Reena’s Exploration Challenge #101 – The Grateful Mother

Posted on August 24, 2019 by Michael

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Image: Anastasia Elias

The mother is pleased to be turning out the light.

It’s been a long day.

Baby is demanding, for reasons unknown he cries, refuses to eat, is irritable, she hopes he will sleep tonight.

It hasn’t helped that she is doing this all alone,

He husband left her a week ago

Walked out, found a younger more agreeable woman,

A woman who expects so little, so soon,

Ideal for a husband who wanted to live a single man in a family situation.

She bears the burden of being the mother and the stigma of bitch of a wife.

That’s what she hears he is saying around town, painting her as the evil one, giving reason for justifying his decision to leave the marriage and look elsewhere.

She stands outside the bedroom, hoping her baby will settle and fall off to sleep.

There are too many nights of late where she has deprived herself of sleep preferring to nurse her baby, rock him to sleep, pander to him as she feels the weight of being deserted.

Unloved and unwanted, the curse of it descends upon her, and she slumps to the floor, energy wanes as she finds herself crying tears of pain.

She stays down, baby is quiet, maybe he senses she needs some mum time, and he must be exhausted as he is awake most of the day.

After a time, she realises he is asleep and makes a move towards her own bed.

Crawling in she feels the sensual touch of the bamboo sheets she recently purchased and hopes tonight she will get to stay between them.

When she wakes she hears her baby, he is crying, such a familiar sound and she notices the morning light coming under the drawn curtains. Instantaneously she feels grateful, sleep, at last, energy restored, she gets up and goes to her boy.

 

Written for: https://reinventionsreena.wordpress.com/2019/08/22/reenas-exploration-challenge-101/

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Thursday photo prompt: Mirror #writephoto – Mutual Admiration.

Posted on August 23, 2019 by Michael

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They were gathering once again. The vain, the pretentious. Lining up to see the image of themselves reflected back at them.

It was a regular occurrence, a sort of social event within the well-to-do of the forest.

On top of all that there was a sense of mutual admiration as they complimented each other on what they saw.

As they basked in the pretence of it all, they never noticed the not so bothered who sat in the trees waiting their time when each separated or stopped their inbred alerts and the pickings would be easy.

So wrapped up were they in their own perceived view of each other they were oblivious to the danger above them.

Not that they worried about such things, as fate had become part of their screwed DNA and the loss of one or many was not dwelt upon as there would always be others to take their place.

Said one to the other, “You’re looking very becoming today,” and turning his gaze a fraction, the second image vanished.

 

Written for: https://scvincent.com/2019/08/22/thursday-photo-prompt-mirror-writephoto/

 

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Tale Weaver – #237 – 22nd August – Weeds

Posted on August 22, 2019 by Michael

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“Are you feeling run down?

Is every day a struggle for you to get through?

Has ambition become little more than wishful thinking?

Then you need…..”

“Enough!” thought Weeds Tussock. He’d read enough, and so far, everything he read was a summary of his life.

The more he read, the worse he felt, after all, his life was challenging on any good day.

He was at the bottom of the employment ladder, he was sure his employer kept him on more out of loyalty than because of his productivity. His marriage had failed, and his ex-wife was now living in the Blue Mountains with a guy who sold swimming pools. His children preferred to not see him saying he was an embarrassment to them, and he understood their point of view.

When he reflected on his life as he often did, as in the long hours between day light, he slept haphazardly and had a lot of time to think.

Maybe he should have been a poet he thought. His mum had always said he had a way with words:

“Roses are red,

Violets are blue,

What a shame

You’ve come down with the flu.”

 

The trouble, Weeds thought, was that from birth he had been up against it. His real name was Scott Alexander Tussock, but from his first day at school, the nickname ‘Weeds’ had been attached to him and stuck. Added to that he was a short kid, the basketball team was never an option, he hated pain and physical contact, so football was out, he wasn’t strong enough to play tennis and the only sport he stood any hope of playing was cricket as he had the right stature to be a wicket-keeper, but he disliked the game, so nothing came of that.

When he finished school, he went to the local TAFE to do a course in accounting as his father said accountants were always in work. Weeds was an efficient accountant, but that was all he was. He was a good team player but never a leader, and so he never progressed in the firm of Ledger, Payroll and Balance.

As the years passed, Weeds found the monotony of his job depressing and here he was today reading an advertisement for Dr Calm’s Uplifting Medicinal Rub. The ad said you simply rubbed it on and then awaited the uplift it gave you.

“What a load of rubbish,” thought Weeds but as he was desperate, he ordered two bottles, “What harm could it do?” he wondered.

Weeds Tussock retired from the accounting firm, he took himself on an overseas holiday, cruised the Rhine River and stood in wonder in front of the Eiffel Tower. Each night he rubbed some of the medicinal rub onto his private bits and sat back, he had never felt so good, so alive, he walked with a renewed spring in his step, he engaged in earnest conversation with his fellow travellers and more importantly he came to understand he had far more to offer than he ever realised.

Straightening his tie, he headed out, his date with Moyra from the upper deck was something he was looking forward to.

 

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2019/08/22/tale-weaver-237-22nd-august-weeds/

 

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100 Word Wednesday: Week 134 – In the Sky

Posted on August 21, 2019 by Michael

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Was it a bird? A plane? Space invaders?

There was general mayhem, to say the least.

A crowd gathered each person had their own perspective.

They stood riveted to the spot, looking up, unable to move their gaze from the phenomena above them.

As the objects came closer, it was evident their fears were unwarranted.

Hot air balloons, nothing to worry about here.

It was at that precise moment the lasers struck.

Around them, the landscape splintered, the time for general mayhem had passed.

Confusion and panic set in.

Above them, destruction rained down.

Cover and protection had become superfluous.

 

Written for: https://bikurgurl.com/2019/08/21/100-word-wednesday-week-134/

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Crimson’s Creative Challenge #41 – Trout’s Farm Geese

Posted on August 21, 2019 by Michael

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It was true to say that Crisp, my aged companion, didn’t like geese.

We were on a visit to Trout’s farm and the geese met us at the front gate as we alighted from our car.

“You go first,” said Crisp standing behind me.

“They’re only geese,” I said, stepping around them with Crisp standing closer to me than normal. Crisp was a lover of her body space, usually arm’s length from me, but today she was sacrificing that need.

“Nasty things geese,” she exclaimed, “as a kid, they chased me around the farm, they have a very nasty peck.”

They must have sensed Crisp’s fear for they started squawking, circling her as if they identified her as someone distrustful of them, and they were right.

It turned out to be one of the rare times on our holiday where Crisp showed how light-footed she could be.

 

Written for: https://crimsonprose.wordpress.com/2019/08/21/crimsons-creative-challenge-41/

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Photo Challenge #277 – Looking Up

Posted on August 20, 2019 by Michael

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Image: – Jovana Rikalo

It’s a long way, isn’t it?

A long way.

Are they real do you think or are they an illusion?

Oh, they are real.

Can they be so many?

I read the other day that what we see is just a fraction of how many there are.

Do you think it ends?

No.

It just goes on and on?

Yes.

But you’d think it has to end somewhere?

Maybe it’s round like the earth.

Like Voyager will one day come back?

Possibly. It would answer a lot of questions.

I never get tired of looking up there.

It’s overwhelming, isn’t it?

Yes. So many. So far.

We are part of it, aren’t we?

Yes, however small we are, we are part of the great universe.

Even though in reality, we are nothing but an infinitesimal dot within it.

Humbling isn’t it.

Very much so.

I’m glad you are here.

So am I.

I don’t feel so alone when I’m with you.

Neither do I.

 

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2019/08/20/photo-challenge-277/

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Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner: Week #33

Posted on August 19, 2019 by Michael

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It seemed such a good idea at the time.

She was single. He was single.

Why not?

This thought echoed in his mind as if waiting clarification, it was a good idea.

Building up the courage and justifying to himself, it was a reasonable request he approached her and popped the question.

Her reaction was not as he imagined. She looked at him as if he was the carrier of some exotic disease and took a step back.

He had imagined their date would be as if sailing high above the clouds, the two of them wrapped in each other, talking incessantly, telling each the story of their lives, one fascinated in the other.

Reality was the sight of her turned up lip, the curt NO, the look in her eyes telling him she wouldn’t be seen dead with him.

Instead of floating into a world of belonging, he found himself deflated, his ego flopping to a lifeless heap.

He watched as she walked away, and made a resolution to never again put himself in that position. Humiliation leaves an eternal scar, he dropped his head, praying no one was watching what had just happened.

 

 

Written for: https://flashfictionforthepracticalpractitioner.wordpress.com/2019/08/14/flash-fiction-for-the-purposeful-practitioner-week-37/

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Sunday Writing Prompt “Train Ticket” – Liberty

Posted on August 18, 2019 by Michael

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The line of people along the station platform resembled a lineup of zombies.

But these people were not zombies but rather liberated persons from the worst of the camps. Each man and woman carried a water bottle. Some sipped as they waited, most held onto their bottle and looked ahead.

It was easy to understand their apprehension at finding themselves on a train station and hearing the approaching engine. All of them had been delivered here in cattle wagons, cramped in, given no food or water and as a result, many of their fellow passengers died on route.

But now things were different, and as the train pulled into the station, they could see that this time they were to be transported in passenger carriages.

When the train came to a stop, they stood and waited. Not one ventured to board the carriage in front of them. They had to be urged to do so, and once they saw the carriages had food for them their reluctance dwindled.

With them all, on board, the train moved off and the passengers still in a state of shock and fear accepted the food parcels they were given. Tentative at first, fearing the worst, as they had all experienced unspeakable horrors in the camps, they began eating and feeling for the first time some respect and dignity.

They didn’t have homes to go to as most of their towns had been destroyed in the war, there were very few relatives left, they were displaced persons, and as they rode the train, they wondered where they might be going.

Freedom had come, and their release was like a massive weight removed from their shoulders. For the first time in years, they moved as men and women who could once again see a future for themselves.

The train hurried along its rails, past green fields and through towns that showed the scars of war.

After eating the men in one carriage started to sing. Soon the song infected all the carriages and men and women sang as one, celebrating a new life.

Eventually, the train stopped, and they looked out on a place they had never seen before. The colours were vibrant, the expanse of green reached the horizon, there were shops and on the platform were stalls set up with clean clothes.

Discarding their camp rags, they dressed and shed their past, at least in a physical sense. Showers and new clothes did a lot, but inside each person was a story that needed to be told.

 

 

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2019/08/18/sunday-writing-prompt-train-ticket/

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Reena’s Exploration Challenge #100 – A Huge Infinity Sign.

Posted on August 16, 2019 by Michael

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When it happened, he was unaware he was the one. Around him, he could see other entities, but they appeared to be focusing on their own predicament.
In front of them was a huge infinity sign.
He wondered what it was all about, but any questions he asked fell on deaf ears, either that or no one knew the answers.
Each time he posed a question, the infinity sign pulsed as if to provide him with all he needed to know, which in his estimation was not a lot.
There didn’t seem to be a solution other than to follow.
Written for: https://reinventionsreena.wordpress.com/2019/08/15/reenas-exploration-challenge-100/
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Crimson’s Creative Post #40 – The Steps of ‘History’.

Posted on August 15, 2019 by Michael

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Crisp, aged companion, was convinced the steps were ancient. “Just think,” she said, “there could have been Celts, Romans and Saxons traipsing up and down these steps.”

I asked why she thought this could be the case.

She explained that if I looked closely, I would see the steps had been carved meticulously, had been there a long time and had been created to take the traveler to come site of significance.

There didn’t appear to be anything of significance that I could see but Crisp was having none of it. “Can’t you imagine warriors in past years, charging up these steps in pursuit of some enemy, a villain or a valiant knight fighting a fire breathing dragon?”

The dragon image I thought romantic but a tad far-fetched to which she agreed.

As we moved on I noticed a sign saying the steps were the work of the local Lions Club, 1998.

 

Written for: https://crimsonprose.wordpress.com/2019/08/14/crimsons-creative-post-40/

 

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