Lion and Zebra – Daily Prompt – Hidden

“Good morning Zebra” said lion, drinking deep from the murkiness of the water hole, “you look particularly well today”

Zebra looked across at lion warily, she knew his type all too well.

“Steady on there Lion”, said Crocodile as he peered above the water, “you know the rules, at the water hole.  Here we simply drink, we do not feed”

“My good fellow, I think have me all wrong” insisted Lion, his eyes still fixed firmly on Zebra.  “I simply wish to quench my thirst like everybody else.”

Zebra shuffled nervously and continued to drink.  The sun was coming up and the heat would soon be fierce.

“Good, just you remember that ” Crocodile insisted as he sank back under the surface.

“So Zebra” Lion continued, “do you have any plans today?”

Zebra did not respond, her mother had always said to stay away from animals like Lion.

“Perhaps you’ll be heading to that hidden valley you so love” Lion suggested, a broad smile breaking out across his face “or maybe up on the hill side where the green grass grows?”

Zebra finished drinking and moved slowly back towards where the herd was gathering.

“See you later Zebra” Lion shouted over as she wandered away, “did I mention how good you look today?”



 

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/Hidden/

 

Want to read more?  You might like this one about Hippo and Croc, or if you fancy something rather different then what about this?

 

 

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A letter to the council – An Armitage Tangent

Secondly, and perhaps more obviously, I would again press as to why my husband is now on what is quite obviously a dangerous undertaking.  He did not take either a proper coat or sturdy shoes,

The Cottage

79 The Crescent

Little Norwood

West Yorkshire

 

To whom it may concern

I would write to you in the strongest terms with regards to the recent treatment of my husband, Mr Armitage Shanks, of the address noted above.

Two days ago My husband attended your offices and was informed by the receptionist that in order for his family to continue to receive our support he would need to support one of your apparent operations within The Rift.  This really is most unacceptable and not how we should conduct things as the last bastion of organised civilisation.

To this point I would ask a number of questions.

Firstly, who the devil is this receptionist.  Whilst the world may have gone to hell (please forgive my language, but this matter has me most vexed), surely one would require far greater authority to compel my husband to risk life and limb that that possessed of a mere receptionist.

My husband is a weak willed man and I can only assume that she is one of these modern liberated types who, feeling empowered per some council agenda, feels that she can order people to their doom willy nilly.  This simply will not do and on that matter I would ask that you escalate my concerns to the highest possible authority.

Secondly, I would again press as to why my husband is now on what is quite obviously a dangerous undertaking.  He did not take either a proper coat or sturdy shoes, instead choosing a light summer jacket and a pair of tan brogues.  Can you assure me that you have provided his with suitable apparel.

Lastly I would again insist that you return him home as soon as is possible.  He is in no way prepared for an endeavour of this basis and not capable of a great deal more than some light gardening and the occasional trip to the pub.  He has also not yet fitted a shelf in the kitchen over which he has been procrastinating for some time and I must insist that should anything untoward happen to my husband then I will hold you responsible for not only the welfare of me and my family but you will also need to put up that shelf as I currently have nowhere for my pans.

I anticipate your swift response.

Yours Sincerely

Katherine Shanks

 


If you want to read more about Armitage Shanks please take a look here.

Thanks!

I Just wanted to say a big thank you to everyone that has clicked, read, liked and followed me since I turned up on here just a couple of weeks ago.

I Just wanted to say a big thank you to everyone that has clicked, read, liked and followed me since I turned up on here just a couple of weeks ago.

I had no idea what I was going to write when I started, knowing only that I wanted to put pen to paper.  I thought perhaps I needed a message or a theme but I have simply just enjoyed writing whatever takes my fancy.

I won’t labour the point, but again just thanks for popping by and helping make this a hugely rewarding experience.

 

 

 

 

 

Fly me to the moon – Sunday photo fiction

When Yako spent his food-creds on the lottery he knew it was their last chance of escaping the bleak existence of Earth. 

The Series 3 transporter hurtled through the inky darkness, ion propulsion drive humming as it devoured the empty miles.

“Dad, dad, look!” Tovi shouted. pointing out of the port side windows as the earth disappeared,  the moon racing towards them..

When Yako spent his food-creds on the lottery he knew it was their last chance of escaping the bleak existence of Earth.  “This is going to be a new life for us!” he said gently, “Not many poor folk like us get a second chance of a real life on the moon you know!”

“Will we be happy dad?” Tovi asked, still uncertain.

“It’s going to be wonderful” he grinned, “We’ll have an apartment, food, you’ll go to a real school and I’ll have a job at last!”

Tovi’s face lit up in delight.  As the transporter doors Tovi pushed through the crowd desperate to get a glimpse of their new home.

“CHILDREN LEFT, ADULTS RIGHT” boomed the tonoi.

The last time Tovi remembered seeing his father was as he turned and momentarily caught sight of him looking panicked and calling his name.

He wasn’t sure how long ago that was though, time escapes you in the mines of the moon…


https://sundayphotofictioner.wordpress.com/2017/07/23/sunday-photo-fiction-july-23rd-2017/

Photo courtesy of © A Mixed Bag 2009

The intergalactic language of tea – Daily Prompt

Now as it turns out, across the collective 11256 recognised civilisations registered at the Central Galactic Office for Sentience more than two thirds have something culturally equivalent to a nice cup of tea. 

Zarb turned on her clan mate, his blue fur ruffling as she roared her disapproval at again being lost in some awful backwater.

“I swear by the many moons of Tarlex” she bellowed, “If we run out of fuel and end up marooned here waiting for a repair service I will rip out your throat and leave your carcass in this god forsaken place!”

“Now now dear” said Malen, attempting to calm her.  She was half his size again and had such a frightful temper, “I know exactly where we are” he paused for a moment before adding “…more or less.”

She scowled at him, her claws twitching and her tail swishing impatiently.  “My mother told me that you were an inferior mate” she snarled, “but no, I let you woo me with your throbbing brabnar and your eloquent songs of dal-bur”.  She pushed him aside, reaching for the Navigation console.

“Zarb, my sweetness” Malen pleaded, “trust me, we are only a mere 4 quintels astray and we will soon be back on …”

Malan never got to finish explaining how they would soon be back on course following a diversion to avoid a rather nasty solar flare, because he was quite rudely interrupted by a loud alarm and a series of flashing lights emanating from the bridge.

“Malan you useless spawn of a fargon!” She cried, clubbing him across the side of the face and squeezing her ample rump into the not quite large enough chair in front of the console.  Furiously she stabbed away at the illuminated buttons with her long fingers. 

He looked over her furry blue shoulder as she plotted a new set of navigation coordinates. 

“You’ve taken us too far out of range of that sun!” she growled, we’re going to need to spend a couple of cycles on the nearest planet to recharge the cells!” 

Malan knew it was best to say as little as possible at this point.  “How about I make us a nice cup of tea?” he offered apologetically as she continued to mumble insults about his mother’s cooking and the unimpressive girth of his father’s jarbul.

Now as it turns out, across the collective 11256 recognised civilisations registered at the Central Galactic Office for Sentience more than two thirds have something culturally equivalent to a nice cup of tea.  The people of Karpisal V have a beverage almost identical to a refreshing Earl Grey taken each morning as a cleansing tonic whilst the amassed hordes of Qualik have something more akin to a soup of battery acid and pig trotters which is apparently quite invigorating on a summer’s day. 

The idea seemed to calm her somewhat and she grunted approvingly. 

“I’ll tell you what else we can do when we get there “ Malan said with a hint of excitement in his voice.

“What’s that?” She asked, her interest piqued.

“Probing!” he exclaimed.

“Ooh ooh yes please” Zarb cried “It’s been far too long.


To find out a little more about our furry blue friends take a look here

https://afterwards.blog/2017/07/14/probing-a-cautionary-tale/

 


Or you could see if you like any of this

https://afterwards.blog/2017/07/24/screw-you-haiku/

https://afterwards.blog/2017/07/03/first-blog-post/

https://afterwards.blog/2017/07/14/we-unlikely-few/

 

 

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/tea/

Traditional – Daily prompt

“Bloody hell Charlie! his father shouted, dragging himself upright.  “Could you not just give me 5 more minutes like I asked?”  His head pounded and Charlie could smell the cigarettes on his breath.  “Why cant you just be patient?”

“Dad, dad are you waking up?” Charlie asked, tugging at his dad’s sleeve as he slept.  There were bottles strewn across the table and his father was still in yesterday’s clothes.  “I’m hungry dad and there’s nothing in the fridge.”

His father stirred briefly.  “Just 5 more minute Charlie”  he mumbled,  pulling away and turning his back sinking further into the sofa.

“But dad” he insisted, pulling on his father’s shoulder “you said you’d buy food yesterday and you never.”

“Please Charlie, just give me a few minutes and I’ll get up I promise.”

“But dad I’m so hungry” he pleaded.

“Bloody hell Charlie! his father shouted, dragging himself upright.  “Could you not just give me 5 more minutes like I asked?”  His head pounded and Charlie could smell the cigarettes on his breath.  “Why cant you just be patient?”

Charlie started to cry.  It had been this way for a while now, ever since the accident.  Things weren’t like they used to be when mum was still around.

“Please Charlie, come here” said his father, reaching out and pulling him close to console him and suddenly sobbing uncontrollably as he held him.

“Will it always be like this dad?” Charlie asked.  Memories of her were already fading and some days he didn’t think about here at all.  “Will I get a new mum or will we never be a family again?”

 

 


Want to read more of my stuff?  There’s a few links below you might like. There are aliens and zombies and poems and letters and loads more.

https://afterwards.blog/2017/07/14/probing-a-cautionary-tale/

https://afterwards.blog/2017/07/03/first-blog-post/

https://afterwards.blog/2017/07/14/we-unlikely-few/

 

 


https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/Tradition/


I am my mother’s mistake – Five Sentence Story Prompt

“Do I really have to go out again today?” Mina asked, already knowing the answer but hoping that today might be the day when she wouldn’t have to go out onto the streets.

“Do I really have to go out again today?” Mina asked, already knowing the answer but hoping that today might be the day when she wouldn’t have to go out onto the streets.

Ventra raised a hand but stopped short of striking her – too many bruises and someone might start to ask questions.

“You know you do, now get out there with the others, how else are we supposed to buy food”  he shouted, face full of rage and his well manicured fingers instinctively stroking the strap of the gold Rolex on his wrist, “you should be grateful for all we do for you, without us you’d be dead just like her!”

“What’s wrong” Colima asked, popping her head around the door “what’s all the shouting about, Is she causing trouble again?”

“I tell you Colima” Ventra replied angrily, fists clenched, “she’s ungrateful this one, selfish – just like your sister was – she’s just lucky she had us to clean up after her mistakes.”


 

Want to read more of my stuff?  There’s a few links below you might like.  It’s not all like that, there are aliens and zombies and things that aren’t depressing too. 

https://afterwards.blog/2017/07/14/probing-a-cautionary-tale/

https://afterwards.blog/2017/07/03/first-blog-post/

https://afterwards.blog/2017/07/14/we-unlikely-few/

 


https://aestheticgraphy.wordpress.com/2017/07/25/five-sentence-story-prompt-6/

https://doodlingpanda.wordpress.com/2017/07/24/five-sentence-story-prompt-6/

Pictures courtesy of :

https://www.123rf.com/stock-photo/child_poverty.html

 

 

 

Remembering – FFfAW – 25 July 2017

There were lots of things that he couldn’t remember any more, no matter how hard he tried.

There were lots of things that he couldn’t remember any more, no matter how hard he tried.

Sometimes, falling asleep ,he would remember the sea, a small white boat, and the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes upon, but both of their names were long lost to him.

Strangers would visit and tell him stories of his life, but none of these memories seemed to be his and they would leave looking sad, kissing him on the forehead as they departed.  They seemed nice people though and he was grateful for the company and he so enjoyed their stories.

As he slipped into the darkness, a nurse at his bedside holding his hand, he opened his eyes for one last time, remembering everything.

“Josephine” he said smiling, “that was her name.”

 


 

Word count – 150

This week’s photo prompt is provided by Louise with The Storyteller’s Abode. Thank you Louise!


Want to read more of my stuff?  No.  Don’t blame you, no offence taken.

https://afterwards.blog/2017/07/14/probing-a-cautionary-tale/

https://afterwards.blog/2017/07/03/first-blog-post/

https://afterwards.blog/2017/07/14/we-unlikely-few/

 

The hidden depths of men.  Thursday photo prompt – Mask #writephoto

“All I really wanted to do was spend a bit more time down the pub and read a bit, but you should see my foxtrot, I’m not bad you know”

“If you ask me” Gerald insisted, “feelings are wholly overrated!”  He took a long slug from his beer and stared into the flames. “Jane is always wanting me to share things and open up, but that’s just not me you know” he continued.

“I always try and explain that to my wife” Thomas answered, placing more wood on the fire, “I tell her that I am just not that deep but she seems desperate for me to share some inner most thoughts.  I don’t really have any though.”.

Gerald nodded in agreement.  “You know, once I actually made some stuff up about me having some hidden pain in my past that I didn’t want to talk about”

“Why the hell would you do that?”

“We were young, she was hot and I thought it might make me more interesting.”  He finished the beer and reached into the cool box for another.  “She always loved poetry and those arty films and stuff and I figured I might stand more of a chance if I pretended to have some inner demons.”

“Many things you are mate, but deep you are not.  Unless of course you count the love of beer and football and pies as something that makes you whimsical or brooding or whatever the hell it is she wants” Thomas laughed.

“I know, and now she’s forever wanting me to talk about stuff.  She even suggested I see somebody because she thinks I’m repressed.” Gerald said, scratching his head.  “Turns out I’m just not that interesting but 20 years into a marriage I’m not really sure what I can do.”

“So what’s set her off then, has she always been like this, you’ve not mentioned it before.”

Gerald waited before replying, he wasn’t really sure.  “Maybe with the kids being gone we have less things to distract us.  We had Elsie so quickly and the twins followed not long after.  I think she might be bored too.”

“Mate, that happened to us” Thomas said “I ended up taking dance classes with her and writing a travel blog because she thought we needed to enrich our lives more and enjoy the time we had together.”

“Did it work?”

“All I really wanted to do was spend a bit more time down the pub and read a bit, but you should see my foxtrot, I’m not bad you know”

The door to the house opened and Jane’s head popping through “Come on you two, I know you’re probably deep in conversation but dinner is ready.  You can come tell us what you’ve been talking about”

 


 

Want to read more of my stuff?  No.  Don’t blame you, no offence taken.

https://afterwards.blog/2017/07/14/probing-a-cautionary-tale/

https://afterwards.blog/2017/07/03/first-blog-post/

https://afterwards.blog/2017/07/14/we-unlikely-few/

 


https://wordpress.com/read/feeds/3193846/posts/1532690515

Thursday photo prompt – Mask #writephoto

Screw you Haiku

On Mondays I like to allow myself a little more freedom from the discipline of the more structured writing schedule that I have set for myself and simply do something stupid.

On Mondays I like to allow myself a little more freedom from the discipline of the more structured writing schedule that I have set for myself and do something different.  I normally like to dabble with a variety of fiction pieces but Not on Monday, oh no

The challenge of packing emotive imagery into 17 syllables is quite a test, which is perhaps why they seem so daunting and often so very serious.  A limerick on the other hand is quite the opposite, filled with such joy and whimsy.

Today I shall attempt to write some haiku that are not serious at all serious.


 

Hot spicy curry

Arse like a Japanese flag

oh no not again


 

In the house naked

Wife and kids on vacation

Beer for breakfast


 

Leaving work in shame

Stomach flu going around

Gambled on a fart


 

Wife screams in horror

Dogs humping in the garden

Cover children’s eyes


 

Loud knock at the door

Dancing in the house naked

Police “Close curtains!”


 

Want to read more of my stuff?

https://afterwards.blog/2017/07/14/probing-a-cautionary-tale/

https://afterwards.blog/2017/07/03/first-blog-post/

https://afterwards.blog/2017/07/14/we-unlikely-few/

Stinky teenagers – Daily prompt 

I did some research, worried that smelling like Satan’s anus might be a permanent fixture…

My eldest son is nearly 13 and quite often smells like onions.  I do not intend to be beastly but heavens his room really is eye wateringly odorous.  It is not the quite-delicious-slowly-sweated-in-butter type of onion but rather the nose-wrinkling, eye stinging and nose punishing variety. 

This is not because he is prone to poor personal hygiene, he is not and showers morning and night and is often found in a rather pleasant if somewhat overpowering cloud of fragrance, but it is apparently a natural occurrence for boys of his age.

I did some research, worried that smelling like Satan’s anus might be a permanent fixture, only to discover that the stench that often surrounds him was a matter of a combination of  hormones and his age.  These hormones, new sweaty places and a general increase in sweating are instead to blame.

There seem to be a myriad of solutions that we can employ to help with the challenge of the upstairs bedrooms smelling like Beelzebub’s bottom, including more showers, anti-bacterial soaps and  frequent changes of clothing which is a real relief.

Until then he will continue to sleep with the windows open because good heavens it’s pretty nasty up there.

___________________________________________

Want to read more of my stuff that’s not about smelly teens?

https://afterwards.blog/2017/07/14/probing-a-cautionary-tale/

https://afterwards.blog/2017/07/03/first-blog-post/

https://afterwards.blog/2017/07/14/we-unlikely-few/

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/fragrance/

 Hippopotamus

“I think that today I shall stay in the pool” said Hippo as the sun began to creep over the horizon, a fiery line drawn against the silhouette of the hills beyond.

“I think that today I shall stay in the pool” said Hippo as the sun began to creep over the horizon, a fiery line drawn against the silhouette of the hills beyond.

“Is that not what you do every day?” Crocodile asked with a mischievous toothy grin

“It is indeed” Hippo responded, his ears twitching.  “It keeps me cool when the sun is most fierce”

Hippo heaved his huge frame from the riverbank.  “And what are your plans today?” he asked crocodile.

“Today I shall do what I did yesterday, and what I shall do tomorrow” Crocodile said.  “I shall go to the pool and then I have some breakfast.”

“And are you going to try and eat me again” Hippo laughed, “It was ever so funny when you tried that.”

Crocodile remembered all too well the day he met his old friend and laughed.  “You tasted terrible anyway” he joked.

“The sun is getting up!” Said Hippo, “Come on lets get going, all the good spots will be taken.”


 

 

Want to read more of my stuff that’s not about hippos and crocs me but about  and zombies and people and rude poems and life and stuff?

https://afterwards.blog/2017/07/14/probing-a-cautionary-tale/

https://afterwards.blog/2017/07/03/first-blog-post/

https://afterwards.blog/2017/07/14/we-unlikely-few/

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

OWPC

Armitage – Part 6

“Imagine the world as a sheet of double ply toilet paper.” Ichabod continued, “This world is one sheet and the other sheet is one of countless others.  I exist in-between those two sheets.”
“As scientific explanations go” Armitage snapped, “that is bloody awful!”  His breathing quickened, his head started to pound and he started to feel sick again.

Armitage awoke from a rather pleasant dream where he was not in a military compound waiting to pop into a space time rift on the whim of a council office receptionist.  It involved cups of tea and pottering around the garden for the most part.  There may have been croquet at one point but he was too busy tending to his roses for that.

He opened his eyes slowly and realising where he was mumbled an “oh bugger me” before closing them again in an attempt to at least pretend that he was still asleep.

“Excellent, you’re awake!” Came a reply.

It wasn’t Goodwin.  This was a new voice and one wholly more friendly and upbeat than either Goodwin or Koala.  It sounded excited almost, which Armitage found most annoying.

“I was just about to wake you” the voice continued quite chipper.  “You need to get ready, it’s nearly time”.

Armitage sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes.  He hadn’t meant to fall asleep, he had intended to try and get hold of his family, protest loudly but politely about his current situation and try and get hold of a tooth brush as he had neglected to brush this morning.

“And you are exactly whom?” he asked turning towards the source of the voice.

“Turner” came the reply, “Ichabod Turner, please to meet you”.

There was nobody precisely where this somebody ought to be.

“Why can I not see you? Armitage puzzled, already fast acclimatising to the new ridiculousness of his post-council-office-trip life.

“Oh yes, sorry I do forget sometimes” came the disembodied reply, “the easiest way to explain it is that I exist in a place between your world and a million others.  Went into into a rift a few years ago and came out like this.”

Armitage said nothing, waiting.

“Imagine the world as a sheet of double ply toilet paper.” Ichabod continued, “This world is one sheet and the other sheet is one of countless others.  I exist in-between those two sheets of toilet paper.”

“As scientific explanations go” Armitage snapped, “that is bloody awful!”  His breathing quickened, his head started to pound and he started to feel sick again.

“Yeah my wife said something along those lines when I told her” Ichabod replied. “Well, in between the screaming and the crying and the insisting that she had told me something like this was bound to happen if I insisted on wandering onto rifts.”

Armitage thought he sounded like he was smiling.  He wondered if his own wife was destined for a similar fate.

“I probably need to rethink how I explain myself to people” Ichabod continued, then paused for a moment whilst Armitage put his head in his hands.  He really needed a nice cup of team and another lie down.

“Come on Armitage” he insisted “we can’t be lingering here all day we have places to be.  Lets have you, chop chop.”

Armitage struggled to his feet, head spinning.  “Ok, where are we going?”

“Oh this is going to be fantastic”.

“I very much doubt that.”

Ichabod laughed.  “Do you want to put on those fatigues?”

Armitage had no intention of putting on the fatigues and boots laid out on the green trunk at the end of the bed.  “I was supposed to be repotting my azalea today you know!” He complained loudly. “It isn’t flowering and it really needs looking at.

Ichabod didn’t reply.

“You know what” he said, “I think I shall remain in the clothes I am wearing thank you very much.”  He folded his arms in as much of an act of defiance as he could muster.

“Suit yourself, follow me” instructed Ichabod.

Armitage followed Ichabod’s voice as he was lead between the tents and to a small door in the side of the stadium.  There were surprisingly few people to be seen.  He had seen a couple of heavily armed thick set men milling about outside one of the large green tents and a small squad of around a dozen men could be seen running at the far end of the row of tents but that aside it was by no means busy.

“Could you get that?” Ichabod asked.  “I seem to be struggling with my hands in this reality a little today.”

Armitage pulled the door open and they passed through inside, Ichabod leading him through a series of winding corridors until they appeared at another door.  Armitage pulled it open without being asked.

The first thing he saw when he passed through the door, hearing it clang closed behind him, was Koala Jackson deep in conversation with Goodwin.  They were just a few metres away on the edge of what was once the pitch inside the stadium, but the grass was mostly gone now and more tents were scattered across it’s surface, with one particularly large one squarely in the centre.  Masses of heavily armed troops littered the place and there was a real thrum of activity wherever he looked, with crates of what he assumed were weapons and ammunition being moved about.  Much of the seating in the stands had been removed and what looked like sand bag emplacements and bunkers took up much the space where the seating had once been.

“Good heavens!” he exclaimed loudly.   “What the bloody hell is this?”

“Armitage, Turner, over here” boomed Koala Jackson.  “Front and centre, sharp!”

Armitage really did not like being barked at.  It made him feel most uneasy given that he was by nature a more collaborative sort, prone to problem solving through the sharing ideas and the exchange of dialogue.  Judging by the look on Koala Jackson’s face she didn’t seem to be in the mood for anything other than him being front and centre, so he hastily obliged.

First thing Armitage noticed was that she seemed to be carrying an inordinate amount of weapons, which surely did not bode well for the rest of the evening.  Not that he knew anything about armaments, but they certainly looked rather dangerous and not something you would need were you pottering in the garden or making jam.  There were Pistols in holsters on her belt, those he could recognise, and there were a couple or large pointy ones on her back which looked most unpleasant and which might take an eye out if you weren’t careful with them.   Add to these the one strapped across her chest and the one in her left hand and she looked prepared for something that he was not.

“Is all that not heavy?” he asked, the words spilling from his lips without thought.  Jackson didn’t bother with a reply.

“Gentlemen” she said with a certain menace that Armitage had not noticed earlier “Inrift into  exactly ten minutes time we shall be entering Rift 1979.”  Four heavily armed men in worn fatigues had joined him and Ichabod and they stood waiting for Jackson to continue.

Armitage felt sick again

Jackson stood to her full height, addressing the group but speaking to him directly.  “Armitage, you are our key and are going to help me and my team pass through Rift 1979.  Once inside the  Rift you will remain with us whilst we complete our mission at which point you will accompany us back through again.  Is that understood?”

“Well actually…” Armitage began before she interrupted him.

“You don’t need to ask questions” she snapped “you simply need to do as I tell you and stay close to Mr Goodwin.  He will ensure nothing terrible happens to you.”

Armitage did not like the word terrible one bit.  He had once spilled paint on the stair carpet, and that was about the extent of his definition of terrible. He feared her definition was somewhat significantly worse.

“Ichabod will be our guide between dimensions and the 4 magnificent specimens you see next to you are there just in case we need to negotiate with the locals.”  Armitage looked at the one closest to him and he had to agree, he was rather magnificent.  Not the sort  you would have round for a spot of brunch but he hoped most certainly suited to something as ridiculous as whimsically popping into a space time rift.

“Now, if you all want to follow me we really must be going” she said sharply and headed off towards the large white tent in the middle of the pitch.

Goodwin grabbed his arm and pulled him after him as he hear Ichabod proclaim “Oh I love this bit.  You’re going to love this Mr Shanks, just you see!”

Armitage doubted that very much.  Approaching the large white tent he noticed Jackson’s team visibly tense.  “What happened to your previous key?” he asked cautiously.

They looked at one another but didn’t reply.  He was about to protest most vociferously when he suddenly found himself inside the tent, Goodwin’s hand still around his arm.  He had anticipated a head quarters of some sort, or perhaps an information desk where he cold lodge a complaint, but this really was not what he expected.

Standing in the middle of the tent, the only thing in the room, was a door.

Now as far as doors go this one was for the most part a rather regular and unassuming door, the type you would find on any street. It was 8 panelled with a  brass handle, letter box and knocker and painted jet black with a number two positioned slightly off centre to the right about three quarters of the way up.  That was it, just this door.

He wanted to ask why there was a door, it seemed the natural question to ask, but given how the last few days had panned out he waited as someone would tell him eventually.

“Welcome to Rift 1979!”  Jackson seemed rather proud suddenly”Oh yes, baby!” Ichabod exclaimed.

“I expected something a little more…” Armitage paused. “Well a little less door like really.  Maybe a little more Hollywood.”

Jackson glared at him.  “The door is a containment field Mr Shanks.  Our alien friends were so kind as to leave us with this before they disappeared with our tea and biscuits.”

“Very kind of them” he mumbled.

Koala took his arm and pulled him towards the door.  ” Now all I need you to do is to open it for me and step inside.”

This was all happening way too fast he thought.  This sort of thing did not happen to people like him.  People like him tended their gardens and contributed to the general well being of the village and drank beer and played darts in the pub on a Friday .

“And how exactly do I do that ” Armitage asked, hoping that there would be some complex ritual which he could make a mess of to delay what felt like the inevitable.

“Its a Door Armitage” Goodwin interrupted.  “Turn the handle.”

“Well I could” he said, “But I really do not think that …”

“Open the bloody door Armitage!” Jackson demanded.

She scared him into action and before he knew it he had reached out turning the handle.  It clicked, just as one would expect of a door and slowly he pushed against it.  Before he had time to ask whether he might perhaps remain behind given his splitting headache he felt was a shove in the back and he tumbled through the door, the others bursting past and stepping over him.

After that it all got a little weird.

 


Want to read more of my stuff?  There’s a few links below you might like.

https://afterwards.blog/2017/07/14/probing-a-cautionary-tale/

https://afterwards.blog/2017/07/03/first-blog-post/

https://afterwards.blog/2017/07/14/we-unlikely-few/

A letter to my wife – Gate – Daily prompt

Today I walked past your old house and thought of you.  With it’s red brick wall and it’s grey slate roof it looked just as it did all those years ago when we first met

To my dearest Jane.

Today I walked past your old house and thought of you.  With it’s red brick wall and it’s grey slate roof it looked just as it did all those years ago when we first met…just older I guess.  I like to think that perhaps it would say the same of us and smile and remember us the way we were.

It would remember how I walked past every morning on the way to school hoping to see you, even though that was the long way round, and it would laugh to see how I walked ever so slightly slower as I passed by.

The tales it would tell of how you eventually noticed me and we would walk together each day and  I would watch that old metal gate swing closed each evening as you waved goodbye and you would head inside and be lost to me until morning.   It would tell the story of how I first kissed you there in the snow at the end of term and it would make you blush and look at me with that smile you always had for me.

The years flew by so very fast didn’t they, but if it could it would remind us of the life we lived, the love we shared and the laughter that filled every day,  It would tell us of the things we had forgotten and how happy we were when we moved in and made it ours, and the years that passed as we filled it with a family of our own.

It would recall quite clearly how you would wave the kids off each day as they headed to school, and then eventually work until they left and made homes of their own.

As time slipped by you would lean upon that old gate post when your legs became so very tired and It remembers so clearly too the day when you left in the ambulance but you never came back.

I like to think that it would smile and wink at me if it saw me, and it would forgive me for leaving, but I could not stay after you were gone.  There were children playing in the garden and they looked happy Jane.  I hope they are as happy as we were.

I will miss you always and you remain forever in my heart.

Your ever loving husband.

Charles

 

 


 

Want to read more of my stuff?  There’s a few links below you might like.  It’s not all like that I promise.

https://afterwards.blog/2017/07/14/probing-a-cautionary-tale/

https://afterwards.blog/2017/07/03/first-blog-post/

https://afterwards.blog/2017/07/14/we-unlikely-few/

 

 

 

 

 

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/Gate/

 

 

I took a 30 year break – Dormant – Daily Prompt

That Christmas I asked for a typewriter, thinking that I had found my calling, and I bashed out a few teen angst inspired poems about solitude and rainy days …

I have always wanted to write.  Or I thought I did.  When I was 17 I scribbled a story in a large black book my dad stole from work one summer.  I don’t remember what it was about, but I do know that Victor Visser borrowed it to read and never gave it back!

That Christmas I asked for a typewriter, thinking that I had found my calling, and I bashed out a few teen angst inspired poems about solitude and rainy days before succumbing to rage and frustration and a realisation that the I could not type and would be spending all of my time correcting what I had bashed out.

I did very little after that with the exception of a Tolkien inspired epic poem which I worked on when I was in the Army just after I left school.  I have no idea what happened to it but I still remember the opening even after 28 years:

“The swirling veils of morning mist

were swept aside as morning kissed 

the sleeping lands that lay below

and waking winds began to blow.”

I think the rest was about a quest and an evil force and a ring and some wizards and…well you get the idea.  Mostly thievery.

And that, as far as I recall was it.  For a short while I thought Journalism was for me but I never did anything about it, I mostly just had an itch which I left unscratched.

Fast forward three decades, a wife, 2 kids, mortgage, career and a load of stuff in between I found myself inspired by a friend to look at WordPress just over a fortnight ago.  Well, I will be honest, it has been rather fun and wholly addictive and after nearly 30 years I have managed to write some of the things I always wanted to but didn’t know I did.

I have no idea how one should write, I do not know whether full stops go before speech marks and the structure of a good story is beyond me.  I do know though that I am loving doing it, even if it is a shambles.

Perhaps it was how easy it was to set up, maybe the joy of writing, perhaps it was the thrill of someone actually liking something I wrote or maybe just the joy of finishing something I meant to do so long ago but never got round to.

Whatever it is, my wife hopes I put that shelf up in the kitchen sooner than it took me to do this because I also assured her, in a very similar way, that ensuring she has somewhere to put the pans is something I want to do very much, if only I could find my spirit level.

 


Want to read more of my stuff that’s not about me but about Aliens and zombies and people and rude poems and life and stuff?

https://afterwards.blog/2017/07/14/probing-a-cautionary-tale/

https://afterwards.blog/2017/07/03/first-blog-post/

https://afterwards.blog/2017/07/14/we-unlikely-few/

 

 

 

 

 

 

Https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/Dormant/

 

 

Scamper – Daily Prompt

“BRAINS!” demanded Chuck, teeth gnashing and arms flailing as he thrashed to extricate him from the tangle of barbed wire around his legs and waist.

“Hey Chuck, do you remember when we young?” Brian asked, his mind a fog and a hunger in his belly that made him want to scream.

“BRAINS!” demanded Chuck, teeth gnashing and arms flailing as he thrashed to extricate him from the tangle of barbed wire around his legs and waist.

“You used to be really active you know” Brian continued, “You were always…what’s that word..?”  He trailed off into silence, thinking was getting more difficult and the hunger was unbearable.

“BRAINS!” Chuck demanded again, more forcefully this time.

Chuck had no recollection of much other than the fact that he really wanted some brains right now.  If he tried really hard to not think about eating brains there was occasionally a flicker of a different world, but it all seemed like a …like a…something,   He didn’t really have the words anymore really, he was just so hungry.

“I’m trying to have a normal conversation with you mate!” Brian snapped.  “I know this is all very upsetting but …” the words failed him again.

He looked down and noticed a rather large hole in his military fatigues, and an equally large one in his chest, crawling with flies. “You used to …oh what was that word now…” he said, looking across at his old friend.  “You used to love to…”

Chuck had managed to get one of his legs free and celebrated with a rather hearty “BRAINS!”

For the briefest moment of moment Brian felt a clarity of thought and a million thoughts flashed through his mind.  He remembered everything.  The outbreak, the war, family , friends and so much more.

“Chuck” he said slowly, “I think we’re undead mate!”  He felt his thoughts escaping him, like sand slipping through clutching fingers.  The hunger was overpowering, he had to fight for every word.  “I’ve remembered Chuck” he said excitedly, “I’ve remembered what you used to love to do!”

He looked over and noticed that Chuck had dragged himself free of the barbed wire, leaving much of his right lower leg behind.  “BRAINS!” Chuck exclaimed joyfully.

“You used to…it was…you…we…” His voice trailed away, eyes glazing over and his head falling to one side.

“BRAINS!” was all he could muster.



 

Fancy something a little different?  Try one of these maybe…

https://afterwards.blog/

https://afterwards.blog/2017/07/18/soil-an-armitage-tangent-daily-prompt/

https://afterwards.blog/2017/07/14/probing-a-cautionary-tale/

 

 

,

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/Scamper/

On being really fat

They say one should write about what one knows, so I I think I shall perhaps write about being fat.

They say one should write about what one knows, so I I think I shall perhaps write about being fat.

Now, I don’t yet know if it will be a cake and pork fuelled celebration of my wobbly belly and chafing thighs or whether I shall use this as a shameful catalyst to stir me in my eternal attempt to lose weight.  I haven’t quite worked myself up to a commitment one way or another yet having only just penned the thought, plus I have a rather nice hot beef and mustard sandwich that needs to be eaten before I do any sort of serious decision making.

Now if I was to attempt to lose weight, which I indeed might but let’s not be too hasty as we are still working through the premise for this piece, then It obviously goes without saying that typing will not help me shed a single chin.  I am also pretty sure that a few of the particularly energetic amongst you may well be thinking that I should simply stop typing right now, wipe the quite delicious beef juice from my chubby little fingers and get myself on a treadmill or go for a nice walk.  I won’t argue against that point, and the matter of the treadmill is one I will address another time most likely, but for now I think I shall  either, but I shall persist with writing something first at that was my aim when I sat down.  That and to eat my rather delicious sandwich which I have done whilst typing this.

So where to next I ask myself.  I am not certain yet but how about I float a couple of ideas to see whether any of them stir me as to my preferred course of action:

·       When bending over to pick things up became an embarrassment to my children.

·       Why my jeans need pulling up whenever I stand.

·       Failing at not being fat.

·       Stamina, what stamina.

·       I woke up with a lollipop stuck to my jumper

·       What do you mean I have piles!

·       Late night eating by refrigerator light.

·       Please put a shirt on the neighbours might see you.

As much as that feels like Weird Al album track listing,  I think I might have enough ideas to take this somewhere you know. 

Perhaps I will see you next time when I tackle the difficult subject of ‘Why my bathroom scale hates me and lies just to make me feel bad about myself’.

 

 

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/Lollipop/

Passenger – An Armitage Tangent

Alex stood frozen.  Looking across the empty lanes of the motorway he could see his brother’s red Mustang,  crumpled and twisted, steam billowing from the radiator.  His first thought was  “Mum and dad are going to kill him!”, and it never occurred to him that everything wouldn’t be ok, because when you’re 15 everything usually is.

“Weird” he thought, scratching his head through a mop of dark curly hair, something was nagging at him, his thoughts very much a fog.   “This is a dream right?”  He asked himself.

“You know, that’s usually what you lot ask at this point” came a response out of nowhere  “and then I tell you it isn’t” it continued, “and then you freak out”.

Alex turned to the source of the voice, seeing before him a small bald man with a warm smile and piercing blue eyes.  He wore a sharp well fitted dark suit, crisp white shirt and a black tie tied with a Windsor knot and despite his stature had all the air of someone who could quite easily do you harm if you forgot to pay him for whatever you might own a man like him for. 

“Calm yourself curly locks” he said, a thin smile breaking out on his face “I know this is all a shock and you want to run over and see what’s going on and blah blah blah but we really need to get moving”.

Alex indeed wanted to run over to the scene where a fire truck, lights flashing and horns blaring had just pulled up, but he couldn’t.  His head told his body to ignore the small bald man and do exactly that but he simply remained where he stood.  His thinking was so slow, words escaped him, concepts too.

“I need to go over! My brother’s still in there” he mumbled.  That he knew, foggy headed or not. 

The Bald headed man remained unmoved. “Hate to break it to you kiddo but you’re dead”  he said dispassionately.  “You aren’t going anywhere other than recycling.”  It was simply a fact to him.  He had done this so many times that he found it far easier to just get right to the heart of the matter rather than to try flowering things up. 

Early on in his career he had developed a real flair for the dramatic, and relished these moments.  He’d dabbled in poetry and religious imagery and had even used props for a while but it soon wore thin.  

These days he was a fan of a nice suit over the effort of a hooded cloak.  They were rather more uncomfortable than one might think and forever dragging on the floor and needing to be washed.   and as menacing as a scythe is it’s a real nuisance to cart around all day

Alex stood, saying nothing because some part of him knew he was dead.   There was a feint recollection of a party – perhaps someone’s birthday – and rain, lots of rain.  After that there was a horn, loud noise and then …well then he was stood where he found himself right now. 

After a while he spoke “Is he ok?” he asked.

“Id not worry about him for now kiddo” bald man replied, “come on, follow me.  You’ll like this.”

Alex turned slowly to follow, his head swimming.  “Where are we going?  What will happen to him?“

“Always with the questions” the bald man mumbled under his breath.  “Just follow me, I’ll explain everything in a bit”.

The bald man led him up a small path and just over the brow of the embankment that ran adjacent to the motorway.  “Keep up” the bald man called, disappearing inside an open door, “Ive got places to be.”

Now as far as doors go this one was for the most part a rather regular and unassuming door, the type you would find on any street. It was 8 panelled with a  brass handle, letter box and knocker and painted jet black with a number two positioned slightly off centre to the right about three quarters of the way up.  What made it wholly unusual though was the way it simply stood unsupported just alongside a busy motorway where he had apparently just died.

Bald man popped his head around the door. “Are you coming or not?” he shouted, and disappeared back inside.

As Alex approached he could see inside into what looked very much like an office.  There was a large empty hall, white floors and walls and the bald man seemed to be stood at what looked like reception desk.  Bald man looked over beckoning for him to hurry across as Alex stepped through the door.  He felt it close behind him and a lock clicked.

“Alex” he said, grabbing his sleeve and pulling him over, “this is The Receptionist, she’s been looking forward to meeting you.”

She looked a bit like the woman his mum didn’t like his dad talking to at work he thought, the one mum described as “that hot home wrecking blonde” and dad always described as “harmless” and “just really friendly”.

Alex heard a voice in his head, it seemed to cut through the fog.  “It’s very nice to meet you Alex” she said, “If you want to take a seat on one of the chairs behind you I will be with you in a short while.  I just need to have a word with Mr Goodwin”.

He had a million questions going through his head but he felt compelled to do as she had asked, and nodding he turned on his heels and walked across to the chairs and took a seat.

He watched Goodwin and the receptionist for a while, him speaking and her simply looking directly at him.  He nodded once or twice, made a few notes in a small notebook which he then tucked inside his breast pocket and with that he was gone, pausing only briefly to look back across at him before exiting through the door they had passed through earlier.

She beckoned him over with a long elegant finger.  Stood before her he heard her in his head “Well Alex, I guess you are wondering what exactly is going on.” He nodded.  “Mr Goodwin should have explained but alas he has a tendency to neglect his duties sometimes.  I really must have a word.”

Her voice was cold, he felt it not only in his head but in his bones.

“You must have a lot of questions” she continued.  He nodded again.  “All in good time Alex.  For now you need to know this.  So listen carefully.”

He nodded.  It was all he seemed capable of.

“You’re dead I’m afraid Alex, and Mr Goodwin has just left to fetch your brother who did not make it despite the best efforts of the emergency services.  You and your brother are very special, and possess certain qualities that I value most highly and because of that I asked him to being you back for recycling.”

She could see from his face that he was confused.  Understandably so she thought, these people with their antiquated belief systems really had no idea of just what lay out there in the universe.  The universes.

“Is this heaven?” he asked.

“No Alex, this is not heaven” she replied, “You’re in the council offices.  We are here to recycle you and get you back out there because there is something you need to do for me”.

That was not what he had expected to hear.  He had always gone to Sunday school and was pretty sure that if he were dead he really ought to be heading off to heaven and ot stood at the council office reception.

“No such thing as heaven or hell I am afraid.  Regardless of which of your many god’s you root for” she explained “Though from what I read neither sound particularly interesting. You really need to just forget everything you may have been told and trust me that this is the best place for you.  You got lucky really today Alex, we could have simply let you dissolve into nothing but you’re here so let’s get on with the job at hand shall we.?

Her tone was suddenly less friendly and that was not a question.   Alex nodded again as Mr Goodwin burst through the door, his brother in tow. 

“Justin!” he exclaimed, waving him over.  Justin had the same foggy look Alex had had just ten minutes prior. Mr Goodwin lead Justin over to stand with him.

“Thank you Mr Goodwin” the receptionist said, her gaze fixed on Justin.  “Very nice to meet you, I’m terribly sorry about being dead and all but it really is nothing to get too upset about.”

She looked at Alex now, he was pretty sure that they were all hearing her in their heads.

“If you would be so kind to explain to your brother what is going on I shall go and prepare you a couple of nice new bodies and we will have you back out on there in no time at all.  We have a lot to get done today.”

***I started this piece about the death of a passenger in a car then thought I’d explore an idea for the Armitage stuff I am writing so kind of just went with it.  It probably slots into the Armitage story somewhere, just not really sure at the moment. – Michael***

 

 

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/passenger/

Is it really so bad ?

I, like most of you , am probably prone to over exaggeration.  If I were to say “I am going to kill the kids if they leave a towel on the bathroom floor again” then I think you probably know what I mean and where I am heading with this.  Unless of course I am prone to killing children for acts of untidiness  – which I am not. 

Just to be absolutely clear on that matter – I have not nor will I kill my children for leaving a bit of a mess in the upstairs bathroom.

Equally, as it turns out I did not actually nearly die when filling up my car recently despite me insisting to my wife to the contrary.  My life did not flash before my eyes, I was not filled with the urge to hold my sons one last time, and I did not re-evaluate my existence as a consequence of paying £1.20 a litre.

I also had to reconsider whether leaving a chicken in the oven for what was maybe 15 minutes too long last Sunday – resulting in the breasts being a little dry – was in fact the disaster I supposed.  Would I classify the lack of moistness as a serious disruption, occurring over a relatively short time, of a community or a society involving widespread human, material, economic or environmental loss and impacts, which exceeds the ability of the affected community or society to cope using its own resources?  

Probably not, I just made a little extra gravy. 

With the realisation that I am prone to such exaggerations I ask myself whether I will perhaps use more appropriate language in the future. 

No, obviously not and I am sure you feel the same.

I will still insist that I very nearly soil myself every time something surprises me and I will continue to insist that the neighbour, who drives so terribly, is indeed as blind as a bat and by that token navigates via sonar.  No one ever became excited or intrigued and leaned in with great interest upon being told that they are absolutely going to believe a tale I am about to tell. 

There is a joy in exaggeration, a freedom and a licence to share an excitement that is ours and which we simply want others to feel.  It helps us express, albeit lazily, the things we feel and lets us get straight to the somewhat more mundane details of the thing we are expressing.

 

 

 

 

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/disastrous/

Soil – An Armitage Tangent

“A scotch egg is not a fruit!” Wednesday insisted forcefully, “it is an egg wrapped in sausage meat then crumbed and deep fried!”

 “A scotch egg is not a fruit!” Wednesday insisted forcefully, “it is an egg wrapped in sausage meat then crumbed and deep fried!” 

“All I’m saying” replied Thomas, “Is that if you use your imagination, and think of it maybe as a meat apple then it maybe could be.”  He paused for a moment.  “Don’t you think?”

Wednesday did not think.  Not for one moment. 

“Why do you insist on being so completely ridiculous?” He ranted, face flushed and his jaw clenched.  “I swear you do it just to annoy me!”

“What if I gave you an apple flavoured one?”

“That’s a bloody apple!” Wednesday raged.  “We’ve got a job to do here – stop going on about scotch egg flavoured apples and apple flavoured scotch eggs and dig!”

“What about an orange flavoured one?”

“Ok, you know full well  that an orange flavoured apple flavoured scotch egg is a bleeding orange!”  A vein pulsed just above his right temple.  “Just keep digging and stop being an idiot.”

Thomas allowed himself just a little smile.  He loved Wednesday deeply but he was a frightful bore at times and took things far too seriously.  No imagination at all sadly.  “It’s nature’s goodness Wednesday” he grinned, attempting to push the large brown pork ball into his friend’s hand.  “Here”, he said “Take a bite they’re delicious!”

Wednesday hit Thomas’ hand away and the scotch egg fell to the floor “Stop it!” he shouted, “I don’t want a bloody pork apple!”

“So you admit it then!”  Thomas laughed in delight, picking up the scotch egg from the floor “Oh Wednesday, you are funny.  You won’t grow if you don’t eat your vegetables” he teased.

Wednesday did not find any of this funny at all.  His sense of humour was not his strong suite.  It served very little purpose in his line of work.

“Just keep digging the hole and then we’ll get out of here” he said thrusting a shovel into Thomas’ free hand.

“I don’t see why I always have to do the digging “ said thomas “you could help”.

Wednesday rolled his head, bones cracking in his neck.  “You dig because I do most of the killing” he replied curtly.  “If you want to do more of the killing then I will quite happily dig but if you insist of eating scotch eggs and being an idiot then you get to dig.”

“I only asked, bloody hell mate” Thomas said “This should be deep enough anyway, drag him over I’ll get him covered up.”

Thomas shovelled the majority of the soil over what was quite obviously the body of a rather portly gentleman, a single polished shoe protruding from a thick white wrapping that did very little to hide what was inside.

“Job Done” Thomas said satisfactorily, brushing the dust from his clothes.

Wednesday smiled “You got any of those scotch eggs left, I’m starving.”

 

 

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/soil/

Cold Stone – An FFfAW Chalenge

If the cold stone steps could speak they would tell a tale of generations past; of family; of love; of loss and of time that slips by in the blink of an eye.  Worn by so many feet, endless journeys up and down making their way through life one step at a time. 

Sometimes skipped, hastily ran and often laboured they endure season after season as the world grew, changed shape, died and was renewed.

Children become adults and pass into nothing and they remain as the sun comes and goes – even more slowly – marking the passing of time and warming their slowly worn surface as it passes across the sky until again the laughter of childhood returns.

Time is unkind and cruel, passing so quickly for man but for those things more permanent it brings a sadness of things long lost and the hope of joy still to come. 

Photo courtesy of J.S. Brand

 

https://flashfictionforaspiringwriters.wordpress.com/2017/07/17/fffaw-challenge-week-of-july-18-2017/

 

Edible – Daily Prompt

 I would often think that my first born was a fussy eater.  From the earliest age he would take a spoonful of the lovingly prepared broccoli and tuna paste I had whipped up and spit it back out with such delight, perhaps pausing only to rub it into his hair or hurl it across the kitchen.

“What’s wrong Sam?” I would ask, pretending that the heaving spoon full of pulverised cauliflower and chicken was a train and his mouth the tunnel. “Choo Choo here comes the dinner train!”.  He looked at me with such distaste and promptly closed the tunnel for maintenance works.

The meals were nutritionally balanced and everything that a growing boy would need.  They were also a bugger to get out of the carpets.

I once managed to persuade him to eat a Tuna, sweet potato  and sweetcorn mush, and proud as only a new father can be I rewarded his with time In the bouncer which we hung from the kitchen door frame.  Once I had finished cleaning up my wife was quick to remind me that I should have known that allowing a child to bounce so wildly so soon after eating would “quite obviously” result in throwing up.

Oh how I wish Pizza was a vegetable.

 

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/edible/

Admire – Five Sentence Story Prompt

Abel watched intently through the crack in the door as his father paced the floor, a fist full of unpaid bills clenched in his hand, brow furrowed and eyes downcast “May, there are simply too many of us and with winter fast approaching we just do not have enough supplies to see us through.”

May pulled her shawl tight around her shoulders “what are we supposed to do, without more food we wont see the spring, and he has already warned us about what will happen if we don’t pay”

“You know I love you all don’t you” he said calmly,  pulling on his coat and stuffing the bills in his coat pocket, “I’ll go and see Jackson and ask whether they will give me an extension on the payments, he might be more lenient this time”.

As Abel watched him leave the house heading out into the falling snow, he caught a glimpse of his father’s service revolver tucked into his belt.

Abel returned to his Father’s study, and curling up in his high back leather chair closed his eyes, waiting for him to return but not knowing that he would not be back.

 

 

http://wp.me/p7PDY0-1rN

https://aestheticgraphy.wordpress.com/2017/07/17/five-sentence-story-prompt-5/

Dash – a collection of hastily scribbled limericks – Daily prompt

 

>A fellow from Bangor I met

Had a shirt that was soaked through with sweat

As he’d been on the run

From a priest and a nun

And a Bishop whos wife he got wet

 

>A lady with bosoms aplenty

Proved a hit with the men of the gentry

They succumbed to her wiles

And her winks and her smiles

But to church she was oft refused entry

 

>A chap met a lass in a bush

Passion and lust what a rush

Pulses raced what a thrill

As they rolled on the hill

Until doctor confirmed he had thrush

 

>A wife bored at home with burst pipe

Hastily scrubbed with a wipe

As the plumber quite handy

Made her head swim like brandy

She was ready for plucking, quite ripe

 

>Please do not show these words to the wife

I really do not want the strife

“A grown man should man should know better,

your kids cold read this letter…

writing slightly rude rhymes, get a life!”

 

 

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/dash/