Tagged: rhyme

Kreative Kue 222

Kreative Kue 221 asked for submissions based on this photograph:
KONICA MINOLTA DIGITAL CAMERA
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 Collection by John W. Howell © 2019

“Merciful heaven, Mary. When was the last time we picked salad greens?”

“It’s been a while. Just see if you can find some young leaves.”

“Young leaves?”

“Yes look under the plant. Those top leaves are way too big.”

“Okay, but I’m not holding my breath.”

“Yes, please breathe. Makes the work go easier.”

“Yeah, pretty funny. Whoa, what’s that?”

“What?”

“I’m not sure. It looked like a dog with big ears.”

“Probably a bunny.”

“A bunny? I thought bunnies were small and furry.”

“What do you mean?”

“This was big and hairy.”

“Oh, stop. You said you would help me with the harvest. We have a lot to go before nightfall. These boxes won’t fill themselves.”

“I’m not kidding. This guy was huge. He had red eyes too.”

“Please. Just keep picking. Whatever it is it is more afraid of you than you are of it.”

“It must be plenty scared then. Ow.”

“What now?”

“He bit my behind.”

“I’m sure. No matter what you say I’m not going to stop the picking is that clear?”

“Crystal. Can I go get my gun?”

“No, you may not. You have fallen behind with your foolishness. Keep picking.”

“I heard a snarl.”

“Probably your deviated septum.”

“I’m not kidding.”

“Fine. Go get your gun but I swear you are more of a danger to yourself than that animal.”

“I wish I could believe you. I’ll be right back.”

“I have to wonder about him.”

*

“Okay, I’m back, Mary. Mary?”


My effort was

Where?

“Are you sure it was here, Albert? It was a long time ago, you know.”

“As sure as I am of anything. I clearly remember bringing her out of the house and carrying her down to the garden, like it was yesterday. She was heavy, too, down all those steps.”

“And it was here, this close to the house?”

“Look, I told you she was heavy, didn’t I? I really wanted to put her down under the big oak tree at the bottom, but she was just too darned heavy for me to carry that far. I was only about eight at the time.”

“Couldn’t anyone have helped you with her?”

“Maybe, but Dad was in one of his moods at the time – you know he was sick, don’t you? He wasn’t just bad-tempered, there was something not right in his head. Doctors said he was going senile and that made him crotchety. It wasn’t the knowing he was going senile made him angry, his tempers were just one of the symptoms. They didn’t have fancy names for it back in them days. Didn’t really understand what was going on. Not like now-a-days with all these scans and such like. Anyway, that’s why he couldn’t help.”

“And your Mum?”

“Too busy looking after Dad and trying to keep him happy as well as all the work she had to do. And before you ask, I didn’t have any brothers or sisters; none that lived past five, anyway.”

“So you were an only child, effectively?”

“You cotton on quick, don’t you? I didn’t have brothers or sisters, so of course I was an only child. Queenie, our Alsation, was the only friend I had back then. Inseparable, we were.”

“And that’s what we’re looking for now? The place you buried Queenie?”

“Oh, no. We’re looking for where I buried that annoying little ginger kid I killed with that shovel over there.”

“Little… ginger… What?!”

“Well, she was asking too many questions. Got on my nerves, she did.”

“What sort of… oh, forget it. Let’s look some more.”

“Yes, let’s.”


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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 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.

Kreative Kue 221

Kreative Kue 220 asked for submissions based on this photograph:
DSCF0708a
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 Party by John W. Howell © 2019

“Now let me get this straight. The guy comes over and asks what you would like to drink.”

“Yes about an hour ago.”

“You tell him,’ Surprise me.’”

“Yup that’s what I said.”

“He then brings you what?”

“A gin and lemon. It’s right here. I tried it.”

“You didn’t like it?”

“I told him that.”

“What did he do?”

“Went off and came back with a glass of white wine.”

“You haven’t touched it.”

“I know. I don’t like Chablis.”

“How do you know it’s Chablis?”

“He told me when he plopped it on the table.”

“So you said what?”

“I don’t like Chablis.”

“What did he do?”

“Came back with that beer over there.”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“A pale ale. Too bitter.”

“Why didn’t you just tell him to bring you something you like.”

“I did. I said, ‘Get me a draft.’”

“And?”

“He did. That’s what I’m drinking.”

“So are you enjoying your party?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Seems like a hassle so far.”

“I can imagine given the struggle over a drink. What are you going to eat for dinner?”

“Humm. Surprise me.”


Tien Skye, who blogs at From the Widow Seat offered this short tale. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did.

Reunion by Tien Skye

“I’m telling you, you gotta take her in hand or she is going to ride over you. At our age, when we retire, we are nothing. She is going to lord over us because we are useless while she is still going on and about,” Kevin droned on.

Jonathan was looking and smiling politely at Kevin but he had tuned out Kevin’s words a long time ago. He had known Kevin for 50 years but he never realised just how much Kevin could talk.

“I’m very sure she will slowly take advantage of the situation and next thing you know, you are at her mercy.”

If anyone needed pessimism, Kevin could surely give a healthy dose. Jonathan resisted the urge to yawn as Kevin’s voice faded into the background. How did they become friends 50 years ago?

Good grief that man could talk!


My effort was

What?

“How long have you known?”

“Not long, Bro, just a couple of weeks.”

“But you’ve suspected it—”

“For about six months.”

“Why have you left it until now to say anything?”

“Couple of reasons, really. Firstly, it was only a suspicion; I didn’t have any evidence, leave alone proof…”

“And secondly?”

“Didn’t think it was my place.”

“But I’m your brother!”

“Even so.”

“What’s that supposed to mean – even so? Even so what?”

“Look. If I’d come to you when I first picked up on the rumours and presented it as facts, what would you have done?”

“Looked into it? What do you think I would have done. If you’d given me what you had and made clear it was just rumours with nothing to back them up, I would at least have been prepared.”

“Yeah, right. You would have been on the lookout for any behaviour that might possibly substantiate the rumours.”

“So?”

“You know how rich diagramming works, don’t you?”

“Of course.”

“And if you’re diagramming a complex system, what symbol do you always put in one of the top corners?”

“An eye.”

“Why?”

“Obviously because by observing something you have an effect on it.”

“And that is because?”

“That’s because if there are people involved, they will act differently if they suspect that they are being observed.”

“Thank you. I think you’ve made my point precisely.”

“You think I can’t observe something without the people involved suspecting it?”

“I don’t think it, I know it.”

“But now I know about it, and it’s not just a rumour any longer, it shouldn’t matter if I’m caught observing.”

“Now you know, you don’t need to observe. Now you know, you can deal with it head-on.”

“Is that what you think I should do?”

“No, I don’t, but I know how rubbish you are at this sort of thing, so you might just as well.”

“No. Thanks for telling me, Bro, but I’ll try to ignore it. She’ll be disappointed if I don’t act surprised, especially after she’s worked so hard to organise it for me!”

“Happy birthday, Bro. I think she’s about to ask the DJ to announce that what you thought was a fundraiser is, in fact, your birthday party! Brace yourself.”


KONICA MINOLTA DIGITAL CAMERA
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 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.

Kreative Kue 220

Kreative Kue 219 asked for submissions based on this photograph:
IMG_0443a
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 Flight by John W. Howell © 2019

“Well sir, just sit back and relax. We’ll be airborne in a few minutes.”

“I’m not sure about this.”

“Now, sir. You are as safe with me as if you are in your favorite chair in your living room.”

“That’s what I’m worried about. This is like a chair. You sure this thing can fly?”

“It is called a lightweight, sir. It flys like a bird.”

“But can it lift the two if us?”

“I have made hundreds of flights. Trust me, it can lift the two of us. In addition, we will have some friends join us.”

“On this thing. Now you are kidding me, right?”

“Not on this vehicle. Behind us.”

“Behind us?”

“Yes, we will be leading a flock of geese.”

“Geese? Aren’t a bunch of them called a gaggle.”

“Gaggle, flock. No matter. They will follow us for some exercise.”

“Why don’t they go on their own?”

“They think our ship is their mother.”

“Come again?”

“When they hatched, they saw my lightweight first. You know the old imprinting birds do. Well, the eggs were in a nest next to my plane, and the rest is history.”

“Is that them walking around.”

“Yup. You ready now?”

“I guess so.”

“Remember to lift up as we gain speed.”

“You’re kidding?”

“A little lightweight humor.”

“I’m not laughing.”

“Here we go. oops.”

“Oops? What’s oops?”

“Forgot the goose call.”

“Isn’t is like a honk.”

“No, I mean the device.”

“A problem?”

“Not really. You can make a goose sound, can’t you?”

“No. I have no idea how.”

“It’s okay. More lightweight humor.”

“Still not laughing. I see they are following us.”

“Yup.”


My effort was

Cast-iron case part 2

I knew it would happen. It was bound to, sooner or later. Let me explain:

I’m one of those people you wouldn’t call accident-prone as much as disaster-prone. My Dad even told me once that I wasn’t planned, I was … you guessed it, an accident. He always reckoned that was when it started. Reckoned one of his swimmers had no sense of direction and took a wrong turn. That’s why I’ve got no sense of direction either. Games teachers at school always said I had – what was it they called it? Oh yes, inadequate spatial awareness.

Tell you how bad it was; my Dad tried to get me to navigate when we went on holiday. Bought me one of those upside-down atlases to help me. We lived in Yorkshire and went on holiday in the south, so with the upside-down maps, I could follow where we were. Mind you, I was stumped when we went to Cornwall; I really need one turned on its right to get there and one on its left to get back again until we turned up to Birmingham when the right-way-up one was okay.

He only tried that once. Left Mum to do the navigating, which she did right up to the divorce. After that, he got a satnav. Mind you, after he divorced Mum I didn’t go on holiday with him again. Well, it was no fun without Mum. I could never see how going to a pub in Hampshire or Cornwall instead of Yorkshire was much of a holiday.

Anyway, listen to me rambling again. What am I like?

So when the woman at the bird place told me to, what was it? Oh yeah, to cast the bird, I did it too hard and in the wrong direction. It was her own fault, really. She said I should do it like I’m throwing a ball. You know how nobody’s supposed to say anyone throws like a girl or runs like a girl? Supposed to be hurtful or typecasting or demeaning or something. Well. I don’t mind if people accuse me of that, because I do. And I did. Threw it like a girl.

Anyway, they’re not stupid or unprepared or such at that place. The birds are fitted with transmitters – let me look at my piece of paper, ’cause I wrote it down (I knew I’d never remember it) called telemetry. Since I lost it, they said I had to find it again. They gave me a little aerial thing that beeps into my earpiece when it’s within about a kilometre of the bird and gets louder the closer you get to it. And it gets louder if you’re pointing straight at it. Clever stuff.

I’ve got to leave you now. The driver of this microlight thingy says he’s ready to take off, so I’d best get ready with my thing so we can find this bird. God knows what I’ll do when we find it, though. Hope he knows how to get it back again.

Ta-ra!


DSCF0708a
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 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.