primary school.

They had three children, Quentin, Quaid and Quinn. Every morning I’d see them head off to school in their hats and ties, they attended the Grammar school I went to the local public school.

Their family was well respected, they worked hard both at work and on weekends in their yard. It was all activity, mowing, edging, pruning and weeding.

Their side of the street was the better side, ours was the povo side, housing commission houses in various states of disrepair and so the Quanders were someone we looked up to and wished it was us with the automatic dishwasher and the kidney shaped swimming pool.

While my parents laboured at jobs they hated, that allowed them a single beer with our Sunday lunch, the Quanders had wine every night and dinner parties.

We’d listen to them clicking glasses as they made a toast, cheerily singing happy birthday and concluding with a raucous hip hip hooray.

A rumour circulated that the eldest of the Quanders, the strapping Quentin was about to embark on a quest to the mountains and there was great expectation of his success and the prestige it would bring to his family.

It came as a great surprise to all in the street when we awoke one morning to find the police outside their house. No one had heard anything, there was nothing to see but police vehicles and then an ambulance.

Quincy, we heard had gone mad. In a rage, he killed his wife and eldest son as they slept in their beds. Only the action of the youngest, Quinn, stopped his father.

The atmosphere of 17 Prime Street changed forever that day. We no longer looked up to it but rather shunned it as a house of mystery and death, a place we knew was not as it appeared.


Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2017/06/17/saturdays-mix-17-june-2017/

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SoCS June 17/17 – sign


It was a sign of the times in a signpost moment when many thought he should have signed off.

But there was no sign of him giving up, in or otherwise and so as he looked at the signposts in his life he decided it was straight ahead or not at all.

There had never been any sign of him succumbing to the fates of nature even though his Doctors all agreed there were tell-tale signs of an approaching biological storm about to ravage his being.

He was not one to lay down and accept any fate that prevented him from leaving his signature on the life he led which by itself outlined the significance his life had been for other people around him.

His perseverance was a significant signifier of his role in society, a role model for so many and in the grand scheme of things a sign by which so many where able to hang their own version of a shingle signalling hope for all mankind.


Written for: https://lindaghill.com/2017/06/16/the-friday-reminder-and-prompt-for-socs-june-1717/

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Thursday photo prompt – Twilight – #writephoto – A Hot Breath


In the twilight, you see them. Or you think you see them.

Shadows that move when you do, vanish when you look around.

It’s a phenomenon they say of walking in the bush at night.

Standing still you sense them. Behind you, beside you.

There’s the sense you are being scrutinised.

In the silence of the bush the tickling of fingers on the back of your neck, a nail running down your arm and an uncomfortable hot breath in your ear chill you to the core.

Just your imagination you tell yourself, your fears playing with you and so you carry on, the destination of home bearing on your mind as the lights of the town grow stronger.

Later you joke with your partner, relay other stories from walks through the bush, laugh it all off and sip on the evening wine glad the experience is over.

Later as you lay in bed reflecting on your experience you find yourself shivering as the hot breath again caresses your ear.



Written for: https://scvincent.com/2017/06/15/thursday-photo-prompt-twilight-writephoto/

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Music Prompt #6: “The Cave” By Mumford & Sons #musicchallenge #amwriting #music 


There were days I wondered

Did you have a heart?

Days when the torment

Just never stopped.

We’d go somewhere

Potential to be good

You’d find issue in a word

Pull me aside, in front of family

Berate me as you thought fit

Never thinking about me

Always in the guise of making me better

Aware, conscious you’d say

Of there being more than me in everything.

The scars are thick

Life-long abysses from which

I struggle to free myself.

I avoid, I find reason

To evade people

Not look in their eyes

For fear they see

The pain within me

Giving them permission to

Join the ridicule I know is in their hearts.

I’m a joke,

I’ve heard you say,

A pathetic waste of space

Uncaring and incapable of love

Said often enough you knew

I’d eventually believe.

There are days I wonder

If you ever had a heart.


Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2017/06/16/music-prompt-6-the-cave-by-mumford-sons-musicchallenge-amwriting-music/

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June 15: Flash Fiction Challenge – The Dawn of an Ending


June 15, 2017 prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story that symbolically, mythically, mystically, or realistically involves dawn, as a noun or verb. Write about the dawn of time or the time of dawn, or the dawning of an idea. As always, go where the prompt leads.

It dawned on me one morning watching the dawn that I was never going to make it as a writer of any substance. There wasn’t a market in 99-word stories or for that matter flash of any kind.

I had looked at so many well-written tales and come to the conclusion that it was the endings that generated so much on going interest. My learning was to establish a hook in your first sentence, like “Spaghetti oozed from every orifice”. But subsequent study showed me the future lay in a hooky pithy conclusion. I needed to create an ending


Written for: https://carrotranch.com/2017/06/15/june-15-flash-fiction-challenge/

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Tale Weaver/Fairy Tale #124 – Forest Creatures – Big Fern


Image: Google Images Labelled for Re-use

Around the corner from home, there is a small creek that runs through a grove of ferns.

When I was a kid, I used to go there and sit among the ferns, listen to the birds overhead and watch the stream trickle past.

In the centre is a giant tree fern, a very commanding plant, well over twelve feet high with a canopy that shades most the small ferns happily growing beneath it.

One day, a particularly hot day when I was about ten years old, I went to the grove, and on this day, I sat with my back to the giant tree fern.

“Comfy, are you?” asked a voice.

The voice I was sure came from behind me, but I knew there was no one but me in the grove.

“Its ok, don’t be startled, it’s just me, Big Fern.”

I spun around and there in the trunk of the fern tree was a face. Not an attractive face, but a face all the same.

We stared at each other and either said anything.

“Its ok to freak out, most people would I’d expect. Not every day a big fern asks if you are comfy, is it?” said the Big Fern its eyes clearly focused on me.

“No,” I replied very uncertain as to run or not.

“You are most welcome to rest against me,” said Big Fern, “I knew your grandfather very well.”

“You did?”

“Yes, he brought me here from up in the mountains. Like you, he loved ferns and nurtured me back to health after a bush fire had burnt me badly. Word, is you have done your own bit of fern saving too,” he said in a way that sounded like he knew far more than I was feeling comfortable with.

How he knew that I had recently bought with Grandma a fern from the local nursery that looked like it was on its last legs was beyond me.

“We ferns have our ways and means of communicating. You know not a lot gets by us,” he said sounding wiser than I had ever given him credit for.

At that moment, I looked up into the fern and noticed to my surprise a small elfin creature descending the trunk. On his shoulder sat a tiny fairy.

Once he drew level with my eyeline, I noticed that in his hand, he held a small leaf taken from one of the fern’s fronds. He held it out to me.

“He wants you to take it,” said Big Fern, “It’s our way of showing appreciation. You care for us we care for you.”

I placed my hand so that the elf could place the leaf on it. Once he had done, so a huge grin broke out on his face. The tiny fairy, its wings humming flew around my head buzzing here and there as if inspecting me before settling back on his shoulder. The fairy leant into the elf’s ear and was obviously whispering something with great animation.

The elf then opened his hand, and a bright light shone from it. He extended his hand towards me and once again I held out mine. The light in his hand he dropped onto my palm before being absorbed into my skin.

I stood, mouth open, having no idea as to what had just happened.

“He’s given you the light to see by,” said Big Fern, “from now on you will be seen as the keeper of the grove. We will feel safe knowing you will come by and see to our safety. The light will also allow you to see more of us. Look carefully in your own fern garden, you’ll be surprised by what you see.” said Big Fern.

That was the day I went home a changed boy. I found Grandma in the fern garden and told her what had happened.

“Come,” she said, “look closely and tell me what you see.”

My eyes were opened, my mind embraced the role I now had. Grandma looked at me and giggled knowing our ferns were safe too.



Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2017/06/14/tale-weaverfairy-tale-124-forest-creatures/

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