fiction

#SoCS – Unpredictable

If I wrote a story about you,
I would use words like “mystic” and “crazy.”

I would get a hand from the gods
because the gods are my friends.

I could choose a few anecdotes –
ones that would make people laugh.

I might bake a cake and call it you,
just so I can share you with my other friends.

If I clap my hands and you come running,
I will praise you, my friend, for that means you love me too.

I might circle the globe with you,
and we might just have fun.

Even though you’re afraid of heights
and I don’t need a plane to fly.

We could ride elephants and catch heffalumps:
it’s the Pooh thing to do.

And when we get home with all our treasures
we will place them on shelves and forget they exist.

If my enthusiasm for you dies,
I will probably die.

If I decide suddenly that I shan’t drive you to the airport when you need to go
(because that’s what friends do)
you might disown me, but I’d deserve it.

And if the water of my endless ocean of devotion for you dries up,
I will be left with a salty taste in my mouth.

But chances are that’s the worst case scenario,
because you’re as crazy as I am, and us crazies need to stick together.

If I wrote a story about you,
then it would definitely include me.

This is part of Stream of Consciousness Saturday, because it’s totally stream of consciousness writing and it contains this week’s prompt, “if/then.”

This is part of The Daily Post because it was totally Unpredictable.

socs-badge-2015

Nightmare Alley – 100 words

They say there are ghosts and goblins in Nightmare Alley, but I know different. Nightmare Alley is empty. Devoid of sound and light; even the walls are hard to find. But smell? Oh, there’s a lot of that going on. Dead things and garbage, feces and urine, all of it thinly masked by the sweet scent of mint.

Nightmare Alley is the place where men who have regrets go to die. It’s a dreamscape for the innocent who are eternally paying for their past lives. It’s the plague of the insomniac. It’s purgatory for the guilty who walk there forever.

Concentration through Glass

This post is a combination of the Stream of Consciousness Saturday prompt, Concentration, and the Daily Post prompt, Glass.

If I watch a raindrop upon my window, as it runs down causing a rivulet of light and shadow, in it I see the world in inverse. Is it that rain turns the world upside down? Or is the contrast of the dry inside and the wet on the outside so opposite that it flips my mind on its head… so to speak?

Mind blown.

socs-badge-2015

A False Lie

Tension filled the courtroom. Both prosecutor and defense stood when the jury walked solemnly back in.

As the crowd held its collective breath, the foreman spoke: “We, the jury, find the accused to be guilty of spreading false lies.”

The prosecutor and the defense turned to the head of the court for confirmation. The judge banged his gavel. “The defendant has been exonerated by virtue of double negative. Case dismissed!”

The Daily Post prompt today is False.

Captain’s Log – 06.07.16

O5:00 Awoke.
05:30 Arrived in control room to find Midshipman Fluffy missing in action.
05:45 It seems that Midshipman Fluffy has abandoned ship.
11:55 Broke to make lunch. Requested Admiral Papas’ assistance but was informed he was busy laying down. Brought lunch back to control room.
13:00 Have dire concern over Midshipman Fluffy’s absence without leave.
18:00 Midshipman Fluffy has returned, with seven kittens in tow. Plan to reassess Midshipman Fluffy’s standing as of tomorrow.
22:00 Hitting berth. Leaving ship on autopilot. God keep us safe.

Captain’s Log – 05.07.16

O5:00 Awoke.
05:30 At controls.
08:30 Appointment with Admiral Papas. Forced to abandon ship temporarily. Left Midshipman Fluffy in charge.
13:00 Returned to ship. Found Midshipman Fluffy asleep on duty.
13:01 At controls. Midshipman Fluffy relegated to brig for 10 minute timeout.
13:11 Discovered Midshipman Fluffy sleeping in brig. Unsure what to do next. Will consult with Admiral Papas.
13:24 Have decided to leave Midshipman Fluffy be. Will attempt to awaken him when it’s time for him to take over.
18:00 Break for supper. Midshipman Fluffy assures me he is capable of maintaining control.
18:45 Returned to controls. While congratulating Midshipman Fluffy for staying awake, he scratched me. Am concerned for Midshipman Fluffy’s well-being.
22:00 Hitting berth. Leaving Midshipman Fluffy at controls overnight.

Autonomy – The Daily Post – 100 word fiction

Bright colours, morning to night. The lights are always on.

I’m alone here: I’ve been alone for as long as I can remember. I walk around freely but, with nothing new to see, I feel like I’m living in a fish bowl. But I’m not a fish. I look down at my red plaid pants, my shiny red shoes sticking out, and my neon pink shirt and I wonder, who the hell dressed me in this? Being alone, I am, by definition, autonomous in this land. Yet I have no control! I must inquire with the hand that draws me.

____________________________________________________________________________

The Daily Post prompt word of the day is Autonomy.

Island (Humorous Fiction) – Daily Post

They say no man is an island, yet here I stand, surrounded by the flood that has taken over my basement. My sump pump stopped working three days ago, and all the stuff my wife said we needed to keep has disappeared under the skunky water that’s now up to my waist. Oh wait! Is that a toaster I see floating over in the corner? If it is, it’s toast now. It ain’t no island like I am.

Yeah, my wife – sitting upstairs at the kitchen table, sobbing over all the junk she’s lost. I should never have encouraged her to go to all those garage sales in the first place. We’ll start fresh now though. No more bargains, no more…

“Yes, honey? No, I haven’t found the Royal Albert china yet!”

I’m sure it’ll be fine.

______________________________________________________________________

The Daily Post today is Island. Check it out!

Time Bomb – 100 word story

Everyone loves him. Everyone feels safe in his presence. He is essential to our well-being. We flock to him as though he is our savior. Since the Armageddon, there are only a few hundred of us left. So how do I break it to the others?

I shouldn’t have been eavesdropping. In the dark, beneath the ruins of a church I heard him pray to the deity in whom we cease to believe. He pleaded and begged for guidance. What’s worse, he asked for forgiveness. I thought he was our God now.

We are doomed. Our savior is a lie.

Limp – Fiction in 50 words

Here I sit, limp from a day of ups and downs, ins and outs, and I wonder: if there are days of exhausted collapse for paper pushers like me, how must it be for those who labour with their backs all day? Or sex workers? Think about the sex workers!