Tag Archives: #FF

Telyn, the Harp.

“I’m Telyn, the Harp.”

“Telling the harp what?”

“No. My name is Telyn, and I am a harp. The Harp.”

“Oh.”

“And what, may I ask, are you?”

“May you well ask. I am… fanfare of drums… a piece of metal that has been twisted into a shape.”

“A triangle.”

“That’s it. I have been twisted into a triangular shape… but, I don’t know what I am called.”

“Perhaps, ‘Tingy’ might be a good name for you.”

“Ooh! That would be lovely. Tingy the thing made into a triangular shape. How happy I am!”

And with that, he struck himself on the head with a small rod of metal.

“Ting!!!!”

Telyn sighed, a lovely glissando of a sigh, but, a sigh nevertheless.

‘Winnie the Pooh’s Different Day’

(LWG prompt for 15/09/2020)

‘It is going to be another one of those days’, thought Pooh, as he decided what outfit he was going to wear today – he eventually went for the red shirt and trouser-less look, as it was all he had to choose from.

‘It must be a Thursday.’ reasoned Pooh. ‘Or one of the other ones; but, it does feel like a Thursday.

It was, in fact, a Wednesday, which ‘is’ a Thursday, in all but name.

Pooh left his home in the Hundred Acre Wood and went to see if Piglet was up for a game of squash.

At Piglet’s house, in answer to Pooh’s knocking on the doorbell, the door was answered by a tall man in a flying outfit from the Great War (Pooh had read about, and seen pictures, of this, in one of Christopher Robin’s picture books) and the man had a dapper moustache to boot.

“Is Piglet in?” asked Pooh.

‘“Piglet? No. He’s gone upstairs with Ginger. He’s always wanted to go up in one of the old balloons.”

“Upstairs?” queried Pooh, his face taking on his default ‘confused’ look. “Piglet hasn’t got an ‘upstairs’ “

“No. Up into the blue, skywards, through the atmosphere, up where the air is clear.” replied the dapper chappie. ‘Come to think of it, Piglet doesn’t seem to have much ‘upstairs’ either, does he?’ the man laughed.

Pooh didn’t think that was funny, but he didn’t know why.

“Are you a pillock?” asked Pooh, innocently.

“A ‘pillock?’ “ the airman seemed a little taken aback.

“Yes.” continued Pooh. “Going ‘up-tiddly-up-up’ and then ‘down-tiddly down-down?”

Enlightenment crossed the airman’s expression.

“Yup! Group Captain James Bigglesworth at your service!” replied Group Captain James Bigglesworth. “But you can call me ‘Biggles’.”

“Thank you.” said Pooh, remembering his manners. “I am Pooh.”

“Oh, don’t be too hard on yourself, my little rotund fellow, I’m sure you have many fine qualities – you are quite polite, for instance.”

“My name is Pooh, Winnie the Pooh. Like in Bond, James Bond.”

“Who, Pooh?” Biggles looked affectionately down upon the little bear. “You creatures of the Hundred Acre Wood are all rather special. Are there any more of your friends that I can meet?”

“Well, there’s Kanga and Roo, Eeyore, Tigger, and… others.” Pooh’s mind thought of the Heffalumps and Woozles. “Others.” he repeated lamely.

“Kanga and Roo? Aussies? Well, they should be up for a laugh. What about Eeyore and Tigger – are they good fellows both?”

“Not quite. Eeyore does get a bit low sometimes… often; but, Tigger is the opposite – bouncier than Kanga, I would say – possibly he’s got ADHD.”

Biggles thought on this. “Never mind. I’m sure that they’ll make a fine crew for a sortie over the briny.

“And there’s Christopher Robin.” said Pooh.

“Ah! A talking red-breasted bird – how tickety-boo!” Biggles was often perceived as being annoying, but Pooh was a kindly chap and didn’t find Biggles ‘too’ much of a handful.

“No. Christopher Robin is a boy, like you, but much smaller. He is the brains in our little rag-tag group.” Pooh certainly knew where the brains were in their community. “He can spell proper and everything.” finished Pooh, now quite puffed out.

“Well, I look forward to meeting the rest of the gang—“

It was at that moment that the sound of a low-flying aircraft was heard by the both of them.

“Ah! Ginger and The Pigster are heading back. I do hope they get the old string bag down in one piece – such a pain when you have to rebuild the beauties.”

The plane came into view, flying low over the treetops, rocking slightly as she came.

“I think Piglet is flying her in.” declared Biggles. “I can just see his pink ears poking out from the cockpit.”

“Piglet is?” asked Pooh. “But he’s never even been in an aeroplane before, how can he be flying it?”

“Piglet may be small of stature; but he is large of courage when it comes to bravery!” exclaimed Biggles.

A little while later Piglet and Ginger walked in to Piglet’s house; Piglet jumping from foot to foot, and beaming from ear to ear, Ginger filling in his pilot’s log.

“All good up top, Ginger?” asked Biggles.

“Top notch, Biggles, old man. We soared above the clouds and Piglet even looped-the-loop.” Ginger was obviously impressed with Piglet’s performance.

Pooh looked at Biggles, Ginger, and Piglet. “If you’d have asked me if any of this was possible…” said Pooh, “I’d have said that ‘Pigs might fly!’ “

They all laughed at this for quite a while.

There was never a dull day in the Hundred Acre Wood.

Out of Context

Out of Context

I left old Context town behind me; I was happy to be out of a place where I just didn’t fit in.

Keeping A Light On. (Revisited).

Keeping A Light On. (Revisited).

Every evening, the little old man climbed to the top of the spiral staircase to light the lamp; staying there, thinking upon life, until the dawn’s early light rose. He slept, during the day, in a cot near the base of the lighthouse; eating the food that the kind folk from the village left him.

For forty years he had tended to the flame that shone out for the mariners’ safety; like his father, and his grandfather, before him.

The mariners, whose sea had receded ten miles beyond the old coast line many, many years ago.

It’s 4:30 in the afternoon (well, it was).

It’s 4:30 in the afternoon (well, it was).

It’s 4:30 in the afternoon,

and, soon, it will be 4:31;

I only have less than a minute to write this…

but, sadly, it couldn’t be done.

It’s 4:32 in the afternoon…

“Mean, Meaner, Meanest!” #SoCS #LindaGHill

“Mean, Meaner, Meanest!” #SoCS #LindaGHill

See Linda’s page for more info

“Well, I mean- how demeaning is that? Perhaps it’s just a means to an end? I wonder if he really meant it? The number of times he’s said similar… well, if I take his meaning as being what he is actually saying… he’s meantal! Ha! I still have my sense of hummus. He can’t take that away from me. He’s gone off now and I can get a bit of quiet. He’s usually a couple of hours; so, in the meantime, I can have some me time. I mean, what’s a girl got to do to get what is rightfully hers? No, don’t answer that. We are still in an age where the mean man is in command. He started off ever so nice, tall and lean, now he’s all and mean! Such a change. Such a dick! He makes me sick. He is actually making me sick. My mental health as well as my physical health . Both suffering. ‘He’s mean to me, mean to me and making me mad!’ What that a song? I’ll sing it anyway. A sign of my defiance. Me and you. You and me. That’s how it used to be now it’s you and you being me me me mean!

I need a means to escape. Escape the meanness of this man’s madness.

What do they do in my thriller books, my ‘dumb’ crime novels? The woman pops off the man in order to gain wealth and freedom – okay, I shall poison the batard – is that a word? I’ve always hated swearing – and he swears a lot. Says nasty, meaningless things – that hurt me even the more because there is no truth like the truth of a woman scorned. I shall cook him up a lovely Mushroom Stroganoff for tea – *a meal to die for.

*the 10-minutes (I have to limit my waffling somehow) timer went off here.

5-Word Flash Fiction?

Mary lived on an isthmus.