Kreative Kue 234 asked for submissions based on this photograph:
John W Howell is the author of the John Cannon trilogy of My GRL, His Revenge, Our Justice and Circumstances of Childhood, co-author of The Contract, and blogs at Fiction Favorites.
“You are growing very sleepy.”
“Look into my eyes and concentrate.”
“What are you trying to do?”
“Hypnotize you, of course.”
“Well, that’s not going to happen. I read where you have to be a willing subject to be hypnotized.”
“Not willing necessarily. Just dumb enough to fall for it.”
“Well, you will never get me to fall for it after that statement.”
“No, I don’t. Bt the way what happened to your owner. He looks knocked out.”
“Oh, nothing. I just put a spell on him. He’s in a deep trance. I will wake him up in time for dinner, though.”
“You are really delusional. He’s just taking a nap.”
“Yeah, watch this. When I say so, you will cluck like a chicken. Cluck.”
“Maybe he didn’t hear me. CLUCK.”
“Still nothing. I think you would do well to let him nap.”
“So, look into my eyes.”
“You are very sleepy.”
“Very sleepy, master.”
“When I say so, you will moo like a cow. Okay, Percy. Moo like a cow.”
“Now, when I say so, you will wake up and remember nothing. Wake up.”
“Wow, where was I?”
“Under my spell.”
“I had you moo like a cow.”
“Well, that doesn’t prove anything. I am a cow. besides, I was messing with you. Oh, look, your boss is waking up.”
“TREVOR. WHAT IS THIS COW DOING IN THE LIVING ROOM?”
“I’m leaving Trevor. Good luck with the explanation.”
Na’ama Yehuda, who blogs at https://naamayehuda.com tickled me with this tale:
“You have to save me!”
She looked at him, filed her nails, and licked her lower lip thoughtfully. She said nothing.
He hated when she did that, pretended that she didn’t hear him, or that what he said wasn’t even worthy of a reaction. Sure, he leaned toward the dramatic, but that didn’t mean his feelings didn’t count!
“Daisy!” he breathed, “I know you heard me.”
She tilted her head in his direction, her nails continuing to move as if of their own volition. Truth is, sometimes he wasn’t sure they didn’t. Have their own volition, that is. These things could come at you uninvited and without warning.
“I’ll give you my special treat …” he begged. Defeated. He loved his Sunday treats.
At that she deigned to flick her lashes in his direction. She knew she won. She always did. Her patience outpaced his excitement. Every. Single. Time.
“I’ll see what I can do,” she purred.
He breathed. It was as good as done.
Once Daisy got her claws into the yarn, he would be spared the indignation of being made to wear another stupid knit thing. It took a full year from the last St. Patrick’s day for the others in the dog park to stop calling him Gregory Green.
My effort was
“Dad, can I ask you a question?”
“Sure, Trev. What is it?”
“I was just wondering…”
“Out with it, Lad.”
“Okay. Why do you always find the most difficult pictures you can for these things?”
“These things? What things?”
“These Kreative Kue things you do every week.”
“What’s wrong with the pictures I choose?”
“Nothing; I’m sure they’re all very nice photos, but they don’t usually give you much of a clue about what story to write, do they?”
“That’s the whole point of it, Trev. Look – if I put up a photo with an obvious story behind it, it wouldn’t be much of a challenge, would it? It’d be like a form-filling exercise; like joining the dots.”
“Why does it have to be a challenge? Isn’t the idea to get some good stories?”
“Yes, but I don’t know any writers who’d prefer an easy job. Having to tease a story out of something that’s not obvious is more fun, and the more you have to stretch the imagination to get something out of it, the more enjoyable it is.”
“So are you saying no writers like easy jobs?”
“None that I know.”
“How many writers take this up every week?”
“Nearly a dozen since I started doing it.”
“A dozen? Regularly?”
“No, not regularly, Trev. Some people like to do one challenge for a few weeks then go off and do a different one for a while. Then maybe come back to mine.”
“Let me try this another way. How many writers take this up regularly – every week?”
“Sorry, Dad, I didn’t catch that. How many?”
“Yes. Including me.”
“Why do you keep on doing it then, if there’s only one other person joining in?”
“Because people like it. But if just one person likes it, then it’s still worth doing.”
“I can buy that. What are you going to write about this week? I see you’ve very wisely chosen a picture of me.”
“I have. You approve?”
“It’s not the best you’ve taken, but it’ll do, I suppose. So what will the story be about?”
“I don’t know yet. I’m still scrabbling about for something.”
“You need inspiration, don’t you?”
“I do, not from you, though, I wouldn’t have thought.”
“But from somewhere. Will you at least let me try? It is my photo, after all.”
“Okay, let’s have a laugh – go on, give it your best shot.”
“Right. I need you to sit back and relax. Are you relaxed?”
“Don’t close your eyes.”
“Good. Now I want you to look into my eyes. Don’t look around the eyes, look into my eyes…”
On to this week’s challenge: Using this photo as inspiration, write a short story, flash fiction, scene, poem; anything, really; even just a caption for the photograph. Either put it (or a link to it) in a comment or email it to me at firstname.lastname@example.org before 6pm next Sunday (if you aren’t sure what the time is where I live, this link will tell you). If you post it on your own blog or site, a link to this page would be appreciated, but please do also mention it in a comment here.
Go on. You know you want to. Let your creativity and imagination soar. I shall display the entries next Monday.