Tagged: challenge

Kreative Kue 205

Kreative Kue 204 asked for submissions based on this photograph:
img_0317a
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.

The Door by John W. Howell © 2019

“Shush.”

“What are you doing?”

“I’m trying to determine what is behind the door and I need to listen with no noise from you.”

“All I was doing was breathing.”

“You were snoring.”

“Was not.”

“Please hush now.”

“Okay, but I don’t hear anything.”

“From where you are I’m not surprised.”

“I’ll have you know that Russell Terriers have a very keen sense of hearing.”

“Blah, blah, blah. Now be quiet.”

“Oh.”

“What now?”

“I hear something.”

“Yeah sure, you do.”

“I do. I wish the folks were at home.”

“Why?”

“What’s the use of barking if there is no one to hear.”

“Says the terrier philosopher.”

“I mean it. Maybe we should put up an alarm anyway.”

“I wish you would be quiet.”

“Fine.”

“I think it is a wolf.”

“Yeah right?”

“I’m serious.”

“I’m staying in this bed then. You go get him.”

“You know I can’t open doors, right?”

“Then let’s just wait until he goes away.”

“Not very dog-like.”

“But no one will know if we bark.”

“The wolf will.”

“Good enough for me. Here goes.”


Meanwhile, my effort was:

The waiting game

“What’re you waiting for, Eos?”

“Mum’s gone out. Just waiting for her to come back again.”

“Did she say how long she’d be?”

“She said something to the boss.”

“What?”

“How am I supposed to know? I don’t speak human, do I?”

“Neither do I, but I can usually guess. And I know some words.”

“Like what?”

“Well, there’s no; and in. Oh, yeah – and oy. And I know that when she says Trevor in a harsh voice I’m in trouble, but when she says Trev-Trev there’s usually something to be had.”

“Yeah? I suppose we do know a few. When the boss says right then, I know it’s time for a walk—”

“And dinner…”

“Of course, Trev. And dinner. I think that means the same as breakfast. But not sweeties. But that doesn’t help me to know how long she’s going to be gone.”

“She shouldn’t be all that long.”

“Hope not. Boss isn’t as generous with the sweeties as Mum is.”

“Let’s talk about something else, shall we? Take our mind off missing Mum.”

“Okay. What?”

“When are you going to get your hair cut?”

“Soon, I hope. I wish I was like you – short hair, easy to manage—”

“True, but yours keeps you warmer in this cold weather, and helps you stay cool when it’s hot outside.”

“Provided there’s a bit of wind, yes, it does. But look at it. It’s less than an hour since the boss brushed me and it’s gone all naff again.”

“It wasn’t before you started licking, scratching and rolling.”

“I had to. I hate the way it feels when it’s all been brushed. Can’t say I’m over-keen on how it looks, either. It’s not natural.”

“Let me get this right. You don’t like it when it’s tidy…”

“True.”

“And you don’t like it when it’s not.”

“So?”

“Can you see the problem there?”

“No problem. I don’t like it. I want it short, like yours.”

“I don’t think you can have it like that. Your sort was bred for mountainous places. I wasn’t.”

“So, what?”

“So your fur is designed to keep you warm in winter and cool in summer. You’ve got layers. I haven’t. If you had it cut short, you’d probably overheat in summer and freeze in winter.”

“You’re a fine one to talk about over-eating. Why do you suppose the boss calls you porky?”

“Overheat, not overeat, Dumbo. Anyway, what’re you waiting for?”

“Mum’s gone out. Just waiting for her to come back.”

“Did she say how long she’d be?”

“She said something to the boss.”

“What?”

“How am I supposed to know? I don’t speak human, do I?”

“Neither do I, but I can usually guess. And I know some words.”

“Trev, do you ever get the feeling you’ve had a conversation before?”

“No.”

“Okay.”

“Have you ever thought about having your coat trimmed?”

“Can’t say that I have.”

“Fair enough. Le’s have a sleep. Maybe Mum will be back when we wake up.”


Dad067aJPGOn 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 keithchanning@gmail.com 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.

The waiting game

img_0317a

“What’re you waiting for, Eos?”

“Mum’s gone out. Just waiting for her to come back again.”

“Did she say how long she’d be?”

“She said something to the boss.”

“What?”

“How am I supposed to know? I don’t speak human, do I?”

“Neither do I, but I can usually guess. And I know some words.”

“Like what?”

“Well, there’s no; and in. Oh, yeah – and oy. And I know that when she says Trevor in a harsh voice I’m in trouble, but when she says Trev-Trev there’s usually something to be had.”

“Yeah? I suppose we do know a few. When the boss says right then, I know it’s time for a walk—”

“And dinner…”

“Of course, Trev. And dinner. I think that means the same as breakfast. But not sweeties. But that doesn’t help me to know how long she’s going to be gone.”

“She shouldn’t be all that long.”

“Hope not. Boss isn’t as generous with the sweeties as Mum is.”

“Let’s talk about something else, shall we? Take our mind off missing Mum.”

“Okay. What?”

“When are you going to get your hair cut?”

“Soon, I hope. I wish I was like you – short hair, easy to manage—”

“True, but yours keeps you warmer in this cold weather, and helps you stay cool when it’s hot outside.”

“Provided there’s a bit of wind, yes, it does. But look at it. It’s less than an hour since the boss brushed me and it’s gone all naff again.”

“It wasn’t before you started licking, scratching and rolling.”

“I had to. I hate the way it feels when it’s all been brushed. Can’t say I’m over-keen on how it looks, either. It’s not natural.”

“Let me get this right. You don’t like it when it’s tidy…”

“True.”

“And you don’t like it when it’s not.”

“So?”

“Can you see the problem there?”

“No problem. I don’t like it. I want it short, like yours.”

“I don’t think you can have it like that. Your sort was bred for mountainous places. I wasn’t.”

“So, what?”

“So your fur is designed to keep you warm in winter and cool in summer. You’ve got layers. I haven’t. If you had it cut short, you’d probably overheat in summer and freeze in winter.”

“You’re a fine one to talk about over-eating. Why do you suppose the boss calls you porky?”

“Overheat, not overeat, Dumbo. Anyway, what’re you waiting for?”

“Mum’s gone out. Just waiting for her to come back.”

“Did she say how long she’d be?”

“She said something to the boss.”

“What?”

“How am I supposed to know? I don’t speak human, do I?”

“Neither do I, but I can usually guess. And I know some words.”

“Trev, do you ever get the feeling you’ve had a conversation before?”

“No.”

“Okay.”

“Have you ever thought about having your coat trimmed?”

“Can’t say that I have.”

“Fair enough. Le’s have a sleep. Maybe Mum will be back when we wake up.”


This was written in response to Kreative Kue 204 published on this site recently.

Kreative Kue 204

Kreative Kue 203 asked for submissions based on this photograph:
P1000271a.JPG
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.

Captain Tom by John W. Howell © 2019

“Captain Tom this is Houston.”

“Go ahead Houston.”

“Is this Captain Tom?”

“Excuse me but are you new to the team?”

“Yes. Why do you ask?”

“Do you know how many of us are here?”

“Where?”

“In outer space.”

“Well, I’m quite sure we are not alone if that’s what you mean.”

“Okay let me start over. You called for Captain Tom. I answered. You then asked if I were Captain Tom.”

“Yes so?”

“Who the heck do you think I am?”

“No need to be prickly. I was just following protocol.”

“I’m sitting in this cramped capsule which as far as I know is the only cramped capsule orbiting the Earth right now. You called me and then have the cheek to ask if I am Captain Tom.”

“I’m beginning to see your point. You are on a mission, and the only one on that mission, and I called you.”

“What does that tell you?”

“Since we are on the same frequency I would guess that you are Captain Tom.”

“So why did you ask? I know I’m making a mountain out of a hillock but with nothing else to do and it being so damn cold, I am curious.”

“That is an interesting saying you have there.”

“Which one.”

“Mountain out of a hillock.”

“Yeah, so?”

“The saying we have is “mountain out of a molehill.”‘

“For heaven’s sake. What’s the difference?”

“Also you mention the cold.”

“Yes, I did. It is freezing up here.”

“What have you done with Captain Tom?”

“Here we go again.”

“It would not be cold unless the integrity of the capsule has been compromised.”

“If that were to happen you would see it on the telemetry.”

“Unless someone knows how to intercept the signal. Now before I hit the abort button tell me what you did with Captain Tom.”

“I ate him.”

“What?”

“He was just too tempting. Like a sardine in a can. In case you wonder, he was delicious. Go ahead and abort. I’ll just be waiting up here for the next one. TTFN.”

“TTFN? Your call sign?”

“No. Ta Ta For Now. Zoraggeue out.”


Meanwhile, my effort was:

Andy’s first flight

“Andy, look out of the window. Give me your impressions of what you see.”

“It looks so peaceful. Just like—”

“I know; cotton wool.”

“How did you know I was going to say that?”

“It’s what everyone says the first time they look down on clouds.”

“Just goes to show it’s true, doesn’t it?”

“There is a resemblance, I’ll admit. Like so many things, though, when you’ve seen it a few times, it becomes commonplace, part of the environment. What started as a thing of wonder just is.”

“Just is what?”

“Just is. That’s it. Listen. The first time you saw snow-capped mountains up close. Do you remember what you said?”

“Of course. I said it was like a perfectly iced cake: flawless, clean, bright and inviting.”

“And what did you say to me last month when we were stood on the bridge across Lake Geneva, looking at the Alps?”

“Looks cold.”

“Precisely.”

“Was that observation not valid?”

“It was.”

“Then what’s your point?”

“My point is that when you look at something with fresh eyes, it’s normal to compare it with something with which you’re familiar, maybe even to romanticise it.”

“It’s in my nature to romanticise things. I have studied the romantic poets in great depth. Through the words of a poet, the blind can be allowed not to see, but to appreciate what surrounds us. Imagine for a moment that you don’t have the power of sight. We’re standing on that bridge in Geneva and you ask me what’s around us. Which would be most helpful, a poetic description of the scene, employing metaphors that will mean something to you – or a simple statement that it’s cold and hilly.”

“I take your point, but if I were blind from birth I would certainly be able to feel that it was cold, and it’s possible, perhaps even likely, that I would sense the terrain from the way sound was echoing around. Maybe I could even guess that there was snow on the mountains by the way the snow absorbs sound.”

“So am I wrong to employ poetic metaphor to define what I see?”

“I wouldn’t go that far. The use of metaphors is good, for the reasons you just gave. What I would suggest, though, is that you acquaint yourself with established and commonly-used metaphors so you can avoid the cliché trap. And don’t restrict yourself to the work of the romantic poets. Extend your reading to other forms of literature.”

“I still have much to learn, don’t I?”

“You do, Andy, but be patient. Your interaction, personality and emotion modules are still developing. Trips like this, exposing you to new experiences, sights and sounds are an important part of your calibration and learning.”

“Thank you.”

“Engage sleep mode now, Andy.”

“Good night, Doctor Stokes.”

“Good night, Andy. Dream of electronic sheep.”


img_0317aOn 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 keithchanning@gmail.com 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.