March 2: Flash Fiction Challenge – A Faultless Piece

Posted on March 3, 2017 by Michael

march-2

March 2, 2017, prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less) include slag* in a story. Slag is a glass-like by-product of smelting or refining ore. Slag is also used in making glass or can result from melting glass. It can be industrious or artistic. Go where the prompt leads.

 

She poured over the slag heaps looking for that piece that was the shape she required, the textures and colours needed to create the perfect article of jewellery.

Her fingers combed the debris that was left from the old iron foundry. She’d been lucky a few times in finding just what she wanted.

Many were contemptuous of her work. Said they were pretend trinkets. Gaudy, ugly fakes. She paid them no attention when they slagged her off ridiculing and jeering at her attempts to make some needed finery.  One day she’d show them when she found that faultless piece.

 

In our vernacular this word has another meaning:

a promiscuous woman. • a contemptible or insignificant person.

To criticize (someone) in an abusive and insulting manner: my girlfriend was always slagging him off.

 

Written for: https://carrotranch.com/2017/03/03/march-2-flash-fiction-challenge-2/

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Finish off Fridays #9: The Wait 03.03.17

Posted on March 3, 2017 by Michael

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Clementine anxiously waited for the 5:40 out of the city, wondering if he would be on board.

She hoped to find him in the same carriage as yesterday. It was embarrassing she told herself to be walking the length of the train in the hope she would spy him.

It had been a long day and she looked forward to seeing him. It wasn’t that he was anything special in looks. But rather that he had struck up a conversation a few days before when they had been seated together. She’d been taking the 5:40 for over a year now, a boring hour long trip where no one spoke to anyone.

Now she’d had a chat with a stranger and she liked it.

As the train came into the station she looked at the seated passengers all engrossed in their private worlds. In the third carriage, she saw him. He looked up and smiled. Was he expecting her too?

 

 

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2017/03/03/finish-off-fridays-9-the-wait-03-03-17/

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JOELLE’S TALES: FIRST THURSDAY OF THE MONTH #TMAT120 #WRITING #PROMPT FOR MARCH

Posted on March 3, 2017 by Michael

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Today’s prompt is:  The finest moment of your life

It could have been the birth of my children, my gaining my University degree, my retirement from work.

But the most life changing moment was leaving my marriage. This moment signalled the end of years of abuse and torment. It allowed me to establish good relations with my children, find my own place in the world and create a life from which I was able to grow.

I did suffer for my decision but as I discovered the price of freedom is priceless. I was aided by the support of my children who knew what my life had been like. Without them by my side, I may not be where I am today.

It’s a decision I have never regretted.

 

 

Written for: https://rantingalong.wordpress.com/2017/03/02/joelles-tales-first-thursday-of-the-month-tmat120-writing-prompt-for-march/

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Whiteout Wednesdays #5 – Herring

Posted on March 3, 2017 by Michael

Herring

Scots salt them.

The Dutch love them.

Swedes find them curdling.

Jamaicans prefer chilli pepper.

Germans and the English enjoy pickle’s bite and brine.
the herring has done much to history.

Men catch them,

bring full nets to shore.

Women gutting and salting knitting,

garments to protect from the ocean’s chill.

journey from Norway from Shetland to the Baltic coast

culminating in Iceland’s Herring Era Museum,

tales of  fish

of our ancestors,

celebrated in art, literature, craft, music and folklore
 

Written for: https://blackcatalleyblog.wordpress.com/2017/03/01/whiteout-wednesdays-5/

Original passage:

Herring Tales
How the Silver Darlings Shaped Human Taste and History by Donald S. Murray

About Herring Tales

Scots like to smoke or salt them. The Dutch love them raw. Swedes look on with relish as they open bulging, foul-smelling cans to find them curdling within. Jamaicans prefer them with a dash of chilli pepper. Germans and the English enjoy their taste best when accompanied by pickle’s bite and brine.
Throughout the long centuries men have fished around their coastlines and beyond, the herring has done much to shape both human taste and history. Men have co-operated and come into conflict over its shoals, setting out in boats to catch them, straying, too, from their home ports to bring full nets to shore. Women have also often been at the centre of the industry, gutting and salting the catch when the annual harvest had taken place, knitting, too, the garments fishermen wore to protect them from the ocean’s chill.
Following a journey from the western edge of Norway to the east of England, from Shetland and the Outer Hebrides to the fishing ports of the Baltic coast of Germany and the Netherlands, culminating in a visit to Iceland’s Herring Era Museum, Donald S. Murray has stitched together tales of the fish that was of central importance to the lives of our ancestors, noting how both it – and those involved in their capture – were celebrated in the art, literature, craft, music and folklore of life in northern Europe.
Blending together politics, science, history, religious and commercial life, Donald contemplates, too, the possibility of restoring the silver darlings of legend to these shores.

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Tale Weaver #109: metamorphosis 02.03.17 – Rover the Dog/Cat

Posted on March 2, 2017 by Michael

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It came as such a shock to everyone when it first happened.

Our dog Rover changed into a cat.

It’s quite ridiculous when you think about it that such a thing should happen and we were as puzzled as Rover at the transformation.

But one moment Rover was lying on the floor chewing on a bone and the next he was changing into a cat and experiencing the cat like delight of a hairball. The look on his face was terrifying. Our lovable and delight of our lives was there in front of us as a tabby cat, heaving his insides out as he brought up what can only be described as something bordering on the obscene.

This transformation only lasted a day, thankfully, with Rover appearing at the back door the next morning looking decidedly forlorn with a dead mouse at his feet.

Not only that but he would be licking his lips not from tasty delight but from sheer horror at what he had had in his mouth overnight.

Needless to say, he slept through the whole day trying to put out of his mind what had occurred.

It was the full moon that brought it all on. When it shone, the cat came out. It became such a regular thing that we installed a litter tray for the cat. If we forgot to put it away, we’d find Rover snacking in it seemingly oblivious to what he was actually eating. Those were the moments we recoiled.

Rover went about his doggy business from day to day and as the time of the full moon approached we could tell he was becoming more and more anxious. As time went on, he knew what was coming and would hide out thinking if he couldn’t see the moon then the moon wouldn’t see him. So he would bury himself in his kennel, cover himself in his blanket and pretend not to be there. But before long out he’d slid, his tabby self, looking about and I’m sure ever so wary of having been in a dog’s kennel. He’s sit up in the tree and watch the birds and on occasion, much to our disgust catch one.

The next morning Rover would be back, sorrowful and repentant for his cat persona’s misdemeanours.

It’s been five years now since all this started and we have grown used to it. We don’t think anything happens to anyone else in the house though my wife does tend to favour red meat, raw, at the same time.

 

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2017/03/02/tale-weaver-109-metamorphosis-02-03-17/

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100 Word Weekly Writing Challenge —Week 8 – Alec’s Corner Store

Posted on March 2, 2017 by Michael

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Image Credit: Frank Jansen

Alec shuffled to the door, unlatched it and opened his corner store for one more day. With the drinks fridge stocked, the chip packets in neat rows and the lolly counter it usual array of coloured candy he was ready for customers.

Once he had sold a heap of stuff, the camera business had long gone because of digital and the sign on top of his shop was an eyesore.

He did miss the queues at lunchtime, his sandwich bar now empty.

His children urged him to sell but he wondered what else he could do.

 

Written for: https://bikurgurl.com/2017/03/01/100-word-wednesday-week-8/

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Twittering Tale #19 – 28 February 2017

Posted on February 28, 2017 by Michael

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The burning flame ignites passions.
She reaches out
He takes her hand
Steadies her lighting the candle
Illuminating the essence of their love.

 

Written for: https://katmyrman.com/2017/02/27/twittering-tales-19-28-february-2017/

Posted in Uncategorized | 11 Comments

dVerse Quadrille #27 – Giggle

Posted on February 27, 2017 by Michael

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She giggled unashamedly when I said my name

She gasped when I played my game.

After she touched my nose, giggled, said its cute.

When she awoke, she giggled in delight to see me still here.

We embraced, rolled as one,

We giggled insanely.

 

Written for: https://dversepoets.com/2017/02/27/quadrille-27/

 

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Wordle #144 “February 27th, 2017″ – Lucinda, Heaven or Hell?

Posted on February 27, 2017 by Michael

week-144

This week’s words:

Good Enter Tree Mirabilis ((adj.) wondrous, remarkable, amazing) Different Abandon Plausible Lucida (the brightest star in a constellation) Bald Flaw Apotropaic ((adj.) Intended to ward off evil.) Grow

It was Wayne who looked at Greg and Greg who looked at Wayne and then back down on the body in front of them before either shrugged uncertain what to do next.

Wayne and Greg were the gatherers of souls, and Lucinda’s corpse lay in front of them. Her soul stood beside her deceased body looking at both entities wondering what was going to happen next.

Wayne was the representative of Hell and sought souls eagerly as there was no place quite like Hell as far as he was concerned. Greg, on the other hand, represented the angels of heaven and thought every soul deserved at least to be considered for the delights of heaven and all it held.

Lucinda, they both, knew was not the brightest star in the universe. There was nothing mirabilis about her, in fact, she had suffered from Anorexia mirabilis: a form of religious fasting to the point of starvation. There was nothing virtuous in any of that. No good came to those who starved themselves, and both Heaven and Hell frowned heavily upon such behaviour.

Both entities had different but similar attitudes to Lucinda’s demise. Wayne saw Lucinda as being totally unsuitable to enter the gates of Hell. She wouldn’t want to participate in Hell’s delights all contained in Hell’s Kitchen where the best sushi in Eternity could only be found. Greg thought it totally implausible that Lucinda be allowed into Heaven, after all, she had more or less taken her own life, and the Senior Boss wasn’t terribly fussed about that idea on any good day.

The flaw in all of this was that Heaven had a thing about abandoning any soul, it felt some sort of fight should be had for every soul no matter how bad they might have been.

Heaven did have the apotropaic tree a place where they put you to see if any good came from you. A sort of cooling off place to see if you were worth it after all. Some people had grown into reasonable souls as a result, but in Lucinda’s case, they both felt it might be a case of shaving her head bald and seeing which of the up or down was more to her liking. Heaven did have the best ham sandwiches, and in cases like this the applicant would be placed in the apotropaic tree, given two plates, one with a ham sandwich and the other with a generous sushi and observations would be taken to see which she favoured.

Wayne and Greg accepted the lottery nature of this practice, but it did work as had been the case with one US President in recent times when his demise threw both areas of eternity into complete chaos. The guy had arrived wanting to make a real good deal, said his deals were the best deals and that whoever wanted him the most would be fine with him. In truth both Wayne and Greg were quite indifferent to him, both concerned their respective eternities would suffer immeasurably sent him to the apotropaic tree and made him wait an eternity before giving him the plates. Greg was happy that day.

Wayne made sure he visited the sulphur mines just to get the feel of Hell and all it had to offer.

So both deities sat back to watch the bald Lucinda, sitting comfortably in the apotropaic tree, much into her ham sandwich and then the sushi. With fingers crossed both hoped something mirabilis might happen to the seemingly non-mirabilis Lucinda.

 

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2017/02/27/wordle-144-february-27th-2017/

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Sunday Strange microfiction challenge – Beryl Necromancer

Posted on February 26, 2017 by Michael

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Image: Ivan Bilibin

Beryl Necromancer had a perversion for heads on a stick. It was a compulsion she couldn’t get her mind away from. If she liked the look of you, your head that is, then she’d dream, fantasise about your said same head sitting upon a stick in her living room.

After a while the heads became skulls, and as with skulls, they all began to look the same.

Beryl besides having a thing for heads on sticks was also an ideas girl. She found if she inserted a small battery powered light inside the skull the light would shine through the skulls eyes, and she concluded there would be a market in such light fixtures or if you so wished you could carry it upon your person as she is doing in the above illustration.

So Beryl having accumulated a good supply of heads over the years set out to bring them to light. With her cart laden with skulls she set off to the local Sunday market and set up her stall.

She did a thriving business selling the skulls as novelty lighting for novelty people in novelty houses. Some folk remarked the skull they chose reminded them of a loved one since deceased. Beryl would always smile and acknowledge their remarks, but inside she knew there was every chance the skull was somebody they knew.

All went well until Penelope Watson happened by and noticed a particular marking on one of the skulls. It was the same as her late husband had had on his crown when alive.

She looked at the skull, was tempted to buy it if for no other reason than to remember her husband but remembered his headless body had been found in the woods not far from Beryl’s place. She alerted the authorities who said they would look into it and try and shed some light on her claim.

When questioned Beryl said she had found the head one day when she was out picking blackberries. The authorities found there was not enough evidence to charge Beryl with anything other than having a skull in her possession. They warned Beryl off, and she never again appeared at the Sunday Market.

But she had become aware of a market and a demand for her macabre wares. So like any modern day entrepreneur, she started up an online business – “Heads are YOU.com”.

 

Written for: https://janedougherty.wordpress.com/2017/02/26/sunday-strange-microfiction-challenge-3/

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