Sunday Writing Prompt “Rorschach Test” – Seahorses.

Posted on May 19, 2019 by Michael

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“I love sea horses,” he said, looking at the Rorschach, turning his head one-way and then another. “Used to see them on holiday, delicate little creatures we watched in the shallows at the lake. Never caught one as they looked so fragile we thought they’d fall apart if we took them out of the water.”

We didn’t have any reason not to believe him, after all, he had been around a long time and even though the medication he was one left him extremely docile we knew that somewhere inside his brain some sense of logic and cohesion was waiting to come out.

It was such a breakthrough train of thought coming from him we thought maybe he is turning it around. Then he said, “You can see them up the Eiffel Tower as well, floating about in the air. There was one spoke to us said: ‘ Beware the lift, it’s dodgy and it might not work, and you’ll be stuck up here.’ I laughed at that suggestion, after all, who ever thought of the lift on the Eiffel Tower getting stuck. And I said as such to the seahorse making the outlandish claim. Lift getting stuck, as if!”

He drifted off into a memory that made no sense to us and looked up and winked at me as if saying ‘I know I’m being silly, but its fun isn’t it?’

“Anyway,” he continued, “ Seahorses are precious. My mum gave me a stuffed seahorse as a present when I was ten. I took it to bed with me for years, I’m expecting Mum to come over the afternoon and bring it for me. I need something to comfort as the nights are very long.”

He stopped there, looked at the door to the clinic and somewhere in his seventy-year-old mind he saw his mum coming down the path with his stuffed seahorse.

“You’ll let her in won’t you?” he asked as we took him back to his room. As he shuffled along, he muttered to himself: “They’re precious, delicate, but my one loves me, I know it does. My mum’s coming with it. You’ll like my mum, she’s bringing my seahorse.”

 

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2019/05/19/sunday-writing-prompt-rorschach-test/

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Reena’s Exploration Challenge #87 – The Sermon on Bathing.

Posted on May 18, 2019 by Michael

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Image: Courtesy – Prachika Saxena

 

The footsteps in the cloister echoed through each of the Sisters cells. Inside each cell, minds puzzled over where the steps might stop. Sister Alice knew who owned the footsteps, the unmistakable sound of the leather hitting the stone pathway, the ring of the loose nail in her right shoe cut through Alice as she awaited the inevitable knock on her door.

She said her prayer, a cry for help, for courage, for resilience knowing that when the door opened, and the Reverend Mother stood in her doorway, she would suck in a huge breath in preparation for the Reverend Mother’s demand she initially show her humility by kneeing in silence and bowing her head as an act of obedience to her.

The Reverend Mother carried a cane that she would use to lift the young novices’ heads and staring them in the eyes would tell them so much more was expected of them.

Each novice was expected to submit themselves to acts of humility, to confess all and any thought of sin and accept the just punishments given out by the Reverend Mother.

Sometimes they were cruel, kitchen duty for a month with only the left-over scraps to be eaten, this punishment as tiring as it was, was considered preferable to the ultimate humiliation of bathing the Reverend Mother.

Theirs’ was an enclosed order given to the glory of and praise of God, but with one perverse exception that being the Reverend Mother’s desire for pleasure all given in the name of God, after all the Reverend Mother explained to the terrified novices, Christ was a man, surrounded by women, so of course he found pleasure in them.

Sister Alice trembled, as she with eyes cast down, she listened to the Reverend Mother’s sermon on bathing.

 

Written for: https://reinventionsreena.wordpress.com/2019/05/16/reenas-exploration-challenge-87/

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May 16: Flash Fiction Challenge – Lookout Hill

Posted on May 18, 2019 by Michael

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May 16, 2019, prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story that goes in search of trees. It can be one particular tree, a grove, woods, or forest. What makes the tree worth seeking? Go where the prompt leads!

The last of the lover’s trees stood resiliently on top of Lookout Hill. Only two remained as all the other trees had been razed to the ground by irate fathers protecting their virginal daughter’s virtue, as well as their own name in the town.

Lookout Hill had been the haunt of so many assignations over the generations. Many of the town’s inhabitants had been conceived under one or other of the trees standing there. It also had its tragic side as several lovers had also met their ends there.

If those trees could speak, what tales they might tell.

 

 

Written for: https://carrotranch.com/2019/05/16/may-16-flash-fiction-challenge/

 

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Tale Weaver – #223 – Search – May 16th.

Posted on May 16, 2019 by Michael

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We all at different times go in search of things from the car keys to our wallets, from looking for a new home to looking into the lives of our forebears.

I recently went in search of my grandfathers. On my mother’s side, that is, as I went to a part of the state where both men lived so long ago.

My mother’s father came to Australia with his father and his three brothers. They came following the death of their mother in Scotland and came to a part of the state which long puzzled me as to why they chose to live where they did. The reason for that was simple as it turned out, my grandfather’s uncle lived here with his family, and so my grandfather and his family moved to be near them and to work in the timber mills in the area.

The other grandfather in question was a grazier in the same area. He had come to Australia, from Ireland, as a young boy and later came to take up three blocks of land in an area about forty kilometres from where my Scottish grandfather was living.

We discovered from the old parish maps where the land my grazier grandfather lived was and decided to go and see if we could find anything remained of where he had lived. I’m talking of a period at the start of the twentieth century and apart from the town where he lived there was not a lot to be found apart from a lot of rocks and a creek that ran through the property.

It was wishful thinking that anything might still be there, but one outcome was to know I was standing on land he once farmed and I did gain a sense of connection to him. It is rough country, and I could see why you might need three parcels of land just to make ends meet. I also understood why it was that his first wife died and later three children died. Also, they were a long way from help, even today with what we have available, you are still a long way from help if anything goes wrong.

The link between these two grandfathers and me, apart from the obvious bloodline, is that they both later lived in the same house as I now live in.

My grazier grandfather retired from the land in 1903 and moved to the coast and took up residence in my house. My Scottish grandfather after his service in World War One married the grazier’s daughter and later bought my house from his father in law and my father, in turn, purchased it in 1947.

The search to discover the lives of my grandfathers goes on, there are so many questions to ask some of which I may never find the answers to as there are not many people left to ask. On top of that, they didn’t write anything down that has been preserved.

Searches can be humbling, understanding our past, where we have come from gives us a perspective and appreciation on a life we should never take for granted.

 

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2019/05/16/tale-weaver-223-search-may-16th/

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Crimson’s Creative Challenge #27 – The Wee Wee Folk

Posted on May 15, 2019 by Michael

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My aged companion Crisp read every brochure she could find. Not far from where we were staying was the Field of the Wee Wee Folk.

Legend had it that these small folk inhabited the field and defended their right to it. Dressed in bright red kilts with stunning red and green sporran under which they hid objects of unfathomable delight.

Crisp armed with her camera set off towards the field.

It looked like any other field, grassy, but did have a narrow walking track.

A pinprick to my ankle alerted me to a presence I thought was mythical. Looking down, there was a small bearded man brandishing a sword and shouting at me.

‘Neh noc hec ya scurvy basted’ or words to that effect.

Crisp started taking photos to which the small man lifted his sporran and Crisp fainted.

I guess she wasn’t ready for an object of unfathomable delight.

 

Written for: https://crimsonprose.wordpress.com/2019/05/15/crimsons-creative-challenge-27/

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What do you See? May 14/2019 – The Grubbard

Posted on May 15, 2019 by Michael

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We all knew about Mother Hubbard and her poor, hungry doggie. We knew that in a moment of desperation it rained dog bones, a rarely repeated phenomenon, and so she went from poor to rich, in dog bones at least.

What many didn’t know was Mother Hubbard had a sister Agnes, known as Mother Grubbard. In both cases the women were childless, but that didn’t stop anyone from calling them Mother, a title both ladies basked in.

Mother Grubbard lived on the edge of town, beyond the town dump, behind a clump of trees that shielded her from the prying eyes of the community.

Mother Grubbard had built herself a tower with a fine spiral staircase to the top. On the top grew the one thing that made life worthwhile for her.

There grew a plant she had developed called the Grubbard. What was special about the Grubbard was it contained an elixir of life.

You see both Mother’s had been around a long time and most people were used to seeing Mother Hubbard, in particular, with her now happy doggie around the streets and in the shops.

Once a year the community would see a young lady, carrying a backpack make her way into Mother Hubbard’s house. In her back pack was a small vial of elixir which would keep Mother Hubbard ageless for another year. A drop in her porridge each morning and a drop on the dogs bone and the status quo was maintained.

The youthful Agnes upon entering Mother Hubbard’s house would remove her teeth and instantly she would become old and crone-like. The sisters would enjoy their day together before Agnes would insert her teeth and appear as the youthful woman making her way out of town.

Once home she would remove her teeth and take her trusty watering can up the flight of steps to give the Grubbard a good drink. This was a daily routine along with her monthly ritual of sprinkling some of Amelia Marble’s Herbal Plant Helper which the Grubbard received with relish. It’s flower bloomed with vigour, the whole plant revitalised before her eyes.

Life was long for both women, but the alternative was far grimmer they both concluded.

 

Written for: https://helenevaillant.com/2019/05/14/what-do-you-see-may-14-2019/

 

 

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Sunday Writing Prompt “5 by 5” – Colin Cyclops.

Posted on May 13, 2019 by Michael

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Image: Cyclops by Thomas Zuber

Pick a Mythological Creature
Cyclops

Pick an Activity
Singing

Pick a Fruit
Apricot

Pick a Time of Life
Childhood

Pick a Concern
Finding Love

Colin Cyclops loved singing, eating apricots and reliving his childhood in an attempt to discover how he might go about finding love.

Colin had been blessed with a rich baritone voice and loved nothing more than standing outside his home and singing Amazing Grace. His voice would echo across the valley before him, and people would look up from the daily tasks to remark about his beautiful voice.

Colin had taken singing lessons during his teenage years and had impressed his teacher with his astounding vocal range. He attributed much of his success to his diet of apricots. It wasn’t just the flesh of the fruit he ate but Colin being a Cyclops had incredibly strong jaws, and he would happily crush the kernel and chew on it.

From childhood, he recalled the days given over to singing and singing some more. He longed for those carefree days, but one thing stood in his way.

Being a Cyclops, he was the ugliest boy in the country. No matter how you dressed him up he was afflicted with the single eye on the front of his head, and most people saw him as hideous.

So in matters of love Colin struggled. There was no attraction between him and other beings, and as there were no other Cyclops’ around, he was on his own.

His mother he remembered as nurturing and loving. But as with so many things she had died and Colin found himself alone in the world.

Any overture towards a local girl resulted in visits from the fathers who with pitchforks in hand warned Colin to stay away from their daughters as he frightened them.

Traditionally the Cyclops was a fearsome creature, but Colin was not like that. He wanted to be loved like everyone else.

He tried to dress like the other men in the community, even visited the village optometrist to see if a glass would help tone down his fearsome appearance. What he did discover though was he was colour blind, which explained a lot when he thought about comments he’d heard about the colour of apricots.

One day when he was feeling particularly rejected he was wandering through the bush when he heard a call of distress.

Upon investigation he found a maiden, someone he didn’t know, caught on a rocky cliff and unable to save herself. Colin being a tad taller and stronger than the average man reached down and pulled her to safety. The young lady in question, terrified her rescue might also be her end, shied away from him but Colin sensing her fear put her mind at ease and offered to escort her home.

They chatted on the way home and the young lady discovered Colin to be a very personable fellow and not the horrid monster she initially imagined.

That was the start of beautiful friendship. They saw each other on a regular basis and over the years Colin came to realise that by being himself and others finding cause to listen to him and he to them, life could be so much different.

Love he decided was all he imagined and more.

 

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2019/05/12/sunday-writing-prompt-5-by-5-3/

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May 9: Flash Fiction Challenge – The Note

Posted on May 12, 2019 by Michael

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May 9, 2019, prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story about growing older. It can be humorous, dark or poignant. It can be true or total fiction. It can be fine wine or an old fossil. Go where the prompt leads!

The note read: ‘I long to feel your calloused hands on my bursting breasts’.
What? Who? He re-read the note.

It was signed: Mary Titmus.

It’s a joke he thought.

The name says it all.

He knew he was old, wrinkly, and very disagreeable.

Women avoided him like the plague.

He laughed at the sender’s ludicrous name.

Then wondered if she was large and pendulous.

He wondered if there might be truth in what she wrote.

Within him, there was an ancient stirring, one he hadn’t felt in so long and wondered if it was a sign of hope.

 

Written for: https://carrotranch.com/2019/05/10/may-9-flash-fiction-challenge/

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Reena’s Exploration Challenge #86 – The Bleeding Edge

Posted on May 11, 2019 by Michael

PROMPT

This week’s prompt consists of two words –

BLEEDING EDGE

The dictionary meaning is

the very forefront of technological development.

Go where your imagination takes you.

Gordon Edge was bleeding.

In itself that was not unusual as Gordon Edge often bled.

Gordon was a whiz at technology and was accredited with the invention of the Edgeathon, a computer-based machine that could with amazing accuracy predict the winning numbers for the Saturday Lotto.

The bleeding was all in his mind, he was sure, as though it was noticeable Gordon felt the bleeding was all an illusion despite the fact his mother would often remark that a large number of blood-soaked handkerchiefs he put in the wash each week was a tad disturbing.

Gordon’s Edgeathon was at the forefront of technology and was in great demand. As he had the only one in existence and had resisted all overtures to give over the rights to the government who saw one man predicting the lotto results as a threat to the lotto revenue. Gordon Edge was very protective of his invention.

He discovered that people were prepared to pay large sums of money for the information he could provide. It became such that Gordon became a very wealthy man, selling his winning numbers to those who could afford to pay for them.

The irony of this didn’t desert him.

He thought it odd that the wealthy who wanted his numbers must have wanted them to be richer than they already were, as he was quite happy to charge them amounts close to the lotto prize.

Eventually, he grew tired of their constant attention and announced his Edgeathon had been destroyed. His bleeding had increased, he was forced to stay home, elevate his legs and arms and pray his affliction might be cured.

The bleeding was wearing him out. He was growing weaker. He wanted one last invention; after all, he felt he wanted to leave the world with some legacy of his being there.

Over the next week, he put his mind to the job and was pleased his calculations were correct.

When he unveiled his newest invention people were amazed. Before them stood a life-size statue of a man, bleeding. The blood oozed from his pores, it trickled down his body, it disappeared beneath his feet.

People thought it miraculous, some thought it evil but most were in awe.

He called it the Bleeding Edge.

 

Written for: https://reinventionsreena.wordpress.com/2019/05/09/reenas-exploration-challenge-86/

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Thursday photo prompt: Rooted #writephoto

Posted on May 10, 2019 by Michael

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The messages passed furiously from one side to the other, some up, some down, a constant flurry of communication crucial for the survival of the colony.

There was always a sense of urgency, the network working diligently to relay news, send reports, keep one team up to scratch with another.

Above them was the product of their diligence. The towering edifice that was the result of their labours, growing stronger, an example of their commitment.

The keeper of the system, Hermanie Root, surveyed the day’s work, nodded in recognition of the success each team had achieved and breathed a sigh of relief that the wind had not blown as hard as was predicted.

Hermanie disliked the wind; it bent the tree, distorted the handiwork of his workers, set them back and caused him to schedule overtime, which never went down well with his superiors.

It was time he decided to do his daily inspection, and he set off to walk the vast system, checking everything was in place, and the workers were on task. Growth didn’t come from being slack, each worker had a role to play, each worker had a responsibility to the greater good.

By the time he returned after finding all was in order he observed it was time to change the shifts, let the day workers go and welcome the afternoon shift.

It was an around the clock operation and with the afternoon shift hard at their selected tasks he settled down to his dinner and greeted Mrs Root as she entered with another of her delectable meals steaming pleasantly upon his favourite plate.

 

 

Written for: https://scvincent.com/2019/05/09/thursday-photo-prompt-rooted-writephoto/

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