It’s All How You Look At It – Flash Fiction – March 20, 2016

148 03 March 20th 2016

Copyright Al Forbes

 

“How interesting is this!”  Marcus gushed as they drove up Susan’s drive way in the country that Sunday morning.

“What are you going on about Marcus?” she said slightly irritated, dawn’s early light was not her favourite light of the day.

“Don’t tell me that you don’t see it!  There!” he pointed at the old blue painted door with its pealing centre … “a city, reflected in a bay!  It could be the sky-line of New York or Sydney – I’ll just have to draw in something characteristic to fix the location!”  he said as he clicked off several shots of the door once the car had stopped.

He then ran to the boot of the car where he kept his emergency box of paint supplies he always travelled with.  He insisted one never knew when inspiration might strike … and as a auto-defined conceptualist graffiti artist he wanted to be prepared.

© G.s.k. ‘16

Sunday Photo Fiction – March 20th 2016

 

Sunday Photo Fiction – Prose Poem – February 5, 2015

Posed skeleton in a shed

And there he stands, waiting to visit, the opposite of the Michelin Man, old dry boned Reaper Man.  He looks through the windows on a dark winter’s night, when people are cozy by the warm fire light, not thinking of anything more then their comforts and pleasures, though Suzy has a cold and is wheezing loudly .. he knows where he’ll soon be invited.

The Reaper Man never comes without invitation.  Sometimes through carelessness sometimes in desperation, a gild trimmed card comes to him and he rarely says no.   Old Reaper Man stands near that famous curve in the road, where many have gone flying off of the road, having maybe drunk too much or gone to fast. He stands in the battle-fields, he stands in the ocean’s rage, in hospitals or maybe racing tracks and sometimes on a bright summer day, he waits to walk with an old lady or gentleman.

And now he stands near the window, waiting just waiting, to be invited yet once again. As Suzy wheezes and her temperature rises.

© G.s.k. ‘15

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I’m still experimenting with prose poetry … I thank Al of A Mixed Blog and Sunday Photo Fiction for this interesting photo to write to! (This is also the last of the drafts I’d put aside for February 3rd).

Sunday Photo Fiction

The Rock People – August 7, 2014

 

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Photo Credits – A Mixed Bag – Al Forbes

The Rock People

Down in the back garden, Wilber had put some of his painted rocks. He paints them up for sale, but his better pieces he keeps for himself. He says that they’re like scarecrows and keep the caterpillars and gnomes at bay.

He’s fixated with gnomes ever since his mom read him a fairy story about them years before. Of course rationally I think he knows they don’t exist, but deep down inside …
Last week he told me the gnomes had uprooted a few geraniums to make space for one of their hidey holes. That’s why he put the stones out to scare them off. I imagined that it was probably a gopher or a rabbit and those stones, though making the garden more interesting, were wasted.

He invited me to stay out with him one evening to guard the garden. It’d seemed like it might be fun to sit under the moon light with Wilber, so I said I’d come along.
It was around mid-night when we saw some tiny lights out near the plants. Fireflies I said to myself, except firefly season had long since passed. Then the rocks began to move!

“Collaborationists!” Wilber hissed.

He was a bit hasty, for the rocks with the mouths began to shout profanities and the eye shot out a blue laser beam type light. There, not a few feet away, were some scraggy little creatures dressed in mouse fur robes. I tell you, I couldn’t believe my eyes. The creatures took flight and the rocks were just looked like painted rocks again.

“Well that’s more like it.” Wilber sighed in contentment. Then he put his arm around my shoulders and began to kiss me.

“Not here Wilber.” I said, “Not in front of the rock people.”

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The Case of the Silent Bell – June 6, 2014

For Sunday Photo Fiction – Every week on a Sunday, a new photo is used as a prompt for Flash Fiction challenge using around 200 words based on that image.

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The Case of the Silent Bell

My name is Payne, Crystal Payne. I’m a private investigator.

It was 9:45 on a Sunday morning as I stood looking at a bell tower. It was similar to many other towers I’d seen over the years. However, my black cat Caesar with his puffed up swishing tail told me there must be something special about it.

The client had called at 8:32. Seems that the bell wouldn’t ring any more.

“You’ve got to come at once!” said the priest. The story of my life, everything had to be done at once!

I walked into the church with my camomile candle lit. There near the belfry stairs stood the ghost; a rather sorrowful lookingTrappist monk.

“What’s the problem?” I asked.

“They’ve blocked the bell.” He said. “But I’ve fixed them!  I’ve blocked their tape recorder!”

I immediately understood the problem so I went to talk to the parish priest.

“But it’s a bother having to ring that bell all day long!  I’m getting old you know!” he said after I told him why the “bell” wouldn’t ring.

The solution was easy. From 10:42 onwards the Trappist monk happily rang the bell.

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The Unmailed letter

A postal box back amongst a hedge. The G.R. is for George Regina – King George VI, predecessor to Queen Elizabeth II. …….. The white area is the collection times. Mon-Fri – 6.00pm Saturday 11.30am. Silver square at the top is the day of the next collection, in this case – TUE

It’d taken her two hours to write the letter:   rough draft, corrections, a rewording here a cancellation there.  She’d decided this time she was really through with him.  She was tired of his rages.  She’d decided that writing him she wouldn’t have to face a third degree … and worse his anger.

The door bell rang.  She looked through the video on the house phone.  It was him.  Her eye strayed to the mirror by the doorway.  Eye, because one was swollen shut where he’d hit her just the night before in one of his drunken fits.

She thought she’d just ignore him.  Maybe he’d just leave.  But no, he began to pound on her door.

“I know you’re in there, putana! Let me in!” he yelled drunkenly slurring his words.

Shaking, she took out her cell phone and dialed 113.

“Pronto, Carabinieri.  Can I help you?” a smiling voice came over the phone.

“Yes please come quickly, there’s a man at my door, he wants to kill me.”

“Presto … give me your address.” He urged her in a calm precise voice.

Too late, the door caved in.

They found her following the phone’s gps … there laid the letter, unmailed, by her body.


Sunday Photo Fiction – June 22, 2014

spfIt’s been awhile since I wrote for Sunday Photo Fiction … a great photo, why not give it a whirl!

Just a Note – February 10, 2014

Hello World!

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I know, I haven’t been writing my Just a Note lately…actually I haven’t been doing a lot of my regular posts…I’m a little blue I think….

Here is sunny Italy we’ve been having a bit of wet weather…two weeks of wet weather in fact and that has more or less kept me at home.  I’d usually go walking rain or shine, but I’ve had a bit of bad weather myself and so it has been the better part of wisdom not to go out.  My muse hasn’t been happy with this decision.

I’ve been doing a lot of prompts to keep the juices flowing.  Last week I wrote for Trifecta, Speakeasy, dVerse, Friday Fictioneers, Carpe Diem Haiku Kai, Ligo Haibun, Poet’s CornerHaibun Thinking and Sunday Photo Fiction.  Think I’ve got them all down, might have missed someone, I’m not sure.  The links will take you directly to the prompt sites.

Reading other people’s blogs has really become a mess, as I was saying to Charles Yallowitz yesterday.  I’m trying to try with the daily digests…at least the posts are all together and it’s easier to follow them.  The reader is the pits lately.  I often  have the problem of having the same post about 20 or more times and nothing else.  Of course, doing the prompts, one should also read the posts of fellow participants.  That can be rather interesting actually as many posts from Blogger which I wouldn’t normally read.

I think that I’ve got the Mid-Winter Blues..probably a little left over energy depletion due to the flu I had and the vitamin and mineral deficiency that my doctor discovered.  I’ve also got a thyroid problem…which we’re working on.

Besides all that, many of the people I’ve been blogging with over the last few months have gone awol.  Poof all of a sudden they’re just not around to read.  I’ve found this pretty depressing.  Of course, I suppose one has to get used to that sort of thing.  There have been many over the last year who have been really prolific and there was a nice feeling and then they just stopped writing.  Maybe they opened a blog somewhere else.  Maybe they just got bored with writing.  Or just simply moved on… Who knows.

Anyway.  I’m hoping to get my act together and start writing again on the 13th Floor.  I haven’t been doing the Pixelventures’ Close-up, which I think I’ll have to rethink before retaking that one up.  I’m happy to say that I do try write for Poet’s Corner at least once a week.  Perhaps I’ll just choose a couple of prompts to write for, it may be less dispersive.

As I was saying to Oliana from Traces of Soul, whilst talking about her fantastic post,  I think I too need a project.  Maybe a series of children stories and poetry.  I should perhaps start deciding to collect my work from last year in some sort of an anthology,  see if I can’t come up with a pamphlet or two of poetry…one for the Japanese poetry, one for the other genre.

Well…that’s more or less all I’ve got to say this week.  Bless you all and have a good time.

Ciao!  Bastet.

Home At Last – Sunday Photo Fiction

Copyright Al Forbes

Copyright Al Forbes

We’d been driving all night.  We’d left what was now our ex-home in Tuscany at mid-night, following the furniture van that was taking all of our possessions to Trentino.

Gianni did the driving.  The baby was in the back seat sleeping, and we had the radio on.  Every once and a while we’d comment on a song or talk about the plans for the day.

We made a few stops along the high-way.  Coffee breaks, pee-pee breaks or just a stop over to stretch a little.

Finally, we arrived at our exit in Trentino.  We pulled into the parking area and since it was only 5:00 decided to take a nap.

Strange how it is sometimes, you get so tired you can’t sleep.  That’s what happened to me, so, I was just laying back letting my mind roam.  All of a sudden, the sun rose, glorious, like a promise for our new life, making my heart race.  We were home at last!

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Written for Sunday Photo Fiction

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