There’s one last sleep that awaits me.
I’m sure it will be more permanent than the ones I get now.
My eyes are tired, the long nights take their toll when you are awake so long.
I did sleep three hours once and woke wondering where I was.
When I close my eyes tonight, I hope to see the light that is my life tomorrow.
Written for: https://patriciasplace.me/2018/10/10/in-other-words-sleep/
Photo by Alex Iby
All hope seemed lost, and so she was prepared to give up.
Out of her depth and with little resources left to keep her afloat she felt it was time to let go.
For far too long she had struggled against not only the tide but life itself.
She owed it nothing but inside there existed an urge to try one last time and so with renewed hope she lunged again hoping to clutch on to anything that might keep her head above water.
In desperation, she reached out and felt a hand grab hers and instantly found a reason.
Written for: https://bikurgurl.com/2018/10/10/100-word-wednesday-week-92/
Image: August MorgueFIle 2018 1415390688o66bl
It was all there was left.
A pair of shoes size seven.
Why leave his shoes behind was a puzzle for us all. After all, it was thought he valued life and his shoes in particular.
But no he left them behind, sitting there on the jetty, the water lapping the supports below, the shoes placed as if he had just stepped out of them.
It was a funny place, was Morgue. Odd things happened there. So when your town is called Morgue it does suggest the possibility of the odd, doesn’t it?
It was a few days later when they found him. Shoeless and hungry behind the Morgue Theatre. He had no memory of losing his shoes and less memory of how he got where he was.
He was bundled into an ambulance and whisked off to the hospital. His family were notified, and some expressed disappointment that he had been found. They had an eye on his life insurance as it turned out.
He recovered but never wore those shoes again. He claimed they were bad luck.
He has new shoes now and is doing well, that is apart from the looks his relatives give him.
Previous parts can be found here:
https://summerstommy.com/2018/09/19/mr-marsden/
https://summerstommy.com/2018/09/19/mr-marsden-part-2/
https://summerstommy.com/2018/09/24/mr-marsden-part-3/
https://summerstommy.com/2018/09/26/mr-marsden-part-4/
https://summerstommy.com/2018/09/27/mr-marsden-part-5/
https://summerstommy.com/2018/09/29/mr-marsden-part-6/
https://summerstommy.com/2018/09/30/mr-marsden-part-7/
https://summerstommy.com/2018/10/02/mr-marsden-part-8/
https://summerstommy.com/2018/10/04/mr-marsden-part-9/
https://summerstommy.com/2018/10/05/mr-marsden-part-10/
https://summerstommy.com/2018/10/06/mr-marsden-part-11/
Mr Marsden continued up the row of plants ignoring, for the most part, the conversations and antics going on around him and finally stopped at a small non-descript plant which Ayls recognised as Sweet William. She knew this plant as her Gran grew them. She had them growing along the pathway from her front gate, and Ayls loved the small and delicate flowers that bloomed each spring. Her Gran had a green thumb and whatever she turned her hand to grew lush and beautifully.
However, the Sweet Williams she was looking at looked anything but sweet. Ayls sensed an air of moroseness as she surveyed the plants huddled together in a rather large garden planter.
“These Sweet Williams,” began Mr Marsden, “have worried me ever since I sprinkled them with a charm dust potion.”
“They don’t look happy Mr Marsden,” added Ayls looking down at the plants which had a few dry spots and whose flowers lacked the usual sheen and sparkle one expected from a Sweet William.
She bent down to look closely at the plant and was surprised when it said: “Rack off hairy legs.”
Ayls was taken aback and stepped back bumping into Mr Marsden and nearly toppling him over into a lavender plant behind him.
“Watch it, Marsden,” stated the lavender, “I’m working on germination, and it’s hard enough without you landing on me and halting the whole process, now please be careful and mindful.” With that, the lavender let out a stream of aroma that Ayls found delightful.
Meanwhile, the Sweet William was muttering to itself and sounding decidedly unhappy. “Can you two go away and leave us to our misery? It’s almost morning tea time, and we want to have a good whinge if you don’t mind.”
“You’re not very charming, are you?” announced Ayls somewhat disappointed for Mr Marsden and his charm dust which she assumed should have made the plants slightly charming at least.
The Sweet William responded with a whole lot of grumbling which Ayls couldn’t make much sense of but which seemed to make the Sweet William happier.
“Have you tried other potions on it Mr Marsden?” asked Ayls her mind wondering why a charm potion would result in a grumpy plant, not a charming one.
“One of the limitations I’ve discovered is once a potion is administered a plant is locked into that potion and is resistant to any other intervention. Don’t worry I’ve tried several and all to no avail.”
It was true Ayls thought, Mr Marsden had created a monster by what seemed to her a willy-nilly method of applying potions with no thought as to how any of them might be reversed.
Mr Marsden then pointed at another plant which was growing up the wall of the container. It was a Jasmine growing contentedly against the wall of the container where Mr Marsden had installed a trellis. Ayls liked the jasmine plant as it emitted an aroma that she found alluring. As she drew closer to it, she drew in a breath and soaked her nose in the delights of the fragrance.
As she did so the plant sent out a runner that wrapped itself around Ayls’ leg. Then another that grabbed her arm and at that Ayls became alarmed.
“Mr Marsden, what’s it doing?” cried a frightened Ayls.
“Oh, it does that, I think it’s a sign of affection rather than a threat. I showered it with a cantankerous potion, one I’ve been playing with for many tears and like so many potions I put on the plants it works the opposite to what I intended. It does it to me if I get too close and if you listen closely, you’ll hear it purring like it wants to feel you and be close as opposed to being nasty and threatening.”
“It’s not a nice feeling Mr Marsden,” stated Ayls unwinding the wine from her arm and leg.
“I do understand Ayls,” said Mr Marden as he led her away from the jasmine and towards a very spikey strelitzia whose magnificent flowers turned as one as Ayls appeared.
As they drew closer, the flowers striking in their shape and colour bowed to the approaching man and young girl.
“This is one I got right,” said Mr Marsden, a sense of pride in his voice. “I wanted to see if these plants could attain some sense of aristocracy about them and they responded to my ‘airs and graces’ potion. They’ve become very chivalrous, and love putting on a show of grace and majesty don’t you think?”
Ayls was impressed by the manner in which the blooms bowed and almost dance-like as they swirled in unison from some side to the other.
“But I wouldn’t get too close,” warned Mr Marsden, “they do have a tendency to spit, and it can be most unpleasant if it lands on you.”
No sooner had he said it than Ayls saw the closest flower emit a substance that landed on her shoulder and immediately dissolved a hole in her dress.
Ayls screamed and look horrified at Mr Marsden.
“Goodness,” said Mr Marsden, “I haven’t seen that before.”
Image: Kaia Pieters
She wasn’t one for verbose comment
Some would say she was a visual learner
Preferring to say it in image, not words.
She carried the scars of a lifelong lived.
Words were beaten out of her;
To be seen and not heard was the mantra
Instilled in her from when the strap
And the lash of a tongue
Delivered the necessary lessons in life.
When she reached out, there was rejection
Loved ones turned their backs
They wondered how to deal with her,
The needy, wanting child.
In older age she became defiant
Take me as I am or not at all
For what you see is my story.
Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2018/10/09/photo-challenge-233/
With the owner sidelined through illness, it was a case of open slather. There was little joy you might say, but the dragons were restless.
Corralled as they were the words for this week’s challenge milled about, bumping each other, pushing aside the prepositions, the nouns believing they were superior and the verbs recently captured in the latest roundup snorted and pawed at the ground awaiting their opportunity to move from the wild to the order of modern living.
It was the wildverbs who caused the upset on the day. They pushed the dragons just that bit too far. The dragons believing, they held sway over the word farm tried using their whips which the verbs resisted by dropping their tense and creating chaos when the parsing was attempted.
It was such that the annual scrabble tournament was abandoned, the dragons furious, the wildverbs left to sulk in the corner, the nouns saying: “Well I did tell you so!!”
Written for: https://flashfictionforaspiringwriters.wordpress.com/2018/10/08/fffaw-challenge-186th/
This week’s words: Devilish Dervish Drizzle Derelict Drywall Dandelion Deafen Darkness Dopamine((n.) a catecholamine neurotransmitter in the central nervous system, retina, and
sympathetic ganglia, acting within the brain to help regulate movement and emotion
Diapason ((n.) a full, rich outpouring of melodious sound: the compass of a voice or instrument: a fixed standard of pitch.)
Drench Dispensation
Darren Dervish drizzled honey over the girl’s writhing body, his lips salivating at the thought of her not being a derelict like so many of his victims had been.
He had a devilish grin remembering the drywall competition in which they had met. It was her smile and eyes that activated the dopamine in his brain which led him to taking her off the street and into the back of his dandelion van.
At first, she had let out a deafening diapason sound which in the darkness of the night seemed louder than it actually was.
Once subdued he was able to whisk her away after drenching her in a potion to curb her enthusiasm and feet.
He surveyed his catch and realized he needed a dispensation to inflict any sort of punishment upon her. With a devilish gleam in his eye, he picked up the phone and called Dandelion Dave the derelict and deaf drenching man for his permission.
Dave was drizzling the last of his finishing agent over the drywall in his basement where he too would entertain in the darkness.
Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2018/10/08/bonus-wordle-the-letter-d/
Previous parts can be found here:
https://summerstommy.com/2018/09/19/mr-marsden/
https://summerstommy.com/2018/09/19/mr-marsden-part-2/
https://summerstommy.com/2018/09/24/mr-marsden-part-3/
https://summerstommy.com/2018/09/26/mr-marsden-part-4/
https://summerstommy.com/2018/09/27/mr-marsden-part-5/
https://summerstommy.com/2018/09/29/mr-marsden-part-6/
https://summerstommy.com/2018/09/30/mr-marsden-part-7/
https://summerstommy.com/2018/10/02/mr-marsden-part-8/
https://summerstommy.com/2018/10/04/mr-marsden-part-9/
https://summerstommy.com/2018/10/05/mr-marsden-part-10/
Ayls was as surprised as Mr Marsden to the reaction of the flowers. Not only that but the silence was alarming. You could have heard a pin drop.
As Ayls and Mr Marsden walked down the row upon row of vegetation the murmurs and whispered conversation began behind her.
“That’s the one.”
“She’s such a mite, isn’t she?”
“She’s got it over the old man, so I’ve been told.”
“Where did you hear that?”
“The geraniums.”
“Those gossips, can you believe anything they say?”
“Well, the blue hydrangeas say the same thing and I’d trust them to know.”
“She doesn’t look much of a gardener if you ask me.”
“No one’s asking you.”
“You dahlias are so stuck up.”
“Shut up you jealous weed.”
“Weed, you calling me a weed?”
“Yes, weed, weed, weed.”
“You know if I wasn’t stuck in this pot I’d come right over and whack you one.”
“Yeah yeah yeah, you and whose army.”
“Such impertinence I’ve never heard the like.”
All this was going on behind Ayls, and when she looked back silence fell like the curtain on the final act, and everything looked like it had never been disturbed.
“As you can see,” said Mr Marsden, “I’ve created a bit of a monster in here. I applied various potions to different plants thinking I might alter the colour and size but never thought I’d give so many of them personality.” He looked somewhat pained by revealing what he saw as a failure on his part. He created a variety of responses and had no idea as to how to change any of them back. Most of the plants had found a way to get along, but there were as he had observed, pockets of competition and snideness. The geraniums being banished to the outside yard was one such example.
Ayls was fascinated by it all. She had been so from the day she first observed the roses changing colour. But every time she looked back at the plants behind her they slumped into silence.
Being the young person, she was, she turned her back, and when she heard the murmuring again, she spun round trying to catch the plants. But they instinctively reacted, and silence prevailed.
This made her giggle, and Mr Marsden soon found himself chuckling along with her.
“You are a curious one are you not?” asked a voice coming from her left. Ayls looked down to see a small, fragile looking fern growing in a small brown plastic pot.
“Pardon?” asked Ayls not sure of where exactly the voice came from.
“Curiosity killed the cat you know. It’s a sad fact of life, and I’d hate to see anything happen to anyone so young.” replied the voice.
“Who are you?” asked an incredulous Ayls.
“Oh, I do beg your pardon, Algeras Simphilton, at your service. If you look a little to your left you’ll see me, I’m stuck in this fern you see, some people call me a maiden hair fern but that’s just wishful thinking, there’s nothing maiden like about me.”
Ayls looked down and noticed that within the fern there was indeed a small and articulate being living in the stem of one of the fern fronds.
“Oh, my goodness you are a tiny person, aren’t you?”
“I like to think so but Marsden has me imprisoned in this plant, and there is no way of escape, and he seems ignorant of ways to free me.”
“But how did that happen?” asked a very interested Ayls.
“Oh, I was just passing by, you know the sort of thing, out for an afternoon stroll when from out of nowhere I’m rained upon by this vile potion and before I know it here, I am, encased in this frond. Let me tell you the frond isn’t all that fussed about me being here either.”
“Oh, you poor thing,” said a sympathetic Ayls. “Mr Marsden, how did you let this happen?
“Ayls you are being tricked, the creature you are talking to is a fern demon, they are generally not noticed, but when caught they try to manipulate any situation to their benefit. Algeras is a devious character, be careful of him,” explained Mr Marsden.
“But he is so cute and harmless Mr Marsden, what harm could he possibly do?”
“Harmless is what I am, innocent and in need of love like everyone else. We fern demons are a much-maligned race, you tell him girl and get me released together we could make beautiful music,” the fern demon uttered.
It was the tone of his voice that alerted Ayls to the malevolent side of the fern demon. The demon’s voice grated against her better self, and she immediately felt a sense of fear and dread from being so close to him.
Stepping back, she said, “I think I’ll leave you where you are, I sense you are not very nice at all Mr Fern Demon.”
As Ayls walked away, she could hear a faint scream of despair coming from the fern demon.
Your challenge today is to explore mirrors (or reflections).
It was Sylvia Plath who wrote what was for me the definitive poem about mirrors.*
They look back at you defining a truth from which you can’t deny.
The lines on your face are there for you to see, the colour of your hair if you still have any is not the colour it once was.
No matter how you try to disguise, it represents a truth from which there is no escape.
It’s true that often we look in the mirror and see a stranger staring back at us. Who is that man I often ask? What happened to the boy? The young man? Where did his dreams go?
While our external self-changes the internal self bears the burden of changes we don’t always live up to. Many of our life experiences we live in denial of.
The wrongs we committed. The times we let loved ones down. The times when our dreams were little more than pie in the sky.
I lived a life mostly in my head. It was a fantasy, some might say it still is, but it was my way of dealing with the everyday. On my back burner were the terrors of a past best left in a place where they could fester and raise their ugly heads.
On the outside, a good man gave an air of control and thought he was in control of his life.
Inside he was crying, hoping against all hope he might one day be rescued but knowing it was only himself was going to bring about any rescue.
Then he stepped out of himself, looked beyond the mirror and found he could still breathe life.
*https://owlcation.com/humanities/Analysis-of-Poem-Mirror-by-Sylvia-Plath
Written for: Daily Writing Challenge #7
It is approaching eleven pm and the night has brought a supposed peace upon the house. He looks around and ahead of him is another two hours work. The washing has mounted up, and it’s not so easy to understand when you consider the six kids providing multiple pairs of underwear alone.
He enjoys the solitude, its marks such a change from the violence he endured in hours previous when it was pointed out how much of a lazy bastard he was, how neglectful he was as a father and how a man like him was a waste of space as a husband.
He knows that if he doesn’t get this job done, he’ll suffer another round of abuse and that he can’t let happen as the humiliation in front of his children is overwhelming.
He grabs another single sock and adds it to the pile of similar socks all alone in the world, a little like himself.
As he works late into the night he is aware of the sleeping children in nearby rooms, children he loves beyond words from whom he protects, with at times questionable courage, from the ravages of the household monster.
He knows that tomorrow he will feel shit from a lack of sleep but if a semblance of peace and harmony comes from this job he is prepared to sacrifice for them.
A small child appears bleary-eyed, stands looking at him as he folds and unites long lost socks. She asks why he is still up. He replies he is doing all the fold ups so she and her siblings will have clean clothes to wear. She nods and heads to the toilet. On her return, she suggests he get some sleep as he has work in the morning. He nods in agreement, kisses her forehead before pointing her in the direction of her bed.
Once she is settled, he gets on with his job. He is aware of the pain in his forearm the legacy of the evening’s attack. The vacuum had been clogged, and he was sitting on the floor trying to unclog it when she attacked with the dismantled vacuum wand as her weapon.
He has noted that when she attacks, the children flee. He later learns they huddle on their beds, the youngest ones holding each other.
He looks at the task ahead of him, one basket done, one to go, he feels the task is impossible, his eyes are sore from being out of bed, he knows he should be resting, he works hard and long each day. But right now, his priority is his children.
By two am the baskets are empty and around him are piles of children’s clothes, which in the morning before work he will distribute around the house.
He crawls into a bed in the back room. His head hits the pillow, and he knows he has to up by first light before the monster awakes.
Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2018/10/07/sunday-writing-prompt-collage-prompt-42/
Morpethroad 