FFfAW Challenge – Week of 06-28-2016 – The Straws

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Image: thanks to Louise at The Storytellers Abode

There wasn’t a lot that could be said about the Straws. They were a farming family at the end of the lane down beside our place.

Mr. Straw or Bales as he was known had served in the war and had returned with only one and a half arms. Most days you’d see him hanging over the fence talking anyone who wandered by. Some days if you were lucky he’d hand over a sunflower for that’s what the Straws grew and sold them to the local Sunflower Oil Company.

Bales despite his disability thought himself a pretty cool guy and always dressed snappily.

It was his slow talking manner that attracted the most attention. Where the rest of us spoke in a rapid fire way Bales was very slow talking in fact if you asked him a question you knew you needed a good thirty minutes for him to get out the answer. So on those days we took a picnic and a thermos.

 

Written for: https://flashfictionforaspiringwriters.wordpress.com/2016/06/27/fffaw-challenge-week-of-06-28-2016/

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Wordle #115 “June 27th, 2016” The First All-Righteous Church

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This week’s great playful words: Smash Tiresome Perfidy (deliberate breach of faith or trust; faithlessness; treachery) Corner Phallus (an image of the male reproductive organ, especially that carried in procession in ancient festivals of Dionysus, or Bacchus, symbolizing the generative power in nature. Anatomy. the penis, the clitoris, or the sexually undifferentiated embryonic organ out of which either of these develops.) Deface Familiar Sediment Heartrending Occupy Rakefire (A visitor who outstays his or her welcome. Originally, someone who stays so late the dying coals in the fireplace would need to be raked over just to keep it burning.) League

When the First All-Righteous church decided to put on a Shakespearean play they chose Midsummer Night’s Dream as a play that was a comedy and contained universal qualities sure to not offend anyone in their church.

They thought it about time they did something that was going to smash through the cultural boundaries. After all the annual musical nights with the same old tiresome songs had resulted in waning attendance and this year a bit of the Bard was sure to shake things up.

Naivety is a wonderful thing and the drama committee embraced the notion of a change in format. Everything went well until Mary Fuller in an act of sheer perfidy ruined the whole performance. Mary was the costume lady and had had discussions with the director, Charles Plant over the appropriate costumes for the various scenes in the play.

Most of the time she could be found in her corner of the theatre sewing and generally costuming to her hearts content. In fact, the director had plenty to worry about and was confident Mary would deliver the costumes on time.

Mary had taken plenty of time to familiarize herself with the play. In particular, she was very interested in the Bottom character for at one stage of the play he is turned into a donkey. Mary had read the play and noticed it read that Bottoms ears where elongated and in general his human features were defaced by the transformation. His character unaware of the change in him occupies the stage in bewilderment as people flee from his now hideous appearance. It is a very heartrending scene and the audience is most sympathetic to the donkey headed Bottom.

Mary decided to go for the maximum amount of humour in this scene. After all Bottom was a comic character. She would leave the audience rolling on the floor with laughter, or so she thought.

So when the moment of transformation happened Bottom appeared with his ears elongated and his nose lengthened and to the audiences dismay his male member was also lengthened…a lot. So on the stage of the First All-Righteous Church was a man in a donkey costume with a phallus designed to scare the day lights out of any woman or man come to think of it. Bottoms organ pretty much dragged along the ground and the scene became a real case of a rakefire as the audience squirmed in their seats from embarrassment. They couldn’t wait for him to get off but he didn’t leave he stayed there dangling his new appendage in the faces of and sundry. Some women fainted, children were ushered from the building, the director was affronted and expelled instantly from the church and Mary shrugged as she rolled the wine in her glass around to shift the sediment that had gathered there and declared it was in keeping with the spirit of the play. She declared that there was no one in league with her and took the offending phallus home with her that evening.

So the shortest run of any Shakespearean play occurred at the First All-Righteous Church. The congregation vowed never again and the next year the tired old favourites of the past were rolled out once again as safe was what the congregation wanted, after all they concluded there was no place for a phallus of any description in God’s good church.

 

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2016/06/27/wordle-115-june-27th-2016/

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Moral Mondays: “Finish What You Start”

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There was a little man, an insignificant man.

He lived in a plain house

Painted in fairy floss.

Afflicted with a life curse

Married to a woman,

Who repeated daily her litany

Clean this, polish that,

Shift this, move that

On and on it went.

He’d start one job finding ten more accumulating.

He sympathized with Sisyphus.

His life was a never ending burden.

It came as a surprise to many

When he dusted a last time

Walked away

Leaving his tormentor in wonder

Defied convention

Moved on,

Finished an old life

Found himself and love again.

 

Written for: https://moralmondays.wordpress.com/2016/06/26/moral-mondays-finish-what-you-start/

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Writing Prompt #165 “Collage 26” – Cyril Rum

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No one noticed the arrival of Cyril Rum into the old dilapidated house at the end of the street. It was one of those old places where neglect had been its most recent visitor. At that end of the street the rail line ran close to the houses and was probably a reason for no one wanted to live there.

Cyril was all settled in and had the place looking a treat before anyone really had time to take in that the old place was now occupied.

He wasn’t a standout sort of man. In fact he appeared to be on the downward side of middle age, was balding and slightly rotund. He kept pretty much to himself, tended his garden and grew the best crop of potatoes seen in the street for many a year.

There was a reason for Cyril choosing the house and location. Cyril was an angel. Like all angels he’d been a round a long time and over the course of eternity, which Cyril would remind other angels was an awfully long time, the day to day wear and tear even on an angel had taken its toll.

So in an effort to rejuvenate and reinvigorate himself he had taken a leave of absence to spend some time by himself to try get his angelic nature back in shape.

He had chosen our street as it was a very ordinary street and who would ever suspect the old run down house at the end of the street to be occupied by an angel.

He blended in well in that he appeared to be just an older man living as we all did, minding his own business and looking after his place.

He even acquired a dog, a small furry dog that he had sleep in a basket at the foot of his bed. This was his only companion and he seemed content in having that way. Though we did wonder why in his back yard there were always two chairs facing each other. Some said they saw him out there at night chatting to some imaginary figure in the other chair. Other said it was because he wanted people think he did have visitors.

About three months after his arrival I did venture down to his place. He invited me in and we sat out the back in those two chairs and talked about the neighbourhood, gardens and growing things.

We’d have to stop as the coal trains rumbled past and in that time I could see him scrutinising me. When asked about his past and where he had come from he answered enigmatically. He’d been around he said and now he was looking to spend some time taking it easy.

As I left that day he did ask me one thing that bothered me…..what is it you fear most?

I had no answer and said so. He replied that I was just a man and that being so I had to be scared of something. He was right my daughter had a cholesteatoma in her right ear and I did fear that she would lose her hearing if the operation planned the next month didn’t work.

He patted me on the shoulder as I left and said he would say a prayer for her.

It was that night that the phenomena of the burning angels began.**

 

**Here is a link to the burning angels:

Microfiction challenge #2: Burning Angel

 

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2016/06/26/writing-prompt-165-collage-26/

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SoCS June 25/16 – drink

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Do you ever stop and think how good it could be to own a winery?

I ask this as after watching a lot of DVD TV drama and observing that numerous bottles of wine are consumed in each and every episode.

It seems that no matter the situation a bottle is opened and shared around. I guess that it is shared sis a good thing rather than guzzled by one person.

Having a drink is so much a part of societies norms now isn’t it. You come home from work and a relaxing drink before dinner is what people love to do.

You invite people over and the first thing you do is offer them a drink. In a restaurant you are asked up front what you might like to drink.

Of course the issue for me has always been that we drink too much and so if we are not careful or aware of our condition we can get ourselves into trouble or even worse someone else into trouble.

I remember growing up with boys who would come in on a Monday morning bragging about the great weekend they had had when on Saturday night they had been blind drunk. I have always been puzzled by their answer to my question: What did you do? Their answer: I can’t remember.

I used to seriously think it was my issues that they couldn’t remember but I was always torn by the idea of how can you have a great weekend when you can’t remember what actually happened.

Now days I drink very little, alcohol that is…..it really doesn’t mix terribly well with medication so to spare myself. I just don’t drink at all…so I sit around with my wine buff brothers listening to them wax lyrically about this wine and that one. In a way it’s an education and I’m glad they enjoy it all.

I find I have the pleasure of being designated driver a lot. Some days I really do dream of owning a winery.

 

Written for: https://lindaghill.com/2016/06/24/the-friday-reminder-and-prompt-for-socs-june-2516/

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Prompt Nights – Summer sets upon earth’s bosom bare

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I sit on the sand staring out into the Pacific

A cooling north-easterly breeze

Makes this hot day bearable.

There is a girl wading through the soft beach break

With her feet she is digging for pippies*

Around her neck she carries a dilly bag

Where she stores the small shell fish.

I watch as she moves methodically along the beach

Her nakedness apparent

For this is a place where she can be herself.

Her body is athletic

Her breasts pointed into her future

She is focused on her task.

She blows off any would be attractions

Turns away from the stares of those

Encased in their own ignorance.

I watch as she turns and makes her way back.

There is no doubt she is a beautiful sight

She gives me a brief smile as she passes

I smile back as her bottom disappears over the dunes.

Moments later she is back

Plops beside me, her body now covered.

She slips her arm into mine

Lays her head upon my shoulder

We sit together, the sun beats down

We are glad we are here.

 

 

*Pippies are a small shell fish found in the sand on Australian beaches. They are a delicacy and much sort after such that some locations have restrictions on how many you can take from the beach at any one time.

 

Written for: http://www.adashofsunny.com/prompt-nights-summer-sets-upon-earths-bosom-bare-19/

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Microfiction challenge #2: Burning Angel

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Photo ©Jimmy Fell

At first, the burning angels were a source of great worry and fear. They appeared in random places and burnt ferociously. After a while, it became apparent that it was a waste of time calling the fire brigade as the angels burnt down of their own free will and no amount of dousing by the fire fighters made the slightest difference. As it was, they left only a scorch mark on the ground and never once set fire to anyone’s house or singed any plant outside the base perimeter.

There was a common factor. Cyril Rum. Cyril lived at the end of our street and was always to be seen across the road from every burning angel watching the fire sometimes commenting to neighbours, but always he was there.

Most of the angels burnt in the front of peoples yards. We thought they were, of course, random acts of vandalism until people started to note that certain things happened inside the houses the angels burnt in front of.

Mr Turner who had long been struggling against fruit fly in his Orange orchard found the fruit fly gone and his oranges bigger and juicier than ever. The Weston’s whose son William was very ill and not expected to survive found that after the fire their son showed an amazing recovery.

The burning angels worked in so many ways within our community. The Casey’s were a family with loud music, loud cars and very loud obnoxious people. They fought and argued with their neighbours threw rubbish in the street and generally showed a disregard for everyone. One night an angel burned in their front yard. It only burnt for less than five minutes, but the next day the Casey’s were seen moving out, claiming victimisation and a haunted house. We saw it as a form of retribution.

At the far end of the street, the opposite end to Cyril’s house lived Catherine and Tommy deGrugin. They were an old couple and Catherine in her later years suffered badly from the ravages of cancer. Her condition worsened to a stage where she was so drugged up she lost consciousness and become a body barely breathing. Tommy would often be seen on his front veranda sitting there looking into the distance the look of incredible sadness on his face. The reality of dealing with a wife of fifty years who now suffered so much was more than he could handle.

One night an angel burned in front of his house. It burned for forty minutes, the heat intense, there were fears this time the house might go up as well. When it died down, there was an eerie stillness in the air.

Inside the house, Tommy sat beside his dying wife as the inferno raged outside. When the fire stopped he felt her hand in his, he looked at his wife and saw her looking up at him. She smiled and told him she loved him. She held his hand as together they said their farewells. They were blessed with three final hours where they lay beside each other, pain-free, remembering the love they had so happily shared all those years.

The next day Tommy went to Cyril’s house, the first time anyone had entered Cyril’s house and said thank you.

A follow-up story can be found here:

https://summerstommy.com/2016/06/26/writing-prompt-165-collage-26-cyril-rum/

 

Written for: https://janedougherty.wordpress.com/2016/06/24/microfiction-challenge-2-burning-angel/

 

 

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Thursday photo prompt #writephoto – Door – Temple Parsons

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There had been warnings of course about the door. To stay away. Leave it shut lest you were happy to invite trouble.

Most people complied but there was always someone who thought they had it in them to tempt fate.

It was by anyone’s standards an imposing structure. Built in 1742 by Canon Wexler the then Vicar of St Goodman’s. Built from the sturdiest hardwoods it had stood the test of time.

The door had been locked in 1876 after a very nasty event in which the then vicar Charles Watershed had been caught pressing young ladies into acts irregular.

It remained locked as no one knew where the key was and the room behind it had since gained a reputation for salacious intent.

So it came to be that one Temple Parsons decided to see what was behind the door. He engaged a locksmith to find a way the open the lock and after a week of careful manipulation the door was finally ready to be opened.

Temple was excited at the prospect and was eager to enter the room. What he found horrified him and led to him scrambling to the door only to find it shut and him on the inside holding the key with no key hole on the inside.

Around the walls of the room sat skeletons, all neatly sitting as if waiting. Each one holding a key in their boney hands.

He tried to call for help but the room was soundproof, those on the outside heard nothing, their calls went unanswered they assumed Temple was gathering all the information he so desired and would come out in due course.

But due course never arrived and as they believed he had the only key to get out they waited on one side while inside the frantic Temple looked, pounded, called, sought any way possible to escape.

Looking around he noticed a space along the wall for one more body.

 

Written for: https://scvincent.com/2016/06/23/thursday-photo-prompt-writephoto/

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Friday Music Prompt 48: Fields of June – The Thrill Still In Her Heart

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The girl sat and pondered

Thought it would be nice

If there was a field

Instead of a pond

A vast distance

Where convention so it seemed

Guarded every exit.

She sat and waited

Waited as you do

For a change in the wind

A change of fortune

For every day was an adventure

A matter of degree.

Underneath she knew

And knew he did know

Despite the limitations

And all manner of reason

There burned a love

Neither had ever known.

They toyed with love no more

They contemplated goodbye

But something stronger

Grabbed at them

Saying rejuvenate

Go and play once more

Enjoy your youthful selves

For tomorrow will come.

The girl sat and pondered

The thrill still in her heart.

 

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2016/06/24/friday-music-prompt-48-fields-of-june/

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Tale weaver #73 June 23rd – Making Sense of Nonsense – The Book of Universal Cerfin

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Bott was very proud of his new book. It had taken him to most countries around the world and many years of hard and earnest work to bring the twelve-hundred-page tome to publication.

That he was the world’s authority on Universal Cerfin meant that it was beholding of him to make it clear in the opening pages of his volume just what Universal Cerfin actually was. That it took him forty pages to achieve that was accredit to him and gave his book far more credibility than he ever imaged. After all, in most academic circles it was the length of the introduction that so often determined the academic value of any text. Bott of course was no stranger to academia. He had studied at the University of Kickamoocow in outback Australia and received in 2015 his PhDee from the auspicious University of the Auspicious in Upper Downtown Slowdtoacrawl.

His academic qualifications were the envy of many and a mystery most. Universal Cerfin, Bott espoused in his vast and terribly interesting volume was the study of Fairy Culture and Fairy Ritual.

From the backyard fairy gardens of Australia to the front yard gardens of Eastern Europe to the vast cactus yards of the American west to the small diligently manicured gardens of the west coast he travelled and gather what he needed.

And he met many an interesting fairy along the way. The somewhat unhappy and yet surprisingly happy fairies of the Eastern European countries many of whom shunned other fairies and had cats as constant companions and in whom they confided as they believed they were far more trustworthy and believable than other fairy folk. Their evening ritual of dancing around their cats in attempt to distract them from what the fairies believed were evil thoughts the cats had about eating the fairy owner should he/she look sideways. This fascinated him and he took many notes and illustrations which he displayed on pages 110 – 113 of his impressive book.

The whole point of the Book of Universal Cerfin is to illustrate that within fairy culture ritual plays a significant part in the day to day lives of all fairies. They start with morning rituals which range from vigorous face washing to less than vigorous morning ablutions to evening rituals of putting the cat in its place in the cultures that pay homage to the cat to cultures where the burning of small fires at the end of day symbolize the successful end to another day where they have all managed to survive.

But of course the most elaborate rituals occurred on the American west coast where fairy communities in the areas where gardens were treated with the upmost care and not a blade of grass was out of place reflected their environment. These were the anally focused fairies for their ability to blend into the gardens so meticulously tended, meant their survival. They found the gardens with garden ornaments the most favourable and they would congregate in gardens with concrete frogs and perform sophisticated rituals of frog worship careful not to leave any trace of their being there. They feared expulsion as their minute size often meant they were gathered and dumped in the green waste bins.

It wasn’t easy being a fairy Bott concluded there were so many natural enemies to contend with and so many rituals that necessity demanded they perform.

On Saturday the 31st Bott launched his text at the Extraordinary Bookshop in the Centre of Downtown Uptown. A small number of curious people attended, looked at his book and as he was signing copies bought one each and went home thinking it would make a perfect door stop.

Needless to say Bott never received the accolades he thought he deserved, his book was never a best seller, not one Hollywood producer rang him with a movie offer and several Eastern European countries placed a ban on him entering their country ever again.

Never to be phased Bott set out on researching his second volume, Universal Cerfin, A Beginners Guide, Fairy Rituals To Do at Home.

 

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2016/06/23/tale-weaver-73-june-23rd-making-sense-of-nonsense/

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