Microfiction challenge #26: A journey

Posted on December 10, 2016 by Michael

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Image: John Bauer

McIntyre had seven daughters which meant seven brides which meant seven weddings. It was overwhelming the thought of them, the cost, the courting, the men seeking approval, the potential arguments with daughters wanting to marry some man he didn’t approve of and some daughters refusing to marry the men he did approve of.

McIntyre thought there had to be an easier way. In the distant Kingdom of Tootletoot the annual marriage festival was looming and he had heard that women who presented to the festival were assured of finding a compatible suitor and upon being selected the male suitor was then responsible for the wedding and the care of his new bride.

McIntyre saw this as an ideal opportunity to offload his daughters onto someone else. By trade he was a cobbler and the demand within the community was great enough but with his seven daughters constantly wanting new shoes he saw this an another worthwhile business venture. Fourteen less feet to shoe, seven less mouths to feed and seven less highly strung demanding daughters to deal with.

He enlisted the help of John the long haired horseman to take his daughters on a journey to the market place in Cute. He was able to deceive his daughters into going as he knew they all fancied John the horseman and his daughters thought of the market at Cute as the place to be.

He bid them all goodbye as they hurried to find a place on the back of John’s giant steed Gallop. Gallop was a mighty horse, some seventeen hands tall and easily carried the dainty seven daughters even with John carrying the smallest of the girls, Tulip, on his shoulder.

McIntyre was paying him a large sum of money to convey the girls to the marriage market. Once inside the gates of Tootletoot they would quickly learn of their fate and it would be a whole new life for them and a new life for himself.

McIntyre sang to himself as he went about his day. His life was changing. He could now devote his time to cobbling for paying customers.

At day’s end there was a noise outside his shop. There was John the horseman. There also were his seven daughters.  Each daughter was smiling. Each daughter had found a husband.

Each daughter had returned home to share her success with her father.

McIntyre looked at John who had his hand out wanting his payment. McIntyre was fuming. He reminded John of their deal. John stated he had carried out their deal. He had taken to girls to the festival. Each had found a husband. There was nothing in their deal about not bringing them all back.

He was suddenly aware of each daughter talking excitedly about seven weddings.

McIntyre feeling crestfallen thought of twenty-eight wedding shoes.

 

Written for: https://janedougherty.wordpress.com/2016/12/09/microfiction-challenge-26-a-journey/

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Finish Off Fridays #3: Snowballs of Hay & Garden Gargoyles (09.12.16) – Ed Grimley

Posted on December 9, 2016 by Michael

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Opening sentence: Ed Grimley is adjusting to his life as a garden gargoyle. It hasn’t been easy. The irony is Ed has never liked gargoyles. He published a definitive coffee table edition of hideous gargoyles. He now found himself in his Aunt May’s garden’s squatting with a look that suggested constipation was not his problem.

This was obviously payback for his crimes against the gargoyle. He never thought of them as vindictive, stupid yes, but never vindictive. It came as a surprise when Richmond the Garden Gargoyle from Number 23 knocked on his door and before saying anything threw a net over him containing a spell that resulted in his present circumstance.

It had been a week and he hated everything. The rain, the cold and the crawling thing that padded up and down his back sending cold shivers through him. He resigned himself to another evening of discomfort as a snail slid across his face. Yuck he thought what else can go wrong?

 

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2016/12/09/finish-off-fridays-3-snowballs-of-hay-garden-gargoyle-09-12-16/

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Thursday photo prompt – Smoke #writephoto

Posted on December 9, 2016 by Michael

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What we thought was the light at the end of the tunnel turned out to be anything but that.

The closer we got the harder it was to breathe. Outside there must have been a bush fire that wasn’t there when we went spelunking.

It had been an arduous time. A lot of crawling through small spaces and a lot of water to negotiate.

So the thought of coming out into the fresh air had a lot of appeal until we began to sense the smoke finding its way down into the spaces we were in.

We knew we had to try and get out as there would be nothing to breathe before long.

So with a concerted effort we crawled once again, forgot about the pain of scrapped knees and elbows but focused on the space ahead now rapidly filling with smoke.

All the way we were aware of each other and realising for each of us this was a monumental effort of endurance far greater than what we had achieved down under the ground.

With encouragement we made our way to the surface. By then we were all coughing and gasping. Outside the entrance the air was thick with smoke but there were pockets of clean air, enough for us to make it to safety away from the smouldering remains of our favourite bushland.

All of us were affected by the smoke, we sat around drawing in deep breathes hoping to get the smoke out of our lungs. We knew we’d experienced a close thing, if the fire had been over the cave entrance when we tried to come out, the outcome may have been a lot different.

Written for: https://scvincent.com/2016/12/08/thursday-photo-prompt-smoke-writephoto/

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Tale Weaver # 97: (un)Reality TV 08.12.16 – The Lighthouse

Posted on December 8, 2016 by Michael

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It was all Mavis’ idea. The challenge to live six months on a remote lighthouse perched on an island in the middle of the ocean seemed like a good idea at the time.

Added to that was the prospect of our time there being recorded for a reality TV show. “Remote Living.”

I was sceptical about the whole deal as I knew they would edit the footage they took and who knew what light we might be presented in. But Mavis was so keen and despite my reservations off we went. Dropped on to the island with a set of instructions on how to light the lighthouse each night and food to last a month, so they said.

Mavis and I got along well most of the time as there was always somewhere for us both to escape to while we were at home. But on a small island the lighthouse structure taking all the space there wasn’t a lot of places to go to have some alone time.

For the first week it was the novelty of it all. The romance of being alone on an island, the lighthouse itself and the magnificent sea that surrounded us.

On the third day there a storm blew up and the waves crashed in onto the lighthouse itself. It was scary standing at the top of the building with the sea crashing around you, powerless to do anything but pray they built it strong enough to remain standing after the sea had finished playing with it.

This freaked Mavis and I out. We’d not been prepared for a storm and for a while we forgot about the remote cameras positioned around us recording everything we did and said. When Mavis was wound up she could swear like a wharfie and on that particular morning she did just that. Even my subtle reminder that we were being filmed made little impact on her.

It took her several days to settle down and once calmer days arrived she back to her old enthusiastic self.

But being stuck in the one place with nowhere to go other than where you were standing, did start to play on our minds.

The term stir crazy comes to mind. We grew on each other’s nerves. We fought. We argued. We tried to limit the time we were near each other.

Mavis took to spending a lot of time when it was fine outside on a small portable seat just to have space for herself.

All the while the cameras were rolling. At four weeks the crew and director appeared to do a one on one interview. For us it was such a relief to see another face. The only contact we had was with the coast guard with whom we would check in with each night to say the light was on and functioning. By five months we were not talking and when we did it was forced civility. Mavis by now hated everything about me and I was not overly fond of her.

The last month with the end in sight was torture. Neither of us could wait to be away from the other. We actually celebrated our final night. We decided to go our separate ways after we left to give ourselves time to readjust to life in the real world.

After two weeks of that we met again and realised what we had been through was unreal.

Despite the deprivation we’d put ourselves and each other through, being together was better than being apart. After all I did love her and she me.

Tonight we are sitting down to watch the first episode of “Remote Living – The Lighthouse edition” it should be fun. Its good we can laugh about it now and I can remind her it was all her idea.

 

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2016/12/08/tale-weaver-97-unreality-tv-08-12-16/

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Twittering Tales #7 – 6 December 2016 – Dilemma

Posted on December 6, 2016 by Michael

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He came to the difficult part. His abuse. His children knew nothing. Should he omit it? Pretend it never happened. Bury it forever? Dilemma.

(140 characters)

Written for: https://kmmyrman.wordpress.com/2016/12/06/twittering-tales-7-6-december-2016/

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Photo Challenge #142 – Threshold

Posted on December 6, 2016 by Michael

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Image: Rich Howman

 

Carrying you over the threshold was so good.

After so long being with you was all I had imagined.

The joy of our union flowed into the days and weeks that followed.

Soon there was the excitement of a child.

The preparation on becoming a family

Full of expectation we leapt into parenthood.

But sleepless nights came as a shock

The child didn’t like to sleep as his parents did.

Tension grew fuelled by disruption

We became faces to negotiate with

Your turn, my turn, I need rest.

The troubled child dictated so much

Shifts and early mornings.

The joy of our union shifted out the door.

Child grew but remained troubled

We didn’t help, our dysfunctionality

Exacerbated a dangerous situation.

You crossed the threshold a last time

This time of your accord

Left me to pick up the pieces.

The child looked at me in astonishment

Little comprehension that behind it all

It had played a significant part

Aided by our own false perceptions.

I repainted the threshold

Took away all memories of the day so long ago

Now I have you again

Locked inside, always with me.

 

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2016/12/06/photo-challenge-142/

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FFfAW Challenge-Week of December 6, 2016 – Christmas Lights

Posted on December 6, 2016 by Michael

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The Christmas lights had gone up and dad was looking decidedly pleased with his efforts.

The feature of the display this year was the green pendant light.   If you approached the pendant it would shake and turn a myriad of colours before lifting itself to point at you.

Mum thought it a bit phallic and that maybe dad was trying to make some sort of point.  But dad wouldn’t have a bar of her objections or ridicule.  When lit the neighbours were impressed and crowded round the front gate looking with approval. Dad stood back and soaked in the adulation. All was fine until our aged and cranky neighbour approached the pendant for a closer look. It not only pointed at her but turned a nasty pink before emitting a laser beam that disintegrated her. The pause that followed was earth shattering. Dad struck suddenly dumb could only think to turn to the silent crowd and shout: “Merry Christmas!”

 

Written for: https://flashfictionforaspiringwriters.wordpress.com/2016/12/05/fffaw-challenge-week-of-december-6-2016/

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Wordle #132 “December 5th, 2016” – Bellwether

Posted on December 5, 2016 by Michael

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This week’s words: Gasoline Lime Bellwether (Male sheep that leads the flock, usually bearing a bell. Aperson or thing that assumes the leadership or forefront, as of a profession or industry. A person or thing that shows the existence or direction of a trend. A person who leads a mob, mutiny, conspiracy, or the like; ringleader.) Late Nuance Marrow Flattery Clutter Groove Inexhaustible Handbag Faustian (sacrificing spiritual values for power, knowledge, or material gain)

There was something about Bellwether that told you he had done the Faustian deed. He had clearly sacrificed all integrity for his mutual benefit. He liked being the centre of attention and believed he was born to lead and there was something about him that when you met him your first thought was: “Here’s a face that rings a bell.”

It could have been the lime green jackets he wore. Once again to draw attention to himself.

One day when running late to a bone marrow operation he had the misfortune of running out of gasoline which necessitated his lateness. Never one to let flattery get in the way of anything he wanted he waited by the side of the road for some Samaritan to stop and off him assistance. A woman with a brown handbag pulled up and asked if he was ok. He pointed to his fuel tank and asked her to excuse the cluttered state of his mind as he so much on his plate at that moment he had forgotten to fill his car with gasoline.

His bone marrow operation was crucial and as time was slipping away he asked if she could drive him to the hospital. It wasn’t so much he asked her to drive him as basically ordered her to such was the nature of Bellwether. She saw there was little nuance in his request and felt her hands tightening around her handbag knowing there was a can of mace in there for a potentially dangerous situation like this. Bellwether realising the need to offer the woman something went into an inexhaustible list of benefits to her should she comply with his request. Foremost was the bundle of dollar bills he thrust into the groove of her hand. Fondling the money, she told him to get in, he was turning out a groovy sort of man and she felt a groovy kind of love coming on as she thought of other ways of getting this fool to part with his money.

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2016/12/05/wordle-132-december-5th-2016/

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Prompt #1927 First Line of the Week – Liz Walker – A New School Term

Posted on December 4, 2016 by Michael

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The morning sun paved the hall’s hardwood floor in amber light as Adam shoved his lunch into a leather satchel. He tugged his coat off a hanger, and she gave him a kiss. –A Piece of Herself by Liz Walker

It was the first day of the new school term and Adam hated school, hated going to school and hated everything about school. That the sun was shining so brightly didn’t help with his mood. He knew he would have preferred to be down at the sand dunes sliding down on the cardboard slides they had made over the holidays.

His mates went to the Catholic school and they didn’t start until tomorrow and he dreaded walking down the street in his uniform and suffering their jibes as he made his way to the house of torture as he called it.

His mother watched as her son, full of resentment and scorn for school make his way reluctantly down the alley and into the high street. She crossed her fingers and hoped Adam would honour his promise to go to school and not disappear over to the dunes with his friends. She told herself to trust him this time as he had in the past promised one thing and done another.

She counted the hours until she knew his school day would be over and watched out the window in expectation of her son meandering his way home.

She waited, looking at her watch, realised she was tapping her foot a sign she knew of her own anxiety. Then he appeared. She watched him approaching the house, his head down as if in thought. She waited until he was in the front door and as casually as she could, wandered in to greet him.

The boy who very sullenly left for school in the morning was not the same boy returning. Her son was full of enthusiasm. He showed his mother all his new books the teacher had given him. He proudly displayed the new pen and pencil set as well.

Understandably Adam’s mum was suspicious of this change in her son. But her suspicions were allayed when Adam mentioned the new teacher. A Miss Bunt was in charge of his class. She was wonderful according to Adam.

His mother smiled as she made the dinner that night. Her little boy was growing up. His hormones were kicking in. He’d fallen in love with his teacher.

Written for: http://www.thewritingreader.com/blog/2016/12/03/prompt-1927-first-line-of-the-week-liz-walker/

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SoCS Dec. 3/16 – sh

Posted on December 3, 2016 by Michael

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Shhhhhh she said in an undertone voice.

Shut up for goodness sake.

Shit will hit the fan.

Shout out if you want but it will be the death of us all.

Shaking in your boots is not going to solve the issue.

Shadows that all it was.

Shaky if you ask me.

Shadow boxing won’t fight off this monster I’m telling you now.

Shhhhhhh can you hear it?

Shut up it will hear you.

Shaggy dog story if you ask me.

Shaken me to the core.

Shag? At a time like this?

Shakespearian you might be.

Shoddy is what you are.

Shall I call for help

Shhhhhhhh we might be heard.

Shut up its just a shadow.

Shallow if we step carefully.

Shallots on your dinner?

Shalt say no.

Sham is what it is.

Shamble of the highest order.

Shame, he had potential.

Shhhhhhhh they might discover you.

Shut up hide your shameful face

Shamefaced right now.

Shampoo is the only answer

Shandy in the hand he said,

Shanghai’s best pub

Shannon arrived on Shank’s pony.

Shhhhhhh you’ve given it away.

 

Written for: https://lindaghill.com/2016/12/02/the-friday-reminder-and-prompt-for-socs-dec-316/

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