Tag Archives: #vss

19:14 – LWG prompt

It was approaching a quarter past seven o’clock when the young men left their childhood’s behind and signed upon the dotted line for the reward of the King’s shilling and a muddy grave.

SoCS – Practice. @LindaGHill

And you can Pop here to see Linda’s fine web site and all these lovely prompts.

No, I’m going in cold with this – no practice for me.

Which means that it’s gonna bomb.

I mean – can you have any expectations that this is going to be worthy of the three minutes that it takes you to read this. Not even mentioning the ten minutes that it took me (is taking me) to write it.

Words of wisdom – none!

Pearls of… well, wisdom – none!

Words… well, yes, it has quite a few of those – there may be verbs, adverbs, adjectives, nouns, pronouns, and more of the same. Oh, and definitely, somewhere within, there will be a list – there’s always a list – and what is list it will be.

Some lists just… list things, with no explanation (as does mine) whilst others are purely inspirational, buckets spring to mind, buckets always spring to mind, and then I down an hour deciding what colour my bucket should be. Well, Orange, yellow, basic black – there are oh, so many colours – and finally decide upon a pale mint and cream combination (which doesn’t exist) which has to be made like a kitchen (bespoke) yup, bespoke, and boy that would be an achievement – wouldn’t it?.

Don’t you just love rhetorical questions?

No, you don’t have to answer that.

But, if you want to… don’t.

So, what would I have written if I had practiced?

Nothing much, because I would have thought the heck out of the subject and been too self aware of myself to create anything of worth.

Like this is!

Anyway, I must be getting near my self-set 10 minutes.

Or am I?

Has Time become a Fourth Dimension where every ‘old’ second has become the length of an ‘hour’?

In which case, brace yourself for some rollercoaster of a ride – only what has gone before… *

times 3,600 (or so).

G:)

Dream Story – The Warm Yellow Custard Lake

… and they both dived eagerly into the lake of warm custard – for that is what it was.

Surfacing some distance apart, the two hollered to each other their joy at their instantaneous feelings of vitality, health, and well-being, for they were truly invigorated – which feelings can arise after a swim, even in warm custard, but this was different.

Small cuts, bruises, scars, and their, recently, ever-present sunburn, all disappeared – gone, and gone for good. The healing powers of the warm custard were, to put it lamely, amazing!

Fully rejuvenated, and feeling twenty years younger, the pair travelled on upon their quest, telling the tale of the yellow lake and its properties.

Thus, people began journeying from near, and then far, to bear witness by personal immersion into the healing warmth of yellowness.

As more and ever more people used the warm custard to heal small wounds, injuries and more serious ailments – even, in one instance, to replace a missing limb – the warm custard began to cool, and a shade of green tinged the golden yellow surface. The, until recently, sick and wounded also commented upon the slight sourness that they tasted when they inadvertently swallowed some of the warm custard.

But, the people came in their droves.

Until, soon, all the healing powers of the Yellow Custard Lake were exhausted. The lake had cooled, turned a murky green all over, and bubbled strangely in places. It had become a swamp.

In olden times, this was how swamps were formed. And if you ever now see a lake of warm custard on your travels…

…jump on in…

… before it becomes a foetid swamp –

for nobody wants to immerse themselves in one of those, do they?

The Incredible Growing Poem

Once,

It’s said,

long ago,

and far away,

there lived a bad troll;

although, he never swore,

ate people, stole things, or burped;

so he wasn’t really that bad.

A Story in Many Parts – which you can help to write (keep it light) please read and pop your continuation of the story in the comments – thank you.

No one really knows what is around the corner, and I certainly didn’t. Not, today, at any rate.

I had gone out in order to buy a packet of loose-leaf tea and a potato (I had three, I needed four), taking my usual route to the local ‘BuyStuff’ store. This required travelling up my street, turning the corner, and walking a further twenty paces to reach my destination.

It was when I turned the corner that my day took a strange turn.

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.

The butterfly and the duckling

Liskeard Writers Prompt for 21/01/2020: Picture prompt – the butterfly and the duckling.

When you think about reincarnation, as I’m sure you do from time to time, do you consider the possibility that you would come back as a long-living creature – such as an Aldabra Giant Tortoise or a Greenland Shark, or a creature with a short life-span, such as an adult Mayfly or a House Mouse

Well, this story involves two people that meet, fall in love, and die, all too young, in an airplane crash.

They are pure-hearted souls that qualified, without dispute, for reincarnation.

Jessica was transformed into a beautiful Blue Morpho butterfly; Leonides, strangely inappropriately, was reincarnated as a duckling, an ugly duckling, with feathers all stubby and brown.

As you know, or maybe you don’t, all animals, insects, mammals (apart from most humans) have the ability to converse with each other. They don’t always choose to; but, they can hold conversations in many ways apart from the spoken language that we expect of them.

So, Jessica and Leonides were able to find each other by a series of clicks, quacks, chirps, flutters, and a fair degree of luck.

They remained friends throughout their reincarnated lives, sadly Jessica’s was one of brevity, and Leonides grew to be an ugly swan, who used the brute strength of his wings to quell the dissatisfaction that he felt at not having also been brought back as a beautiful butterfly, where he could spend a brief, but exquisite, life with Jessica – as they had done when in human form.

The calendar that their picture adorns is a tribute to a moment in their second lives. And the picture was taken from an actual scene that caught the artist’s eye – so beautiful it was.

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.

No Repetition Story (WIP)

No Repetition Story (WIP)

(200 words without repetition.

Any comments gratefully received) – G:) )

“What are you doing?” shouted Lady Melanie Montmorency. “Get out of my brand new jacuzzi immediately!”

Brendan o’Briain leapt about three feet skywards into clear air at his landlady’s voice, unwillingly exposing a pale nakedness for her Ladyship’s unwanted delight.

“Sorry!” was heard uttered upon the Irish lumberjack’s sudden departure.

“Funny fellow; but, so well endowed.” sincere sounding approval soaked smoothly within those virtuously aristocratic words.

Disaster avoided, said water-filled garden feature, receiving some needed cleansing attention, soon returned to its former glory.

Later, ‘Dive-In Thursday’ commenced; all behaved impeccably; ubiquitous aperitifs were copiously imbibed, perky petit-fours neatly nibbled, clandestine conversation eloquently colluded.

Observing proceedings, Tangworthy Times’ lead reporter, Mrs. Fenella Finglewort, vividly reported: ‘absolute debauchery, total mayhem, flagrant philandering – so jealous!’ Pictures left nothing unimagined.

Friday’s headlines read: ‘Upper Class Street Theatre Brings Down Lasting Shame!’ which nobody understood – heavy editorial restraints meant little, as subsequent salaciousness could be experienced per highly detailed pictures printed within.

“Where” SoCS @LindaGHill

“Where” SoCS @LindaGHill

See here for Linda’s blog and details for #SoCS

‘Where were you when Wednesday came, and went? I know that you ‘come and go’ as is your wont; but, on a need-to-know basis, we need to know ‘exactly’ where you were.’

Whether it makes any sense to you is a matter of no concern to us. We are just doing what we are programmed to do – be it unavoidably etched in binary codes upon our souls, or in a flippant aside made by our master (Hail to Parrlos) which we still obey as if it were one of the ten rules.

So, starveling, where were you?

We can only ask three times, then we have to dispose of you as ‘faulty’. Any ‘Ting’ not found worthy, or deemed to be in a state of disobeyance is to be disposed of.

I ask for the final time: where were you?

No?

Nothing?

In that case we shall have to say ‘arriverderci, starveling!’ ‘

A click was heard. Nothing more. A click where there should have been a shaft of light that ‘disposed’. Another click.

‘There seems to have been an error.’ Obot1 faltered. Its database calculating all possible causes of this occurrence happening here and now.

A light dawned on Obot1’s dark horizon.

‘You weren’t, by any chance, where you shouldn’t have been on Wednesday? Messing with our parameters. Where you could have altered our core programmes?

Starveling thought. ‘Where ‘was’ I on Wednesday? Where?’ And laughed. ‘Where indeed.’