SERENDIPITOUS PHOTO STORY PROMPT – 2015 #4 – ON MEDICAL ADVICE

Posted on May 6, 2015 by Michael

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Beep!

Beeeeeep!

Beeeeeeeeeeeep!

Oh for goodness sake get on with it.

I’m only here because medical advice suggested it would be a good idea.

‘In order for you to continue breathing Jane we need to do this procedure. It is painless, you wont feel a thing.’

He is right of course. I don’t feel a thing. In fact I don’t feel anything.

I’m lying here on this gurney, stark naked with a team of beady eyed doctors pouring over my bits in order to ascertain the extent of my ‘issues’.

Yes another word they threw at me. Apparently my body has issues, ones that need a team of beady-eyed doctors to poke and prod, ohhh and ahh over as I lie here not feeling but HEARING every word.

I don’t think they know I can hear them.

The grey haired one with the lisp is complaining about my life style saying I wouldn’t be in this predicament if I’d lived a more active and disciplined life.

His nurse is the snotty one who stuck the needle into my arm and condescendedly said at the time: ‘ Just a prick sweetie then you’ll go to sleep.’

Prick indeed, now we know whose the prick in this game. Uh! Miss snotty just you wait, the things I’ll tell about your bedside manner.

Another doctor has entered, sounds like an English educated type. He is mentioning my spreading breasts as if that’s any of his business; he wants them gathered in and out of the way. The hide of the man, nature isn’t kind to us as we age and I sense his day is yet to come.

My breasts my be spreading but at my age they have nowhere else to go but down and when I lie flat on my back they spread like flood waters.

They are discussing my issue again.

Do get on.

I was hoping to be back in time for my afternoon serial. Jane- Marie is about to have Sam’s baby but Lorna doesn’t know it’s Sam’s as she is in love with Sam’s sister Gabby and thinks the sun shines out of her arse. Sam is such a gormless fellow I do like see him get his comeuppance.

Ohh…I felt that. Did I twinge, recoil?

I’m not sure I’m meant to know what just happened.

I hear alarm in their voices

They are pushing on me…….

Owwwwww that smarts, those paddles are hot…..

AGAIN? Are you kidding?

Owwwwwww…….just let me breathe

I’ll be ok; I’m always ok……

Oh crap!

Beep!

Beeep!

Beeeee…………

Written for: http://teepee12.com/2015/05/06/serendipitous-photo-story-prompt-2015-4/

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FFfAW Week of 05-06-2015 – Sightseers.

Posted on May 5, 2015 by Michael

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Jose had had just about enough.

Damn those American tourists and all their whinging.

Their collective ignorance astounded him.

Did they know this was a one-paddle vessel?

His loud and obnoxious passengers had thrown him a hundred dollar note saying they wanted to see the sights of Caustic Grando.

He’d riled at comments like; ‘I could walk faster than this.’ And the greatest insult of all: “You know if they stuck an outboard on the back of this boat they’d make a heap more money.’

Jose was a patient man and propelled the boat forward, his sights set on the reef. As they approached it the boat heaved in the waves, rocking the passengers back and forward, up and down, their respective stomachs emptied of their lunch contents, their mouths shut in fear that they might soon join their regurgitated lunch in the swirling waters.

The small boat slid back across the now still waters, the passengers gripping the sides, their sights set on land and safety. Only Jose was smiling.

Written for: https://flashfictionforaspiringwriters.wordpress.com/2015/05/05/fffaw-week-of-05-06-2015/

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Photo Challenge #59, Shadow, May 05, 2015

Posted on May 5, 2015 by Michael

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You think its him?

Indistinguishable.

He said he would come?

Definitely.

But you believe?

Always.

True to his word?

(Nods).

A fog rolls in, blankets emerge

For the mist brings a cold.

You wrap yourself tight

For not even the warmth

Can stop you shivering.

You’ll hear them first

Their rhymic flapping,

Their monosyllabic squawking

The rush of air as they fly overhead

Seeking the ocean, the calm of the sea.

And you take stock of your own

An empty life devoid of touch

When was the last time you tasted love

So you shift yourself to remove the thought

Remind yourself that this is your lot.

I don’t think it’s him.

Has to be.

I’m sure he’s not coming.

Has to be.

But you hold onto belief.

Have to, no choice.

The sun comes up

Another barren day dawns

You shift a little more

Your mind dreams of what might be

As you look around at what is.

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2015/05/05/photo-challenge-59-shadow-may-05-2015/

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Tale Weaver #11: Bedtime Stories for Grown Up Children – Lucy

Posted on May 5, 2015 by Michael

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When Lucy was a small child she liked nothing more than to curl up in her Grandad’s lap and listen to his stories.

It became a ritual they went through each time Lucy visited.

Now Lucy was a teenager Grandad thought the days of her requesting a tale at bedtime would now be over. But she insisted each time she visited that Grandad tell her a tale before bed.

Sometimes she would ask for the tale she most loved to be retold and Grandad was happy to do so.

Nowadays she would sit beside him, her arm curled inside of his as she listened to his tales. What she liked most was his using her name in every tale. She always felt he was talking about her even in his most far-fetched tales.

Once upon a time began Grandad there lived a girl call Lucy. She lived with her mum in a small house on the edge of town.

Each day after a full day of play Lucy’s mum would call her in and make ready for bed. They had a routine every night that Lucy would ask her mum for a story before bedtime.

So snuggled in her bed Lucy would listen to her mother’s tale enthralled by the wonder her mother was able to conjure each night.

At the stories conclusion Lucy would ask for the light to be left on, as she was afraid of the dark.

Lucy was always quick to tell her mum that when the light was out visitors would come and Lucy felt afraid of them.

So her mum would leave the light on until she was sure Lucy was asleep and then turn it off.

Invariably during the night Lucy would call out for her mother who would come and rock her back to sleep.

One morning Lucy’s mum noted that she had not heard Lucy call for her during the night.

Over breakfast she asked Lucy if she had had a good night’s sleep.

Lucy then told her about her night.

She had awoken to find the visitors around her bed but in front of the visitors stood a white haired lady who told Lucy not to be afraid.

Lucy reported that the white haired lady then sat on her bed and spoke to her about all manner of things.

Eventually the lady said she was to leave and told Lucy to go back to sleep.

Mother was pleased her daughter was no longer afraid of the dark and was thinking her daughter was passing from a childhood fear to a stage of very vivid dreams.

This went on for several nights, not a word from her daughter and a morning report about the old lady.

Deciding to investigate further the mother stood outside her daughter’s bedroom and waited until her daughter was asleep before turning off the light as she did each night.

She opened the door a fraction to note that Lucy was indeed sound asleep and then crept to her own bed.

Some minutes later she heard a noise in Lucy’s bedroom.

She walked to the door and peering in saw her daughter sitting up, her eyes staring at the end of the bed.

Lucy was listening to something and then replying in the softest of voice.

The mother couldn’t hear what was being said but watching she couldn’t help but feel her daughter was not in any peril. Eventually Lucy lay down and drifted off to sleep leaving her mother to wonder at what she had just witnessed.

Over breakfast she asked Lucy to tell her about the old lady.

Lucy was very eloquent in telling her mother about the old lady.

‘She looks so much like you mum,’ Lucy said. ‘I think that’s what I first thought, but she’s not, I know that now.’

‘Why do you think she comes?’ Asked her mum

‘Oh I know,’ now replied Lucy looking at her mother with eyes of great wisdom. ‘She tells me I should not be afraid of the past, that family is an all powerful force that will keep you safe and away from danger.’

Lucy’s mother looked at her daughter, tears springing from her eyes as she remembered hearing those very same words when she was a child.

Hugging her daughter the mother felt a weight had been lifted from her shoulders for as difficult as life was for her bringing up a daughter she knew what the words meant.

‘Mum?’

‘Yes.’ Still holding her daughter close.

‘The lady said you’d understand.’

Lucy looked up at Grandad knowing the story was concluded.

‘I love that tale Grandad, it always makes me cry and now days I see what the lady meant by the importance of family.’

‘I’m glad you do.’

‘That lady in the tale Grandad, she was your mum wasn’t she?’

“Yes.’ Whispered Grandad.

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2015/04/30/tale-weaver-11-bedtime-stories-for-grown-up-children/

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Mondays Finish the Story – May 4th, 2015 – Life Sucks

Posted on May 4, 2015 by Michael

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Finish the story begins with:
“After losing her head, she realized that the rest of her body was falling apart!”

Life was cruel she thought.

The restraints had weathered and scarred her wrists from the action of the metal.

They said it was for her own good.

Her head had gone long ago. She was aware of the day. Tuesday 18th October, the day she turned 60. She had woken up to find…. Pffftttt…….it was nowhere to be found. In place of concrete thought was a void.

Now as she looked down on her emaciated body, her skeleton showing through the fragile covering that was once a golden brown she again contemplated the cruelty of life.

The potential of youth, the commitment of a career, were all distant memories.

Sucking on the straw she once again thought, ‘Life sucks doesn’t it.’

Written for: https://mondaysfinishthestory.wordpress.com/2015/05/04/mondays-finish-the-story-may-4th-2015/

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Wordle #59 “May 4, 2015″ Jetlagged

Posted on May 4, 2015 by Michael

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This week’s words: Monarch Dance Fragrant Orange Culpable (blameworthy) Tantalize Oblivion Garden Extremity Phosphenes (a luminous image produced by mechanical stimulation of the retina, as by pressure applied to the eyeball by the finger when the lid is closed.) Pinch Supine (lying on the back, face or front upward)

He had to pinch himself, from the supine position he found himself in, that the thought of the adventure being over had been dancing before his eyes in ways best described as tantalising to say the least.

Could it be true he thought that after all this time he was back where he had started.

There wasn’t just one phosphene dancing before his eyes but several: crowded Roman cobblestoned pathways with vulgar little men wanting to sell him all kinds of useless things from minute Eiffel Towers to hand bags to jewellery and small medieval streets thronging with tourists all bent on discovery and finding that one off unique bargain whilst wondering what you might do should you find such a thing in terms of carrying it home with you through customs.

The revelations that came to light daily as to the lives and practices of the respective monarchs over the ages who were often far from benevolent more likely to whip your head off in some extreme act to prove a point. The even more malicious taking a delight in the torture it might inflict on one’s extremities, the sort of thought that simple made your eyes water considering it.

In a moment of what might be described as culpable memory, the lunatic street riders of Amsterdam leapt into his consciousness. Their orange nationalistic colours resplendent on their back rode without fear around streets teeming with visitors oblivious to the danger crossing any street presented to you.

But in quieter moments the fragrant gardens of Innsbruck floated by his consciousness as he tried to remember what day it was left alone what time of day his body thought it should be.

Was this jet lag he asked himself considering the advantages of being supine when such thoughts emerged, falling down in a stupor of sleep fullness should best be considered from a horizontal position. He shuddered as another phosphene flashed past his consciousness, of a poor dirty woman in Florence begging for a few coins to support the same image of destitution he had seen earlier in the day in Rome.

It was getting late and so the less he thought, the less pressure there was and it was better to allow ones brain to dance in fragrant bliss rather than question the possible extreme thought of his own growing culpableness in producing some thought in an ever increasingly tantalising coherent garden of literary dance.

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2015/05/04/wordle-59-may-4-2015%E2%80%B3/

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FFfAW Week of 4-15-2015 – Sleeping Giant Island

Posted on April 14, 2015 by Michael

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There was something alluring if not bordering on stupidity as we approached Sleeping Giant Island.

As our dingy slipped across the shimmering water towards the island there was an air of excitement growing among the assembled passengers.

Only Oscar the dinghy’s navigator looked about apprehensively.

This island was only place in the world with living dinosaurs. We had been selected to conduct an audit of the island to ascertain the number of species still alive.

It soon became clear that the pterodactyls were still alive and thriving as two swooped down leaving us all covered in pterodactyl greeting.

The audit went well with Carstairs the only casualty. He had foolishly tried to count the teeth of a sleeping T-Rex only for the unfortunate creature to awaken and in a reflex action swallow the equally startled Carstairs.

We assumed, as they never bothered us again we were not palatable to them though they did growl, snarl and drop their waste on us with monotonous regularity.

Written for: https://flashfictionforaspiringwriters.wordpress.com/2015/04/14/fffaw-week-of-4-15-2015/

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Mondays Finish the Story – April 13th, 2015 – Great Uncle Henry

Posted on April 13, 2015 by Michael

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Finish the story begins with: “The neighbors were not happy about my choice of yard art.”

Then again they were never happy about most things like trimming my edges and pruning the roses.

But it was the erection of the buffalo and memorial to great uncle Henry Twocloud that most upset them.

Uncle Henry had migrated to Australia in 1899 and had brought with him his Potawatomi heritage.

We were in fact the only people in our town who could claim Native American heritage.

Uncle Henry had come to Australia to seek his fortune on the goldfields and had married Mary Cosgrove whose sister was my great grandmother.

I grew up listening to the stories of great Uncle and discovered in recent times the rich heritage he brought with him. I designed the memorial to celebrate my family’s cultural diversity.

My neighbours expect the court case to begin next week and have vowed to pour cold water on my erection.

Written for: https://mondaysfinishthestory.wordpress.com/2015/04/13/mondays-finish-the-story-april-13th-2015/

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Wordle #56 “April 13, 2015″ Uncle Harvey

Posted on April 13, 2015 by Michael

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This week’s words: Yellow Scene Dysphemism (the substitution of a harsh, disparaging, or unpleasant expression for amore neutral one.) Seven Crocus Worm Hello Damp Emollient (having the power of softening or relaxing, as a medicinal substance;soothing, especially to the skin) Valve Entwine Obstreperous (resisting control or restraint in a difficult manner; unruly;noisy;boisterous)

To explain the look on my Uncle Harvey’s face as that of a defenestrated puppy would simply be a dysphemism. Uncle Harvey was the most unusual looking man. Mum would always quote Gran as having said: Harvey had been behind the door the day looks were handed out.

My mum was Harvey’s sister, younger than her brother but fiercely protective of him. It was she who took care of Harvey after Gran passed away.

It wasn’t just his facial features but the yellow tinge to his face that made people look twice at him.

Gran was always afraid Harvey would become obstreperous and cause a scene when the unexpected happened in public. As it was he had a very dysfunctional school life. More often than not he was the subject of bullying and that led to conflict in which Harvey usually came off second best.

Gran said she often found him outside sitting among the yellow crocus playing in the dirt with his collection of matchbox cars.

As Harvey grew into adolescence they tried a variety of emollient creams and lotions to tone down the yellow tinge of his skin and to try and improve his skin texture which during his teenage years suffered terribly from the ravages of acne.

It got so bad for him that you could never get an hello out him and for the seven years of his high schooling he became a regular bookworm burying himself behind the covers of any book that took him out of the limelight.

In his final year at school Harvey became physically entwined with Mabel Entwhistle.

Mabel was a bit of an outcast like Harvey.

They found they enjoyed each other’s company, two kindred spirits was how Mum described it to me one day.

But as a couple they attracted unwanted attention and finally one-day Harvey’s pressure value exploded and there was carnage and mayhem everywhere.

The result was Mabel’s parents took her away from the school and Harvey was expelled.

It devastated Harvey that this had happened and he withdrew further from the world. Mum said for a long time Gran feared for her son as she would get up most mornings and find Harvey sitting in the damp of the morning just staring off towards the rising sun, oblivious to the dampness around him.

Gran would bring him inside and watch as his already unusual features crumpled into a heartbreaking sight of torment and loss.

He lived most of his life in Gran’s house. He never worked, he never married, he rarely ventured beyond the front gate.

By the time I came along he was a man many referred to as our town’s Boo Radley. But when I went to visit I was always impressed by his charm and wit, which I know he put on to, mask his pain and sorrow.

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2015/04/13/wordle-56-april-13-2015%E2%80%B3/

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Writing Prompt #102 “Hamartia” – Travis

Posted on April 12, 2015 by Michael

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Hamartia literally means tragic flaw. In stories this flaw often leads to the heroes downfall. We all have traits that complicate our lives, traits that put us in the line of oncoming traffic, traits that lock us into a futile and ceaseless battle with ourselves/the world. Like the woman who continuously chooses unavailable men or the man whose self-worth directly correlates to the size of his wallet. The first time we put on a mask in order to belong is a mistake many of us can admit to making.

Travis Locklin was a loyal and faithful servant.

As a member of the king’s army he fought with great bravery.

The King awarded him great honours and after the last battle in which he led his men successfully against the foreign invaders the King had elevated him to the rank of Duke in gratitude for his services to the kingdom.

On the way home from the battle and not long after hearing the news of his new honour Travis and his companions stopped at a tavern to refresh themselves and celebrate the victory and his newly acquired honour.

It was here that Travis met the three women sitting together at the back of the bar.

The women were shunned by the others in the bar but as they rose to leave they placed three pieces of paper on Travis’ table: Duke, Prince, King.

Travis looked and laughed at the words before him.

Dismissing it as fanciful he and his companions went on their way.

A week later at the conclusion of another savage battle Travis and his troop found themselves victors once again.

This time the king overjoyed with his kingdom being saved made Travis a Prince of the realm.

This news gave rise to Travis thinking back to the odd women in the tavern.

He now realised that two of the three words had come true.

His thoughts turned to how the third could possibly eventuate. Travis’ elevation to the peerage had placed him fourth in line behind the king’s three sons. His sons were warriors like Travis. In Travis’ mind he knew that accidents do happen.

In the next encounter the third son of the king died in tragic circumstances. It seemed he was the unfortunate victim of friendly fire. Suspicious but something that did happen in the heat of battle.

As the battle had occurred near to Travis’ home the King had ordered that all meet at Travis’ castle to celebrate their victory.

Travis’ wife, Lady Travis, was well aware of the events leading to Travis’ recent success.

The King in their home was an easy target and who would suspect the loyal Travis of killing the King. That act alone weighed heavy on Travis. Kings he knew were anointed by God, to kill a king; especially in your own home was a huge betrayal of trust. But Travis saw his chance and was willing to run the risk.

In the dead of night when all were asleep and he had drugged the King’s guard he acted, killing the king and smearing his blood over the sleeping guards so as to deflect blame.

In the morning when the atrocity was discovered all hell broke loose.

The two remaining sons sensing they might be next fled from the kingdom.

With the King dead, the sons fled, Travis was suddenly the one in line to the crown.

He had achieved his goal. He was now the King and went about pillaging the Kingdom to satisfy his own greed. People fled the land; his armies deserted him for they saw not a King but a cruel and evil tyrant.

With the Kingdom in tatters Travis sat in his castle feasting and lording over all who questioned him.

He had lost sight of the role of King. His blinding ambition and greed resulted in a huge force being built to bring him down.

Travis thought he was invincible, as he had slaughtered every potential enemy.

But across the border a huge force was amassing and within days had invaded the land and as Travis was now only guarded by a token few he was an easy prey for the former King’s sons as they took back the land and the crown.

Travis met a grisly end; his head severed and mounted on a spike for all to see the tyrant was now dead.

In the annuls of history they recorded the life of Travis as a tragedy, where a good man had allowed ambition, his fatal flaw, to overpower his reason.

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2015/04/12/writing-prompt-102-hamartia/

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