September 12: Flash Fiction Challenge – Her Greatest Gift.

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Her greatest gift was acceptance.

I was far from perfect, in fact, I was more flaws than anything else, but she saw through all that and took me for the man I was.

For me, it was freeing, knowing I could be myself, mindful of my flaws and aware of addressing issues when they arose.

We enjoyed each other’s company; I felt relaxed, not on guard against putting my foot in it when my mouth took over my brain.

She’d smile, hold my hand, her eyes focused on me and ask if I realized what I had just said.

 

Written for: https://carrotranch.com/2019/09/13/september-12-flash-fiction-challenge/

 

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First Line Friday: September 13th, 2019 – The Thirteenth Floor Jungle.

The elevator stopped on the thirteenth floor with a lurch. 

His first thought was that it was odd the lift should stop at this point, as he knew the building had no thirteenth floor.

The lurch had woken him from a daydream in which he imagined the girl on the eighteenth floor, Maggie Ross, greeted him in recognition. There was no reason she should, after all, he’d rarely visited the eighteenth floor.

But now he had been jolted awake, and as the doors opened, he took in a sight he wasn’t prepared for.

Ahead of him was a sign, ‘Welcome to Jungle World’ and beyond that stretched as far as he could see was a tropical rainforest.

A voice in the lift urged him to disembark telling him the lift was terminating. As he stepped out the doors closed behind him and he was immediately confronted by the sounds of a jungle eco-system, bird calls, the repetition of insects, the distant growls of carnivorous creatures looking for a feed.

Turning around the lift had completely disappeared and behind him was impenetrable undergrowth.

“Good morning,” said a voice near his knee, “ new, here are we?”

Looking around, he couldn’t see anything other than a large python hanging from a tree, which he was sure, was not there previously.

“I’m sorry,” he said, looking around, “but I can’t see you.”

“I’m just hanging around you might say,” replied the voice which he now noted had a slight lisp to it.

“Where?”

“Right here.”

Suddenly in his face was the snake; its tongue flicking out almost touching the man’s lips.

“You? You can speak?”

“Of course, we are somewhat couth around here, I could have simply wrapped myself around you in greeting, but that might not have appeared friendly at all,” said the snake whose name as it turned out was Leo.

“What have I gotten myself into?” thought the man. “I must be dreaming.”

“No, I’m real,” said Leo beginning to feel he was not being taken seriously, “we get a few of your lot in here from time to time. The thirteenth-floor jungle is what we call ourselves, has everything you’d want in a tropical jungle.”

“But how do I get out?” wailed the man.

“Oh, you don’t. The point is you’ll wander around and become dinner for one of the big cats. There’s nothing to worry about its all very kosher.”

“But I don’t want to be dinner for anyone.”

“Well who does, tell that to the mice I plan to have for my dinner, but it’s the law of the jungle you might say.”

Just then there was a roar, and a tiger poked its head out of the undergrowth and growled at the man.

“I’d run if I were you,” said Leo, “Ralph is very dogged in his pursuits. Morning Ralph, just telling the man here he’d best make a run for it.”

“More fun if they do,” mentioned Ralph as he lunged forward in pursuit of the quickly disappearing man.

“Oh was that another lurch,” thought Leo, “gonna be a busy day.”

 

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2019/09/13/first-line-friday-september-13th-2019/

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Tale Weaver – #240 – Wading – 12th September – Drama

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From the moment he arrived it appeared he had no fear.

The teachers didn’t intimidate him like they did the rest of us.

He had about him a bravado that was sure to bring him grief.

But he showed no trepidation, as he waded into the class, guns blazing as they say.

It was clear he didn’t want to be there,

His attitude was one of defiance, he took his seat and that’s all he did,

Lessons were not for him, disruption and play was more to his liking,

In each class he gave the teacher equal billing,

Questioned their commands, refused to cooperate,

Homework was what everyone else did, never him,

Detention was a mere inconvenience.

There was one subject in which he showed interest

Drama

He loved the play-acting, the games, the imagining he could be someone else.

The school play came around and he auditioned and was given a leading role

Embracing the situation he made the play sing for him

If only, said his teachers, he could wade into their subjects like he did with drama.

He was a smart kid, he knew what he liked, he had no tolerance for fools, either sitting with him or standing in front of him,

Why waste time on that which didn’t hold meaning.

 

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2019/09/12/tale-weaver-240-wading-12th-september/

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Crimson’s Creative Challenge #44 – Hinton

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On one of our walks Crisp, my aged companion, saw reason to reminisce about her childhood.

A locomotive rolled past us, and Crisp stopped and stared at the writing on the side of the engine.

“I used to visit Hinton as a kid,” she said, “it was a tiny farming community a few miles from home, and on a fine day my friend OB and I would cycle out there and sit by the river.”

She paused for a moment, then went on. “When there was a flood the town was always in trouble, roads would be closed, and farmers would fear crop and stock loss. We kids thought it great fun to scoop up water melons from the flood waters never giving a thought to any disease they may have attracted.”

“Those were the days,” she said as the train rumbled out of sight.

 

Written for: https://crispinakemp.com/2019/09/11/crimsons-creative-challenge-44/

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Fandango’s Flash Fiction Challenge #31 – The Bubble.

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Most of the time Agnes lived in a bubble, so it wasn’t surprising she was off with the fairies a lot of the time.

Reality for her was built around a few simple things.

Eating and sleeping and what happened in between was often a result of circumstance rather than planning.

She never thought of herself as being any different to other people apart from the bubble that is.

She could swear and curse as well as anyone, and when she dropped a fart, it was of room clearing quality.

Her faculties were highly tuned. She could anticipate whatever question you might ask her and her answers were always profound and intelligent.

But she never went to school, her bubble wasn’t portable, it was fixed to her, and when she went outside, she became confused and disorientated to the point of wandering in circles not knowing where she was. Her mother would find her down the back yard, sometimes crying, sometimes frustratingly angry and would softly gather her in and lead her back to the safety of her room.

When she was sixteen, she discovered boys and one in particular, John, a tall, lanky boy who showed interest in Agnes and would come around to visit. Agnes being a budding woman of the world, wanted to use John to try out a few things but her bubble denied her more than she realized. John turned up one day to find her naked and holding her hands against the bubble, prized it open inviting him in.

Everything was going well until her mother came in with the lemonade she made, dropping it, she screamed, terrifying John and Agnes. Needless to say, Agnes’ foray into her sexuality was short-lived, though, later John was heard to say Agnes was the sexiest girl he ever encountered and what a shame her mum entered when she did.

Not long after Agnes and her parents had a real heart to heart about, birds, bees, boys and bits. They wanted their daughter to lead as a productive life as she could, but being informed was the first place to start from. So, Agnes informed herself, invited John around, got him to put a lock on the inside of her door, and then the two of them explored their respective bits without interruption.

Locked together inside the bubble, they floated, which to John was a thrill beyond words.

 

 

Written for: https://fivedotoh.com/2019/09/09/fandangos-flash-fiction-challenge-31/

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Photo Challenge #280 – A Drop in the Ocean

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Image: picsart.com

“I’m just a drop in the ocean.”

I remember you saying it was we walked the causeway to the lighthouse.

It was our second date and you didn’t want me to get my ‘hopes up’.

It was playing down your significance in the light of future disappointment.

We are at an age where we carry our baggage around in front of us

Some of us have more than others

It’s never pretty, we tend to see it as our personal millstone.

The barriers we have to encounter in every life situation.

It doesn’t take much to trigger us,

We both know that,

It’s not about being careful, it’s about being aware.

Despite it all, you, are my drop in the ocean

I cling to that thought,

You make me laugh, you share with me,

I wonder if separate lives have space for one life.

 

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2019/09/10/photo-challenge-280/

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Sunday Writing Prompt “The Egg” – The Eternal Decision.

When I woke up, there were two men standing either side of me. One had a radiance about him the other was duller and not very interested I could tell as he was slouched and checking his nails.

The brighter one introduced himself as Greg, said he was from the upstairs department and his friend was Wayne from the downstairs department.

It made no sense to me as I felt I was floating and looking around there was nothing to see apart from the two men.

No one said anything as if they were sizing me up. But for what I couldn’t determine.

“So, what do you want?” I asked.

“Your soul,” they chorused, and suddenly Wayne looked more interested.

“It’s our job to decide whether or not you go up or down. Tedious I know but that’s just how it is,” added Wayne.

“Are we talking heaven or hell?” I asked beginning to think this wasn’t my home I was in.

“Well sort of,” said Greg, “more of a transition you might say from one state to another. It has all sorts of names, but your version is a good as anyone else’s.”

“Do I get a say in any of this?”

“Not really, it’s pretty well done and dusted, your life that is, all your good deeds and bad have been committed to the book of good and bad, and we have to make a decision as to what happens to you next,” said Wayne.

“The whole thing can be exhilarating or disappointing depending of course on what expectations you might have,” said Greg taking an iPad from his pocket and pressing the screen with his index finger.

“You’ve got an iPad?” I asked incredulously.

“Of course,” replied Wayne, “been using them for over a millennium, you know. You humans have never been very quick on the uptake have you.”

“Now,” said Greg, “according to us, there are three options.”

“Up or down, or start again,” said Wayne.

“What’s start again?” I asked.

“We send you back, sort of reuse you, see if you can make a better fist of it a second time,” said Greg.

“It’s very popular among souls who have a few dark spots on them and want the opportunity to make good,” added Wayne, “though why some of them bother is beyond me.”

“So, what are you recommending?” I asked afraid of the answer no matter which way it landed.

“I think you should go back,” announced Greg, “you’ve not a clean enough soul to go up and going down you wouldn’t like, then again that is the whole point of it isn’t it Wayne?”

“Yes, thoroughly unpleasant place though we both agree Hell’s Kitchen is the best café in eternity,” said Wayne.

“Without a doubt,” added Greg, “the sushi is to die for.”

At this point, they both laughed loudly, which I thought odd as I couldn’t see anything to laugh about.

Gathering themselves, they looked at each other and then said, “I think it’s decided then. See you in another eighty years, if not sooner.”

After that everything went blank and my next conscious thought was being carried on my mother’s back through a rice field.

I was alive, I was active, I needed to get on with it.

 

 

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2019/09/08/sunday-writing-prompt-the-egg/

 

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Crimson’s Creative Challenge #43 – Suitors

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‘The coats represent the last two suitors who came seeking the hand of the beautiful Eliza, daughter of farmer Brown.’ read Crisp, my aged companion.

We stood at the old gate looking at the coats flapping in the breeze, and the story and image gave Crisp cause to reminisce.

“I had the same issue with my father,” she said, “He made it clear I wasn’t going to marry any fellow who came sniffing around. He’d vet every boy and so none were suitable. He’d sent them away. It was very disappointing. So as no one was a match, I missed the boat as they say. Left a wall flower. And here I am, hanging out with you, the closest I’ve come to being with a man.” She said this looking at me with the same air of disappointment.

“It’s all history now. Let’s get on morning teas your shout.”

 

Written for: https://crispinakemp.com/2019/09/04/crimsons-creative-challenge-43/

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Tale Weaver – #239 – Flowers – 6th September – Miss Marble’s Garden.

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Miss Marble, a witch, at 46 Grimace Street, was sitting on her front veranda with her long-time friend and neighbour Mansur Stigglefod taking in the afternoon and casting an eye over her garden.

Life had been so busy of late what with the advent of on-line ordering, Miss Marble found herself working long hours. “Who’d a thought,” she contemplated, there would be orders coming over the internet.

The two old friends were enjoying a cup of Miss Marble’s relaxing tea which had the effect of relaxing you in a very literal sense. It was Mis Marble who made the remark about her garden being in urgent need of a good weeding and the shrubs in need of some serious pruning.

‘That plant in the corner,” said Mansur, “there’s something about it. It always looks so malevolent whenever I look at it.”

“That’s because it is,” replied Miss Marble, “it’s a ‘florius horribilius’, or a Horror Plant. Most people don’t grow them because they are generally horrible to anyone who goes near them. They emit a scent which likens them to the plant version of a skunk.”

“So why do you have one?” asked a curious Mansur.

“The flowers are essential in my “Chirp” potion.”

“Chirp potion?” queried Mansur never having heard of such a thing.

“A good ‘chirp’ potion is used to buck a person up, make them feel good, industrious, give them a positive outlook, that sort of thing.”

“How does the horrible plant help in that you’d think it would do the opposite?”

“There’s an ingredient in the flower that contains the necessary chemical.”

“How do you get near it to take a flower?”

“Oh, I do it in the middle of the night. The plant sleeps at night and even when awake can’t emit any scent without light to generate it. So, I venture down, speak nicely to it and even though I can tell its grumbling about what I am doing it can’t do anything to stop me. But my actions do explain why it looks unhappy whenever you look at it.”

“It’s a beautiful flower though,” said Mansur as she observed the purple and yellow hue of the flower.

“Oh, it’s gorgeous,” agreed Miss Marble, “I’ve learned to make sure I’m wearing a mask when I extract what I need from the flower as it can send out a foul aroma once the flower is disturbed.”

“You’ve an interesting garden, haven’t you,” said Mansur looking left and right. There were she observed a number of unique looking plants scattered about the yard and one in particular encased in a concrete pot stood tall and erect as if proud of his phallic shape.

“The penis cactus,” said Miss Marble, “a paradox within the plant world, all shape but little else.”

“A real disappointment then,” suggested Mansur.

“Well, most are,” replied Miss Marble sipping her tea.

 

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2019/09/05/tale-weaver-239-flowers-6th-september/

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100 Word Wednesday: Week 136 – On Ya Bike.

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‘On ya bike mate.’ How many times had I heard that. It all started when I went to see Jo hoping she’d come with me to the movies.

I was met at the door by her dad, who had one look at me and said those words I’d hear far too many times.

I mean what’s wrong with me?

I’m honest, sincere, truthful and very, very respectful.

I’m also Catholic, and Jo was Protestant.

I’d sneak over to her place and leave my bike against the wall ready for a quick getaway.

It came in very handy more than once.

 

Written for: https://bikurgurl.com/2019/09/04/100-word-wednesday-week-136/

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