Photo Challenge #68, Pause, July 07, 2015 – He loves Me, He Loves Me Not

Posted on July 7, 2015 by Michael

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Image: – wallpaperswide.com

He loves me, he loves me not.

Fill it up again

He loves me, he loves me not.

Don’t talk to me.

He said he’d be here

Barman give me another one.

He said to wait around for him

Now I’m getting so pissed off.

He said he was excited to meet up

I’ve gone to a lot of trouble

He said he had great news for me

I can’t be that important.

He said to get a drink don’t wait for him

I’m not; I’m on my third

He said to sit at the bar

There’s nowhere else, this’ a dump.

He said to wait till he arrives

What choices do I have?

He said he’d make it worth my while

The drunk in the corner’s looking attractive.

He doesn’t love me, I know he doesn’t

He never did, the slimy bastard

I bet he’s off with his slutty assistant

Think I’ll just get shit faced.

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2015/07/07/photo-challenge-68-pause-july-07-2015/

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Scribe’s Cave Picture Prompt #73 – Bomb Alaska

Posted on July 7, 2015 by Michael

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The café was humming. The place was packed.

The Mattles were seated near the front of the café. There party of six were celebrating their mother’s seventieth   birthday.

For a surprise they had arranged with the chef to provide her with a fiery Bomb Alaska.

When the appointed time arrived they sat back in expectation of the dessert.

The chef made a grand entry, the café hushed as the flaming dessert was paraded from the kitchen.

As he reached the table he tripped on a dropped a banana smoothy. He fell forward, the dessert landed with a thud, the top exploded, flames went everywhere, there was panic, the mother was in flames, the table was a scene of chaos, the café patrons stampeded to the door, knocking over tables and causing more table clothes to catch fire.

In the general mayhem people fled with clothes alight, café fixtures went up in flames, the sprinkler system failed to activate, the chef ran for his life with his treasured cook books and in the shortest of time the café was in ruins, the seventieth party was a shambles with the mother being rushed to hospital. The Bomb Alaska had lived up to its name.

Written for: http://caveofscribes.starvingactivist.com/2015/06/29/scribes-cave-picture-prompt-73/

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Mondays Finish the Story – July 6th, 2015 – Malicious Topiary

Posted on July 6, 2015 by Michael

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Finish the story begins with:  “The barista shook his head. That hedge couldn’t have moved closer overnight. Could it?”

You saw them didn’t you?

He looked frantically round the café. His customers were used to his eccentricities and accepted his outbursts.

He paced from end of the counter to the other. His eyes focused squarely on the topiary across the street.

Occasionally he would check on an order and adjust something on his machine.

But never did his eyes wander.

They’re moving you know he’d say. Yesterday they were a clear inch further back from the road.

I’ve seen the movies he’d say, I’ve seen them come alive and before you know it we are all dead in our beds.

He wiped his brow, as it was obvious he was getting more and more worked up….

That big middle one he’s got it in for me I know, and that little one on the end…gees I don’t know, but I’m sure she’s been winking at me…

Written for: https://mondaysfinishthestory.wordpress.com/2015/07/06/mondays-finish-the-story-july-6th-2015/

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Wordle #68 “July 6, 2015″ Johnny Lightshow

Posted on July 6, 2015 by Michael

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This week’s words to play with: Problem Pithy (brief, forceful, and meaningful in expression; full of vigor, substance, or meaning; terse; forcible) Scuttle Accumulate Wince Truck Unshaven Rictus (the gaping or opening of the mouth) Caitiff (base, despicable person) Flotsam Sapling Dump

 

When Johnny Lightshow woke up that morning he had a burning desire to be pithy and the best place for him to be pithy was to start a blog and write his pithiness onto the screen before him and then put it out there for all to see.

Like so many bloggers Johnny wanted to accumulate as many followers as he could. There was prestige among his mates when he was able to state that he had in the first week accumulated one hundred and twenty-three followers.

Blogging wasn’t as easy as Johnny thought. He had a problem with spelling; thank goodness someone had invented the spell check.

Along the way he tried his hand at many writing prompts. The wordle was a real challenge and he found himself dumping much of his writing as so much time was taken consulting the dictionary.

Being of limited education he struggled with poetry. When he visited poetry blogs he would wince at the strange language before him. Often his face would betray his concerns, as his mouth would often be frozen in a puzzled rictus as he tried to make head and tails of what he read.

He decided it was best if he didn’t take any truck from the poems that rhymed as that hurt his brain too much. Nor did he take any truck from the caitiffs who criticised his efforts, who ridiculed his words as being literary flotsam. Johnny didn’t know what that meant but it didn’t sound so good so he quickly unfollowed all those who treated him in that way.

One day he wrote a poem that received acclaim from his readers:

My dad was unshaven most of the day

He never worked as his back hurt

So he made me lunch, read me stories

Told me I could be anything I wanted to be.

My dad was unshaven day and night

His beard tickled me when he kissed me goodnight

One day he showed me a small sapling

He told me it would grow into a mighty gum tree.

My dad was unshaven the day he died

He held my hand, said be strong

To not scuttle through life

But to walk tall, proud of who I am.

Johnny winced when he read through his poem, wondering what the intellectual giants might say of his humble words.

There was nothing but praise and he had accumulated ten more followers.

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2015/07/06/wordle-68-july-6-2015/

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Magpie Tales: Sunday, July 5, 2015 – Lithe Girl

Posted on July 5, 2015 by Michael

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Image: Bathers, 1950 by George Tooker

I don’t particularly care for their glances; those seconds of accusatory staring designed to make me feel uncomfortable.

They know nothing.

I swim because it’s my release.

My body is thin, lithe you might say.

Its what happens when you don’t eat, when the monster in your life dictates your every waking moment.

You spend all your time placating the beast. There is no time for you.

My swimming costume I wear to cover the marks, bruises and insults that are rained on me each day.

They say that the day of reckoning comes at a time you least expect it.

The monster had me in his clutches, he growled and I jumped, he rejoiced in my nightmare so when it came he was oblivious to my presence.

It was the singular most satisfying act of my life.

I relive it every day, the flash of silver, the blood, the look of terror on his face. He never once thought I might, but I did.

Damn, the muster bell, my new reality awaits.

Written for: http://magpietales.blogspot.co.uk/2015/07/mag-277.html

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“10 Words for Fun Friends” The Town Dance.

Posted on July 5, 2015 by Michael

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Here’s my entry for the new feature Dell Clover has introduced—“10 Words for Fun Friends”; Words—banjo, fiddles, skies, blast, dance, slack, sanctuary, tower, brother, breath:

 

Uncle plays banjo

Sister May prefers to fiddle

Brother sings with harmonic clarity

The church hall the venue

The monthly dance a blast.

Nightly skies a romantic backdrop

A sanctuary for secret lovers

To take a breath between kisses

Should slack towns folk

Look upon them from their ivory towers.

 

Written for: https://dimscribblesdiary.wordpress.com/2015/07/05/cant-catch-your-breath/

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Writing Prompt #114 “Collage” – Pretence

Posted on July 5, 2015 by Michael

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What pretence to play at happy families.

The key to my heart

Was the key to my doom.

You locked me in

Grabbed me by the short and curlies

Then locked out my heart

Denied me love

But scapegoating was your weapon of choice.

The simple became the complicated

The necessary the arbitrary

Common sense a random behaviour.

The love you shared came at a price

Conditional always on my compliance.

There were moments when you appeared to reach out

Offered tokens of love

For that’s all they were

Figments of your warped imagination.

Then one day I took off

Left the nest, stood up

Moved out, no return.

You tried to temp me

Made offers as hollow as you are

With trinkets, promises and feigned desire.

Now I play true happy families

With honesty, love, caring

Compassion and hope.

It tears you up I know

And I’m glad

As I just don’t care.

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2015/07/05/writing-prompt-114-collage/

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SoCS July 4/15 – Is

Posted on July 5, 2015 by Michael

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Badge by Doobster @ Mindfull Digressions.

This week the prompt word is – is!!

Is it possible I wonder as I sip my tea in the cold morning glow?

Is it possible that I can facilitate the change I so want to facilitate?

Is it in the realms of possibility that my humble self can effect change and make a difference?

I ponder such things over a cup of tea quite often. Is this all there is? Is this the best I can hope for?

I think about the wonders of nature and I see a grub turn into a butterfly, vibrant colours on show and I look at me all I do is grow older.

My skin ages, I acquire wrinkles in places there should be such things, my hair is and has fallen out, the prospect of a comb over is not an attractive one, my fitness to work comes into question, my mind wanders to places it shouldn’t, my legs don’t run as fast as they once did, if in fact I ever called upon them to run.

My psychological condition takes a battering as younger people are given jobs over me; an intern I once mentored is now my boss. I look in the mirror and a stranger stares back as bewildered as I am by what he sees.

I go to sleep at night firmly believing that during the night there will be a change, a change for the better for nature has a way of facilitating metamorphosis.

Written for: http://lindaghill.com/2015/07/03/the-friday-reminder-and-prompt-for-socs-july-415/

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Literary Saturday Prompt #13 – Careless Child

Posted on July 5, 2015 by Michael

Literary Fiction - Icon

This week’s prompt:

“To lose one parent, Mr. Worthing, may be regarded as a misfortune; to lose both looks like carelessness.”

—The Importance of Being Earnest by Oscar Wilde

 

She was just here a second ago.

I was collecting my order, fish and chips for dinner, turned around and she was gone.

I know what people are going to be saying.

Neglectful child.

Allowing a parent to wander off like that. What was I thinking? That was just it, I wasn’t.

I thought I had mother under control. She was fed and watered at regular intervals, she was clothed and sheltered. Her every need I acquiesced to. I was the perfect daughter.

But that was just the beginning of the nightmare. Ten years previous father had gone missing only to turn up in the front bar of the town pole-dancing academy.

It was clear I had a history of losing parents.

I dreaded the knock on my door the next morning.

The one thing I feared was becoming a reality.

The Parent Control Authority.

There were four inspectors, each a foreboding as the other.

They looked down their hooked noses at me. They questioned me mercilessly. They all but accused me of deliberately losing my mother so as to gain notoriety and the lost parent pension.

I protested every accusation, I explained my mother was a happy mum, contented and easy to live with who had everything she needed.

‘We find you a careless child, your mother deserved better care, you will have a black mark against your name.’

I gulped, a black mark?

I knew what that meant. My own children would be horrified. Marked as a ‘careless’ child was condemning you to the bottom rungs of society.

Just then my mother came through the door with a tray of tea and scones. She offered them round to the flabbergasted Parent Control Authority.

As she past me a cup of tea I saw her wink at me and give the cutest conspiratorial giggle.

Written for: https://therattlingbones.wordpress.com/2015/07/04/literary-saturday-prompt-13/

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Fiction Friday Prompt #13 – The Little Blue Bottle

Posted on July 3, 2015 by Michael

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Today’s prompt: write a story about a construction worker who makes a discovery of a lifetime at a construction site.

My dad worked after the war as a builder. He worked for a company who did big construction jobs and one of those was to work on the demolition of the old witches cauldron in the High Street.

Progress had caught up with the witch’s cauldron and over the years the call for magic potions and spells had fallen away and the witches, old ladies in my time, who eventually died and the business left derelict.

Dad loved working on demolition sites. He’d often bring home something he found in the rubble, an old basin, horseshoes in fact anything he thought would earn him a dollar at the trade in shop.

This time however he came home with little blue bottles he found among the debris of the old cauldron.

He sat them on a shelf in the laundry and there they sat until one day he took one down and pulled out the cork of the only corked one he had.

From upstairs it sounded like an explosion. There was the shattering of glass and we all rushed down stairs to see what had happened.

There was dad sitting on his bum, blue bottle in hand, and around his head a shower of sparkles.

As they cleared we saw something we had never seen before…. dad had a full head of hair.

He always been a baldy as a badger and would often give his skull a good rub and buff up the shine.

Now he sat there like a person we’d never seen before with a crown of the blackest hair. Admittedly it did look comical with it standing out as if it too had received the biggest of shocks…

In his numb state he just looked at us.

The bottle in his hand was corked when I got there. But in tiny letters on the side were written the words ‘Hair Restorer’.

Dad later stood in front of the mirror admiring his new head. His skull buffer he threw in the bin.

The little blue bottle was to prove dad’s way out of slugging it out on construction sites.

He only had to uncork the bottle and the air was filled with sparkles and heads once bald were then transformed into full heads of lush hair.

With the news came fame, with fame came fortune as he set up a small room in the back of the house and sold sparkles as he called them for a thousand dollars a turn.

There was always a queue waiting him each morning.

Written for: https://therattlingbones.wordpress.com/2015/07/03/fiction-friday-prompt-13/

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