For your comfort and ease of accessing my 'flashers', I'll list the latest ones first.
Here's hoping another full year of 'prompt' challenges will be met and my readers continue to gain pleasure from them. As always, I hope to cover many genres and a multitude of subjects.
[prompt: 'stop' 5/4/2019]
[prompt: 'stop' 5/4/2019]
It was all going to end in tears... or so it seemed.
No matter what Joe Bloggs tried in his valiant attempts to earn a crust, he ended up being shown the door. Ankle-deep in unreal estate - even his sales pitches turned out the worst ever written. 'Blogs by Bloggs' just didn't cut it. Then, after a dazzling Eureka moment, Joe tried his hand at inventions, but his Fireproof Matches were a failure; Waterproof Teabags totally lacked flavour; and the Inflatable Dartboard didn't go off with quite the bang he'd anticipated.
Reluctantly, Joe returned to a life of crime. Sadly, he had no more success here either, and all too soon he was being hotly pursued by the long arm of the Law. As he told his old mate Baz on Visitors' Day, "At least this gig earned me bed and full board for the foreseeable future."
"C'mon. Spill the beans. How'd you do it THIS time?" Baz was impatient to get down to his local boozer, good deed for the day done and dusted. He shook his head sadly and didn't realise he said out loud, "Tell me about it..."
Though surprised at Baz wanting to linger longer on his way to that first drink, Joe continued...
"Well, you see, me old matey... incredibly, it was all due to a terrible accident caused by a... well-ll you just wait. You're not going to believe this-" and Joe held up his hand in an unmistakably STOP gesture as he saw Baz's huge intake of breath. Hurrying along, Joe said, "When the big burly cop caught up with me as I scarpered away from the scene, it all went down like this -"
"Good afternoon, Officer," I said bravely between rasping gasps. "You don't understand. It's a migraine that did it." And I rubbed my head in a most piteous fashion, indicating my supreme pain. "I was just on my way home to get my toughest pain-killers and take a long lie-down." The cop paused. He obviously wasn't too keen to try to pour this large-ish body of mine into the paddy wagon if he could avoid it. And he clearly was a nice guy under all the guns and radios and batons and general 'stuff' he had to lug around - a man clearly in need of distraction. I was supremely confident I could fulfill that need. The words poured out of me like they'd been dammed up a decade or so.
"When I felt the first rumblings of this monster, I Googled it - I mean, why not? Tried everything else!" The cop nodded in a surprisingly understanding fashion. Obviously a fellow-sufferer. "A-n-d... found the suggestion vigorous exercise sometimes worked by diverting the body's concentration onto something totally different." The cop was nodding thoughtfully now (definitely a fellow-sufferer. I could tell by how close he could pull his brows together).
"My skateboard, I thought. I L-O-V-E those wheels more than any others I own. And I rolled away with gusto, ever hopeful." The Officer nodded in sympathy (obviously a 'boardie afficionado', as well).
"But your goal was to avoid a migraine, wasn't it? So how-"
"... did I end up in the neighbour's swimming pool?" I shook my head . "You know how the 'wheels of the bus go round and round'? Well, there was this bus coming round the corner, and the choice was an up close and personal encounter - or the pool. Subtraction of self from equation seemed the better part of valour... huh?"
"And the migraine?"
"Gone!" And as he marched me off to the paddy wagon anyway, I couldn't stop smiling. Just found my next scheme - legal-like, of course - Water Therapy as Instant Cure of Migraine BEFORE the sucker even begins! And full accommodation and meals and even paper and pencil to write on. Maybe even a computer if I played my goodie-two-shoes cards right!
Author's Note: Call the Word-count Cops - this one's 160 words over the limit.
But STOP! Deep remorse may follow [snigger, snort].
[prompt: 'tomorrow' 29/3/2019]
Smoke and mirrors, he thought. They say it's all done with smoke and mirrors.
As though he'd been there throughout Time, images loomed large in the mists of his memories, only to fade mysteriously away. A strange knowing in a weird kind of time warp. A hope flashed... momentarily. Earth Hour they called it. One single hour to love the world more than self and creature comforts. 60 whole minutes. Some said Earth's time was past midnight. He pondered deeply about this. His corner was a day ahead of many. Would HIS tomorrow [the one way before much of the world caught up] end before the rest, IF this was what was written?
His view was jaundiced... seriously coloured by pain of the potential for evil in too many of this planet's populace. He couldn't shake the heavy sense of tragedy of the headlong rush to destroy each perceived enemy and those precious older ways of the world - freedom - and individuality in bizarre but equal proportions with teamwork. He exhaled heavily, trying to grasp the elusive treasure called freedom and lock it forever in his soul... in a pocket so deep no other could invade.
Abruptly, nuances of 9/11 filled his mind and heart. The great muscle controlling his being contracted tightly, painfully. He was there, smelling and near-choking on the acrid smoke of doom, hearing the buildings' death shrieks cloaking those of their human counterparts. Almost. The pain of seeing the unimaginable was a pulsating, tangible thing. This... tragic and wanton destruction gave someone, somewhere the illusion of power? The monster HATE can create, he thought. And the power of love to override all... to heal, no matter how long it takes. His mind's eye darkened to a blue-black hue.
Tell me no secrets, tell me some lies
Give me no reasons, give me alibis
Tell me you love me and don't let me cry
Say anything but don't say goodbye
Abruptly the blue was a different intensity altogether as other words crowded in -
Don't it make my brown eyes blue? The persistent refrain haunted his grieving mind.
The expression in the bottomless depths of those bluest of eyes shone in a way that told the world he'd had enough. He was coming out from his corner fighting... and nothing would stand in his way but Death itself. He was optimistic THAT day was many tomorrows distant, but if not?
'C'est la vie,' he muttered to nobody there.
Ashes to ashes,
Dust to Dust,
The Universe is unfolding,
The way it MUST.