Microfiction Challenge #4: At the window

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Image: Edvard Munch

When word came there wasn’t much that could be said apart from the choking goodbye. His number and name had come up, he had passed the medical, he was deemed fit, ready to serve King and country.

He as required at the train station at six in the morning. There was not sufficient time to say his farewell. That night he had gone to her house and announced his sorrow at having been called up. The war had been raging for some time, they both were aware of the already mounting costs in terms of human life.

They both cried aware that this could be their last evening together. Eventually they pulled themselves together, put aside their grief and made love for one last time. This time it was intense, both giving to the other, sharing the love they felt so deeply.

Neither slept as they didn’t want to sacrifice one moment for the luxury of rest.

The morning light was his cue to get up, dress in silence, prepare as best he could, his lover watching him, eyes focused taking in every last second with her wonderful man.

He left it to the last second to leave, the station was a ten-minute walk. He closed the door, his eyes misted over as he made his way to whatever fate had instore for him.

Back in the bedroom the woman cried into her pillow and deep inside her a minute seed met a swimmer that was to forever seal her fate.

 

Written for: https://janedougherty.wordpress.com/2016/07/08/microfiction-challenge-4-at-the-window/

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Friday Music Prompt #50: Send in the Clowns

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It’s a funny old world isn’t it.

There is so much we take for granted

So much we find to revere and all for what?

All around us are good people taking their lives so seriously and

not so good people who couldn’t give a rats arse about anyone other than themselves.

All the while we are trying our best to get ahead.

It is a dog eat dog world where one’s self-importance outweighs the rights of so many standing around us. We can walk all over them and trample them underfoot because we have to preserve the world we live in because we think we are RIGHT!

Then we are reminded that in the grand scheme of things and at least for the next 5 million years, the sun will come up tomorrow despite our best efforts to prove that wrong.

We’ll stuff up, we’ll ruin the lives of others, hurt the ones we love and we’ll attempt at some point to reconcile with those we know we need to do so.

And occasionally we’ll see, if we are lucky, the funny side of life.

That its ok to stuff up, its ok to be wrong, its ok to love and then discover it wasn’t what you first thought it was because all manner of circumstances have gotten in the way and left you either an awakened person or paralyzed with fear over yet another failure in the love game.

You’ll read the papers and see that Joe Bloggs is the happiest man in the world for no other reason than that he is alive. You on the other hand covet your neighbours wife, his house and his lush green front lawn. You desire that a holiday in the Mediterranean is the go even though you can’t afford it but the latest glossy magazine says it’s the place to be seen.

You spend so much of your life catching up, watching up and looking up that you forget to live…and in the end you are just a pile of old bones with not a lot to show.

Then your grandson delivers the ultimate insult. He writes a book called “Clowns I have Known”. You read the first chapter and discover he has written the story of your life and you call him up and complain..bitterly.

He asks which bit is untrue. You have no answer for you know it is as it happened. Your life is reduced to a farce. Your whole being is now seen as a clown, fumbling your way through life, tripping over, getting it wrong, barking up the wrong tree, spending the wrong penny in the wrong slot, thinking you were making a difference when in fact you were creating your own comedy.

You’ve become the next generation’s clowns, isn’t it rich you say, your self-importance washing down the drain as the rain comes down on your parade.

You sit under the shade of a tree that is fifty years old in your backyard and for the first time you realise it is there, you look around and think, what was I doing all those years?

At last a smile comes across your face and you know then and there what it’s like to smile, free of the self-loaded importance of life, it’s a new feeling, your face finds the creases its missed for so long.

Finally, there’s that sense that maybe at the end there is a man, existing under his own garishness. You’re happy in the knowledge that you don’t have to wait for next year, your clown is now here.

 

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2016/07/08/friday-music-prompt-50-send-in-the-clowns/

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#WQWWC Theme for the week is “Beauty”.

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Beauty is But Skin Deep

My mother would say this to us whenever we criticized some else’s looks. She’d say to us that none of us were ‘oil paintings’ which was her way of saying we were not perfect.

It’s always been something that has stayed with me.

We live in a world where beauty is thrust at us in all its forms. Human beauty is magnificent in its many forms, from the smallest child to the oldest person whose attitude to life and inner vitality shines through.

We wander around our respective worlds and see the beauty nature affords us in the myriad of shapes and colours, formations and configurations only it is capable of.

It would be good to think that we could appreciate the beauty around us, not do what so many do  and pass judgement on others, criticize looks and cultural ties, persecute religions and believe ignorance is the way to go.

When everything around us is so immediate it’s not hard to see why the less informed jump to conclusions based on prejudice as that seems the sensationalist way to go.

But for me beauty is skin deep and many a person I have come across as not being glamorous or handsome or whatever marker we use to estimate a person’s worth, has turned out to be salt of the earth, invaluable as a friend and neighbor.

 

Written for: https://silverthreading.com/2016/07/06/beauty-quote-theme/

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Thursday Photo Prompt – Look Out – #writephoto

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To look out from the darkness was the ideal position to be in. They couldn’t see you looking in. You had the advantage.

Not you wanted them seeing you. Best to leave them in wonder. Attack at night when darkness allowed you to be a shadow. Daylight was exposure and no one wanted that. It was bad enough that they were encroaching closer and closer each day. Soon they would be at the opening, peering in, probably throwing in some device to smoke us out.

We knew our days here were numbered. At night one group went off in search of another safe hiding place. The rest of us did what we could to slow down their progress. Small subtle acts of sabotage, just enough to be an irritation, not enough to bring about an all-out assault on us.

Today I peer out onto the landscape knowing that soon the giant tractors will come, men with diggers to rip the very life out of what is ours and the corporates salivating at the prospect of increased profits this fiscal year.

 

Written for: https://scvincent.com/2016/07/07/thursday-photo-prompt-look-out-writephoto/

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Word-High July: Silakbo

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It’s the hysterical nature of your response

When your mum leaves the room

You pine, fret as if you have been forgotten.

I feel helpless

You are out of control

You cry as a means to express your fear?

No amount of logic or consoling assists you

We ride it out,

We hope age will remedy you

But for now it’s disturbing

Troublesome, worrying

Separation anxiety at its worst.

 

Written for: https://areadingwritr.wordpress.com/2016/07/08/word-high-july-silakbo/

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Tale Weaver #75 July 7th – Bedtime Stories for Grandparents

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The old lady carefully helped her aging husband into bed. He was getting more and more frail as the days past. She hated what age and time was doing to him but for her it was always a labor of love.

Once settled she crawled in beside him and asked him if he wanted her to tell him one of their stories.

As always he said yes. His body was failing him but his mind was still its agile old self.

She had a tale she loved to tell him knowing he would listen avidly, holding her hand the entire time.

It was the story of a time when a young girl first met a strapping young man on his visit to her town. As she went through the tale the old man would smile at the bits of the story he remembered so clearly. She had been and still was a beautiful girl, who when he asked her if she would marry him replied she would do so in a heartbeat.

The story the old lady told recounted their days living in the bush, miles from civilization where the two of them had learned to be independent and to rely on each other. More than that, they grew to understand the strengths of each other.

The old lady always included one incident where things had not always gone to plan. Like the night they invited their neighbours to dinner and despite her best efforts, she was still a young bride at the time, the chicken she had fussed over all the afternoon had not for some inexplicable reason cooked right through and so she suffered the embarrassment of a not cooked chook. At the time it was very traumatic and she vowed to never invite a single soul to dinner ever again. But time is a great healer and now days they always had a good laugh remembering such times. She recalled the time the old man had said he would build a window box and spend a day measuring, cutting, gluing and nailing and double checking everything only to find the box was still two inches too long. He was so disgusted at the time he vowed never to build anything again and unceremoniously dragged the over-long window box outside and with his power saw cut the offending end off. His ego was bruised to say the least. She did remind him that the next thing he built, a shoe box, was perfect and still in use.

They lay together remembering and reminding each other of this event and that. Still with hands held the old man looked across at his aging bride who turned to look at him. He asked her if she had her time over would she still sign up to a life with him.

With a twinkle in her eye she replied: “In a heartbeat.”

 

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2016/07/07/tale-weaver-75-july-7th-bedtime-stories-for-grandparents/

 

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Word-High July: Muni-muni

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Sometimes we sit and think

And sometimes we just sit.

Sometimes we sit and chat

Sometimes we just chat.

Thoughts flow free

Pouring out our hearts

We cry and comfort.

We like being us

So we sit and ponder

How the gods of the universe

Threw us diverse folk together?

Most days when we sit and ponder

We are grateful for each other.

 

Written for: https://areadingwritr.wordpress.com/2016/07/07/word-high-july-muni-muni/

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Word for Wednesday (W4W) – Bruxism

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Bruxism

He had a maniacal look in his eye. I knew I was in for a rough time. A small drop of saliva fell from his mouth as he looked once again into my mouth and then at me.

“Brrooksmm” he announced.

“What?” I asked

“Brrooksmm” he repeated. This time with an edge of impatience.

That was enough of a hint to shut up. After all I was in a very powerless position and he knew it. I’d heard he was an intimidating character and all the rumours were playing out in reality.

For the next ten minutes he regaled me with the problems he saw in my mouth. At least I was sure that was he what he was talking about as I didn’t understand much through his strong accent. Every now and then I’d look at his nurse for help and she would smile as if to say he’s right and you’d best be good and do as he says. Though I did take some of her thoughts as: He has just bought a new motor launch to go deep sea fishing and you’ll be helping no end to pay it off for him….

Suddenly he stopped and handed me a sheet of paper. It said “Quote to perform oral procedures”. Then a pen was thrust into my hand and all the while he is standing over me looking more and more impatient at my unnecessary delay. It was the last figure on the bottom of the page that suddenly made me aware that I would be working into my nineties to pay for it.

I brushed the pen across the page hoping that if it came to it and we ended up in the debtors court my weak signature might exonerate me.

Next I knew my mouth was numb, his elbow was on my forehead and his whole tone changed. He was in his own private playground and loving every second.

At the end he again announced “Brrooksm” and with a great big smile thrust a mouth guard into my hand as I left the surgery.

 

Written for: https://k1kat.com/2016/07/06/word-for-wednesday-w4w-72/

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Word-High July: Bughaw – The Colour Blue

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I was once little boy blue,

I wear blue a lot

Jeans, shirts, jumpers

I was married in blue

Even fashionable platform shoes

That was in virginal 1975.

Today the sky is a brilliant blue

Most days it’s the same

It’s a warm blue

I see hope and a future

Despite the winter chill

Big woolly coats and ugh boots

The blue of the sky reminds me

The blues are no part of my day.

 

Written for: https://areadingwritr.wordpress.com/2016/07/06/word-high-july-bughaw/

 

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Tuesday is Challenge Day! – The Parent of the Artist.

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You said your son’s an artist?

Yes.

And this is art?

Yes, he says we are now part of his installation.

For how long?

The month he says.

A MONTH?

Yes for the length of the exhibition.

But I have a life.

So do I but he needs our help he says.

On all fours? A month?

He’s such a nice boy how could I say no?

What are we meant to be?

We’re illustrating the power and strength of parenthood.

Good grief!

It could be worse.

How?

It could be two months.

We must have words with him!!

 

Written for: https://tobreatheistowrite.com/2016/07/05/tuesday-is-challenge-day/

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