Month: July 2017

OLWG#9 – The Peregrination of Mr. Ringmaiden

Written in response to OLWG prompts for this week.

Mr. Ringmaiden continued walking – plodding really, just putting one foot in front of the other. He’d been walking, seemingly forever, and camping along the way when he needed sleep.  Foraging for food. His left hand gripped a walking stick, the other cupped his chin. He was tired and he’d had a really hard time shaving today; his chin was rough, stubbly.

Coming out of the shimmer on the road ahead he spotted a pilgrim heading his way. Mr. Ringmaiden adjusted his track to approach the stranger and making his best attempt at a smile he asked, “What’s the quickest way to Lincoln?”

The traveler, scratched his head, squinted his eyes and twisted his mouth to one side as he pondered the question. Then he pushed his hat back on his head and looked at Mr. Ringmaiden, studied him, “Are ya’ walkin’ er drivin’?” he asked.

“I’m walkin’,” said Ringmaiden.

“Well, it’d probably be quicker if you was drivin’.”

Too much fun!

OLWG #8 – Selective

This week’s prompts at OLWG are:

Bipolar, alliteration, and selective (use all three)

I thought about ignoring them and just writing a story but then I thought that, of all people who might want to play this game, I’m the one who should work the prompts. I tried, I really did but I could only work two of them in. I spotted an acrostic poem at “Urban Poetry” and was inspired. I haven’t tried one of these in a while.Gracias Linda J. Wolff for the nudge.

Because sometimes ALLITERATION, just a cheap S
I feel… so Literary trick that E
Prepared, so ready, and so Lets L
On top of the world Imposters, like E
Lately though Tn, C
All I feel is Emulate a T
Reluctant, unsure, and confused. Real writer, or I
  Author, such as V
  Those who abound E
  In the pages of  
  Often read blogs.  
  Not like mine.  

 

 

OLWG #7 – The Thing About Traffic Jams

This week’s prompts at OLWG are:

  1. Rain drumming on the roof
  2. I don’t know about this,
  3. Snickersnee

I inched forward and looked over the edge.

“I don’t know about this, JP…”  I said and quickly backed up.

“What do you need to know?”  He said. “There’s nothing to it. They don’t feel a thing and we’ll throw em back after the procedure. The intelligence data that we get from these operations is invaluable; priceless. You heard the General before we left. He told you all this.”

“It just doesn’t seem right somehow.”

He blinked his big eye and leaned out over the edge to hock a big gob of spit out the side, “Listen, Eddie; I know this is your first time but there’s really no need to make a big deal out of it. Tell you what; you activate the beam and I’ll lean out to pull ‘em all into the ship when they get here. You don’t even have to get close to the edge. Katie will insert the probes. All you gotta do is flip switches and tractor ‘em up. We’ll take care of the rest. Well maybe you can take care of the neural neutralizer too. You know how to work that, right?”

“They’re going to see us though. They’ll get back down there and tell everyone. It’s going to cause widespread panic.”

“It hasn’t yet,” Katie said as she snapped the glove over her tentacle. “We’ve been doing this for years and, no one goes back and tells stories. You know why? It’s ‘cause we erase that part of their memory before we set them back down into traffic.”

“Yeah, and none of them ever will know, unless you screw something up with the neutralizer.” JP piped in, “One minute they’re stuck in traffic and the next thing they know they’re still stuck in traffic. They never even realize they’ve been up here or that they’ve had the procedure.”

They both glared at me and waited.

“The probes are undetectable with the technology they have down there,” JP added with a somewhat conciliatory tone.

“All right, all right,” I said. “The shit I let you guys talk me into.” I shook my head and reached up to activate the tractor beam.

“Not yet,” Katie instructed me. “Wait till Simon gets us positioned and don’t try to pull up more than thirty or thirty-five cars at a time. We can usually find a traffic jam that’ll be full of them when we hover over one of their big roads. The ones that they call expressways.”

She giggled and snorted just a little at the irony of what she’d just said. JP laughed out loud. Even I smiled and punched Katie lightly on the shoulder.  She could be pretty funny when she wanted to be.

 

Daily Prompt; Jangle

Daily Prompt; Jangle

It was Christmas morning, 1917 and a sleepy-eyed young man made his way downstairs. He was ten years old and desperately wanted to see what Father Christmas had brought him.

He longed for a six string guitar, but his momma had warned him not to get his hopes up too high. She had cautioned that Santa might not be able to carry a present that fine all the way to the remote town of Tioga, Texas.

“What in tarnation would you be wantin’ with a guitar anyways, Gene?” she asked him on Christmas eve after he had told her for the two-hundredth time that that was the only thing he craved and that if Santa Claus brought just this one present he wouldn’t ever ask for another thing.

Orvon Grover Autry’s momma had called him Gene since he was a tad. It was a name he thought suited him. It was the name he would use his entire life.

“I wanna learn to play it Momma,” he said, “I’m already makin’ some words; I just need to make some music to go with ‘em.”

“Lemme hear them words, son.” She said as she tucked him into bed. It was early, but it was Christmas Eve, and he knew Santa would only come if he was sleepin’. He wasn’t about to push his luck.

Gene sat back up, leaned against his pillow, cleared his throat and sang in his yet unchanged soprano, “I’ve got spurs that jingle jangle jingle, as I go ridin’ merrily along.”

“Them’s some mighty fine words, boy.” His momma grinned in that lopsided way that she always did and kissed him on the top of his head before tuckin’ him in again.

“Sleep now.” She stood and left the bedroom leaving his door cracked open, just a bit.

His face lit up as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes and spotted the handmade instrument resting against the boughs of the tree. He walked slowly, reverently, across the room so that he could reach out and touch it.

 

OLWG – ?

This story is written in response to the prompts this week at OLWG. The story starts there.

It continues with Ms. Rose’s wonderful take here.

I couldn’t resist so I spent 25 minutes writing this tripe below. It was so much fun!

Daniel looked at his watch, it was about 11:30. The house was dark but he walked up to the front door anyway and knocked. He didn’t need to knock. He had a key but he wanted to talk to her. Knocking would wake her up.

“Hi Mom.” He said when the door opened.

“Danny, hi honey. What are you doing here? It’s almost midnight.” She pulled her robe tighter, stepped back and opened the door wide. Daniel stepped in.

“Sorry to stop by so late, Mom, Susie dumped me. I need a drink and someone to talk to. You don’t mind, do you? I’d really like a Scotch.” He walked past her and headed toward the den, where she kept the booze.

“Uhm, Danny? Maybe you should come by in the morning. Sleep on it. Susan’s a wonderful girl. Maybe she was just having a bad day. Give her a chance. Don’t go in the den.”

“That’s just it, Mom, she’s not a wonderful girl. She said your lasagna is the worst she ever had. I can’t let her get away with bad mouthing your cooking. Your lasagna is the best. Why can’t I go in the den?” he swung through the archway and Mr. Cisneros was standing by the couch, tucking in his shirttail.

“Good evening Daniel. Nice to see you,” his old high school Spanish teacher said with familiar, albeit heavily accented formal sounding English.”Did I hear you say that you wanted a drink? How do you take your Scotch? On the rocks? I will pour it for you.”

Daniel’s jaw dropped open. He blinked twice and studied Mr. Cisneros. He looked at his mother, in her robe, barefoot, then back to Cisneros who was now brushing his hair back off his forehead with his fingers – Looking at Dan. Back at his mother who now looked a little flush. “Oh God, I’m so sorry. I’ll leave.” He turned, but his mom held out her hand and stopped him.

She was shaking her head, “Don’t go Danny. Have a drink. You can tell me about that awful Susie. I’ve been meaning to tell you about Andreas and I anyway.”

“I’ll pour us all a drink.” Cisneros said as he stepped behind the bar and reached for the bottle of Johnny Walker. He looked in the bucket, “no ice. We’ll have to drink it neat.”

He put the Red Label back on the shelf and reached up to pull down the Glenfarclas 25. He set three glasses on the bar, “Single malt OK?”

“Make it a double,” Mom said. She perched on the center stool.

 

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