September 6: Flash Fiction Challenge – Chedda’s Cheese Shop

Posted on September 7, 2018 by Michael

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September 6, 2018, prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less) write about an epic workplace. It can be real or imagined. Go where the prompt leads.

The Chedda Cheese Shop was a hive of activity. It was Saturday morning, and this was their busiest day. Every cheese imaginable was on display, from the humble cheddar to the exotic, Milk of Lyre Bird cheese.

From the early morning, it was all hands-on deck getting the shelves ready, the cheeses looking their best, even the Transylvanian Blue Vein, secured in a sealed cabinet, growled in its unique way awaiting the slicer and the steel gloves.

At 8am the doors opened, and the waiting cheese lovers poured in. Tastings were eagerly frequented, sales magnificent and hungry palettes sated.

 

Written for: https://carrotranch.com/2018/09/06/september-6-flash-fiction-challenge/

 

 

 

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Reena’s Exploration Challenge #Week 53

Posted on September 7, 2018 by Michael

Use the following as a stimulus for a piece of writing:

I am a special mirror. People move through it, leaving reflections of their psyche.

The inventor who created me committed an error. The images that pass through me remain locked there, even after the person has moved away. These images speak to each other, interact and create a lot of turmoil inside me. Their inter-related states are known only to me.

Look there …

Mandakini, Rukmini and Renuka are walking together in the garden. They do not belong to the same era or same geography. But they have come together. They know that they are not rivals or opponents. They are just reflections of each other, as they moved over to higher stages of evolution. The core is the same, an independent entity demanding recognition. Their existence is not relative to any other human being or object. They are not owned by the will of another. They do not live as the ‘honor’ of another man – be it a father, brother, husband, son, ruler or God. They are not ‘tainted’ by the choices they make. They just achieve a state of self-actualization.

The mirror on the bathroom wall holds so many secret truths it is pleasing to think it won’t give them up.

It has shared with me my own growth from boy to man, father, brother and friend. It has seen me cry, laugh, smile with joy, listen and accept what was often hard to accept.

My own growth it has observed with the same indifference. “You again,” I had felt it saying. “You are a bit older, and you may not like what you see. Your youthful looks are long gone and what is left is a man, aging and growing in some acceptance of what is his reality.”

You can’t escape the mirrors harsh reality. It’s there in all its stark truth, the flab around your gut is there, you can’t hide it, you can pretend it’s not there, but it jiggles to remind you that no matter what it isn’t going anywhere despite every attempt to do so.

Age allows you to think about who you are.

I recall in my last weeks of teaching the responses from my students to me leaving were heartwarming and also a wake up to the impact I had on them. We take so much for granted, so often we go through processes, like washing and shaving, never thinking what it might mean to those who look at us.

Our awakening to self-actualization can often be difficult, it’s like realizing you aren’t going to play test cricket, you aren’t going to win lotto and the novel you think about will never be much more than a thought.

What does happen is you come to see yourself for the person you are. Your flaws stand out, and you can’t do much about them. Your strengths are there, and you have to come to accept that they are as good as they are going to be. So, when a person comes along who shows an interest in you, you understand they are taking a risk because all they see is about all they will get.

And the reverse is true too. It is a big step in acceptance to see another person as a person who like you has faults but those faults are outweighed by the positives you see in them.

So those are my reflections on this prompt. (No pun intended)

 

 

Written for: https://reinventionsreena.wordpress.com/2018/09/06/reenas-exploration-challenge-week-53/

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Thursday photo prompt: Turning #writephoto

Posted on September 6, 2018 by Michael

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With the seasons turning, and winter giving way to the warmth and thaw of spring the snowman looked down the valley where already he could see the new growth of spring was well underway.

He lamented the decline of the winter. It was getting harder to survive when the winter didn’t seem as long as it once did.

The coming of spring and then the heat of summer gave him reason to fear for his survival. He sensed his days were numbered.

As it was the thaw brought with it visitors to the peaks, they were coming earlier to climb and explore, and his hiding places were diminishing.

Only last week he was nearly caught by a climber who stumbled around a rocky outcrop the snow had melted from and almost walked right into him.

He knew his chances of being caught were rising. Sooner or later someone would find him, photograph him and them every man and his dog would be crawling over the hills seeking him out.

So far, his hill top cave was his haven. It remained snow covered all year, but the thaw was coming closer to the entrance.

The snowman looked down into the greening valley, knew it was far too many moons before the snow would return. He turned into his cave to consider a strategy.

In the corner lay the corpse of the last climber to find him. At least he supposed there would be plenty of food coming his way.

 

Written for: https://scvincent.com/2018/09/06/thursday-photo-prompt-turning-writephoto/

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Tale Weaver #187 – Doing Your Best – 6th September – The Gaffs of Grimace Street

Posted on September 6, 2018 by Michael

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Not everyone who lived on Grimace Street was what you might call a model resident. Everyone had their fair share of flaws, and the Gaffs were no exception.

The Gaffs lived at 3 Grimace Street in a little rundown house that had stood where it did for an awfully long time.

It was Miss Marble who had bought the Gaffs to Grimace Street. They had come to her attention as a struggling family in another part of town and though it was not Miss Marble’s way to interfere in the business of other people away from Grimace street she found the Gaffs struck a chord with her.

Mr Gaff was a middle-aged man, a labourer on worksites and worked long hours to provide for his family. Mrs Gaff and stayed home and cared for the children who seemed to appear at nine monthly intervals as though Mr and Mrs Gaff couldn’t really explain the constant stream of little Gaffs.

They struggled to make ends meet, with so many mouths to feed money was a constant source of worry and added to their woes was a landlord who wanted them out.

The Gaffs found it hard to get ahead. Their rent was going up, they fell into arrears, and the constant threat of eviction hung over their heads.

All the while both husband and wife did their best in every way with Mr Gaff worked extra hours, and even worked a weekend job but when unskilled the pay is never going to amount to enough.

Miss Marble saw the Gaffs as unfortunate but doing their best with what they had and so offered them the little house at No. 3 Grimace Street. At first, Mr Gaff was flattered by the offer, but when he saw the house, his first thought was it was far too small for a family the size of his own.

On the inside, though it was different. The rooms were large and spacious, there was plenty of room for his growing family and the kitchen that set him back a pace or two. It was a remarkable house, and Mr Gaff was so grateful to Miss Marble he promised to maintain the house and be the best of tenants.

So, the Gaffs moved into the house and continued to have babies, though eventually, Miss Marble did suggest to Mrs Gaff that a dose of a special potion she’d prepared might help keep Mrs Gaff’s uterus from completely falling apart.

Mr Gaff worked as he always did, they paid rent a regular rent, and his family grew along with the house.

Living on Grimace Street was a privilege and the Gaffs knew it, they kept to themselves, as they had little if any time to do anything else, and Miss Marble looked upon them with pride seeing them doing their best.

 

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2018/09/06/tale-weaver-187-doing-your-best-6th-september/

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FOWC with Fandango — Balance

Posted on September 5, 2018 by Michael

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It was one step at a time

One day at a time

The balance precarious.

So many factors to consider

Morality, personal struggle

Wishfulness, want and need.

Reaching out you took my hand and I yours

We walked the fine line

Disaster looked at us,

Stared us in the face

Retreat so often a preferred strategy.

We dreamed of being in each other’s arms

Of leaving behind the hurt, the trauma

Of childhood, marriage and life expectation.

So often you leant on me

So often I displayed my need of you.

The balance is now in your favour

And that pleases me.

 

Written for: https://fivedotoh.com/2018/09/05/fowc-with-fandango-balance/

 

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FOWC with Fandango — Loathe

Posted on September 5, 2018 by Michael

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I loathe the fact you have gone

No goodbye, just a silence

Are you dead?

Are you ill?

I feel abandoned

Left to fend for myself

As if I can be so easily discarded.

I know life was not easy

I know you are pulled between the reality of life

And the fantasy across the water

Part of me is forgiving

Understanding of what you must be going through.

It would be for the best

To fade from one another

Leave behind so many memories,

Crawl back into the life we had once

The reality from which we tried to escape.

So, while I loathe what has happened

I accept what has to be.

 

Written for: https://fivedotoh.com/2018/09/03/fowc-with-fandango-loathe/

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FOWC with Fandango — Tapestry

Posted on September 5, 2018 by Michael

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Threads interwoven

The past melts in with the present

The future dangles in the distance.

A picture can be confusing

The sense of the present

Bent to shape a past

That aches for a future

When souls come together

Making sense of the nonsense

That life throws at you.

Reality has a nasty habit

Throwing it back in your face

And the clown of fate

Roars with a voice

Sending shudders down your spine.

In the small recesses of your mind

Commonsense struggles to make itself heard

But provides the fine gold thread,

The finishing touch to life’s tapestry.

 

Written for: https://fivedotoh.com/2018/09/04/fowc-with-fandango-tapestry/

 

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Three Things Challenge, 04 Sept 2018

Posted on September 5, 2018 by Michael

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Today’s things are: gremlin, zombie, poltergeist

It was a quiet Friday afternoon, and we were lazily working away on some busy work while Miss Teresa did her nails. She was apparently going on a date that night and wanted time to get her nails done, so we obliged and did what we loved most, colouring in the map of the world.

It was all quiet, and we heard a scurrying in the back of the room. We all looked at Dango thinking he was bored and up to no good but he was busy, head down colouring furiously.

Then there was a muttering, a head poked itself up and looked around. Unless I was mistaken, it looked very much like a gremlin. The first kid to see it and make eye contact was given a loud shhhhhhh complete with a finger to the lips.

Then the store room door burst open, and a poltergeist flew out and proceeded to fly around the room, hooping and hollering and frightening every kid.

Then from out of the storeroom the sound of Michael Jackson’s Thriller began and what followed was a procession of zombies, all looking so much like Miss Teresa. They marched in time with the music up and down the aisles, focused totally on their respective dance steps.

It certainly broke the monotony of the afternoon, and through it, all Miss Teresa did move a muscle nor notice the supernatural fun happening around her.

It was quite a sight I have to say, and thankfully I woke up as the end of day bell sounded.

 

 

Written for: https://thehauntedwordsmith.wordpress.com/2018/09/04/three-things-challenge-04-sept-2018/

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Twittering Tale #100 – 4 September 2018

Posted on September 4, 2018 by Michael

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Image: Photo by Lauris at Pixabay.com

We stepped warily past number 100.
The stories were hair-raising.
Children disappeared, women screamed, bodies found under the kitchen floor.
It took fifty years to uncover the crimes.
By then all that remained were skeletons,
Victims forgotten, perpetrators dead, horror abounding. (278 characters)

Written for:https://wordpress.com/read/feeds/60562321/posts/1983473176

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Wordle #209 – Cyril Rum’s Human Experience.

Posted on September 3, 2018 by Michael

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This week’s words: Grasp  Infuse  Shell  Form Experience  Fly Form  Nubilous (adj.)) cloudy or foggy: vague or obscure: indefinite) Sizzle  Trapdoor  Puzzle  Red

Cyril Rum, Angel on Sabbatical, lived in a small house on a non-descript street enjoying the earthly experiences that came his way. Over time and with the help of his neighbour Mildred Thrupp, Cyril had begun to form a lot of opinions about human beings. It was clear to him that they had layers of complexity about them.

Grasping what it was to be human often tied him in knots. Most of the time his thoughts were of a nubilous puzzle with vague being among his most common thought.

Mildred, for example, his best friend and guide to things earthly, kept some chickens in her back yard. Feathered creatures, she referred to as chooks. These chooks laid eggs, and Mildred was forever collecting them and, in the mornings, breaking their shells to cook the soft running substance inside. She used a variety of cooking methods but either way, Cyril always thought they tasted very delicious.

Sometimes Cyril liked to watch them sizzle in the frying pan, and sometimes Mildred infused them with onion and tomato.

Living as he did in suburban Australian, he was always intrigued by Mildred’s attitude to flies. Cyril thought it sad that man had only given them the name fly when he was sure there were far more exotic and exciting names to be called. After all, Cyril knew they did little but flew, buzzed around your head on a hot day, seeking the body secretions on the skin and generally lived a short life if not squashed by Mildred’s red fly swatter before their time was up.

On really hot days, Mildred would open the trapdoor in the floor of her kitchen and go down into a basement she had built where it was cool and away from the heat. Here she could engage in a game of scrabble, thought Cyril was not all that good with words, he was more your deeds type angel, but Mildred enjoyed the banter within the game as she’d tease Cyril about his lack of vocabulary. Cyril would shrug and accept her criticism as a form of humour he was quickly learning about.

Being an angel Cyril didn’t feel the heat nor the cold and so was often intrigued by not only Mildred’s behaviour but by the form of humans in general.

 

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2018/09/03/wordle-209/

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