Sunday Photo Fiction – The Language of the Birds

 

This week’s Sunday Photo Fiction challenge is a sweet photo of a mother and her ducklings (Thanks Al), my offering follows. For more information about either participating or reading other writers entries click here.

141 01 January 31st 2016

photo copyright Alastair Forbes, 2016

The Language of the Birds

As I walk along the water, mind in a meditative state,  I feel most peaceful viewing the sweet scenic image of a mother duck keeping cautious eye on her brood of ducklings paddling nearby in the fresh water pond.  Colorful array of small fish and pebbles just beneath the shallow rippling waters create a pleasant visual sensation of harmony and tranquility, life and renewal.

I admit to being moved by this comforting view of reality, even with the realization of  knowing that we all live in a consciousness hologram, set in linear time for the experience and subsequent recording of related emotions.  Such is the nature of the great human ‘bio-genetic Earth experiment’ of which I was, until recently an unknowing participant.

Of course now that I am aware, the worldwide pattern recognition reoccurring in all areas of life seem obvious to me. Layers of past, present and future (“the all-time” as I like to think of it) linking together as one.  I hope my human experiences are therefore not compromised (as a result of this knowledge) in my memory banks.

However I find it most synchronous, even intriguing  to be strolling past this pastoral scene of life and birds, whilst also finding myself in the middle of deciphering a mystical and mysterious book “The Language of the Birds”. An ancient manuscript purported to be about our true human beginnings, mailed to me by an anonymous source. Clearly the language the ducks are speaking here is not of what the book is referencing … but then again, perhaps …

***

Thanks for stopping by, hoping the remainder of your week is a positive and creative one.

With affection,

~ Penny

 

 

A Warmth Against Her Skin – Sunday Photo Fiction

Hi Al and thank you for providing this wonderful weekly writers challenge (200 words or less) based on a photo. I love your city photo below, beautiful! For more information on how to enter Sunday Photo Fiction’s writers challenge (or to sample the other authors creative work) click here

My offering follows:

140 01 January 24th 2016

Photo Credit and copyright Alastair Forbes 2016

A Warmth Against Her Skin

Walking briskly along the street, she listened to early morning sounds of the waking city. Although warmly dressed, chilly air still managed to permeate the several layers of thick winter clothing. She hugged herself feeling an intense need for warmth against her skin.

Continuing her morning walk, she passed street vendors, inhaling the enticing aromas of breakfast fare being served to waiting customers. Recognizing her, a few vendors waved hello, welcoming smiles spread upon their friendly faces.

“Nancy,” one of the vendors called, volume of his voice raised so she’d be sure to hear him. “How about a hot cup of coffee and pastry to warm you up this morning? And say …” he added, noticing she was alone, “where’s your walking companion today?”

She shook her head, smiling a sad little smile back, hugging herself even more fiercely against the cold.

“I’m solo now,” She responded, an involuntary shiver to her movements, realization finally setting in that it wasn’t warmth against her skin that was missing, it was a warmth so desperately needed to stop the cold dark emptiness pouring out of her broken heart.

*

Thank you for stopping by, I hope your week is a great one filled to overflowing with warmth – in both your heart and your life!

With much affection,

~ Penny

Sunday Photo Fiction – A Beaker of Magic Passion!

Too too long since I have written flash fiction for Al’s wonderful Sunday Photo Fiction, click here for more information on how to enter your own short short story based on the photo (around 200 words) or to read some of the other delightful entries. Thanks Al.

To me the object in the photo looked like a beaker, the lights at the bottom a little bit like magic, so I wrote accordingly:

137 01 January 3rd 2016

Copyright Al Forbes

A Beaker of Magic Passion

“As you can see,” she whispered seductively, “I hold in my hand a beaker of passionate magic. It is up to you to decide what’s to be done with it.”

He scoffed. “More likely a beaker filled with your overactive imagination.”

“Perhaps, as you say, it is a beaker of imagination. Yet I have found imagination to be closely related to the nature of passions in one’s life!” She responded with a sweet smile.

“You speak nonsense.” He said.

The smile remained on her face although there was a strained quality to it. “It is nonsense only in this reality that you currently endorse as your life. But there are many realities and in mine, the beaker I have is filled with passionate magic. What do you wish me to do with it?”

His caustic laughter most unpleasant and dismissive with intent. “Do with it as you wish, my love. As you wish. I care not for your silliness. I shall go about my day doing precisely as I desire – without need for any mythological magic.”

Removing the stopper from it’s container, her smile became sad as she spoke. “I will do as you have requested. I wish for my own passionate love of you to be transferred to someone who loves and respects me believing that all things are possible if you believe they are.”

A moment later she vanished. He never saw her again, but over the years in his loneliness he often thought he could hear her gentle happy laughter echoing in the reality of the empty chambers of his heart.

But of course he knew it was only his imagination!

*

Thanks for stopping by, hope you enjoyed. Have an excellent new week ahead.

With affection,

~ Penny

 

Sunday Photo Fiction – Maze of corridors or it’s all about directions!

View of one of the outbuildings from the roof of Dover Castle

photograph © Alastair Forbes

View of one of the outbuildings from the roof of Dover Castle

It’s not that I don’t read directions when I receive them (okay I don’t, at least not very well) but who knew a castle could have so many corridors. Well actually I did, still, I have a map and directions too, but I figured I could just follow the map. Looked simply enough. Right turn here, left turn there and so on until I should have ended up in the dining room.

It was nice to be invited for the festive holiday weekend, but between the cold drafty bedroom, poorly lit hallways, well let’s just say I’d be glad when it was time to go.

Now it appeared, instead of freezing, I’d starve to death before finding my way to the dining room.

Finally I looked at the directions again squinting in the poor light to make out the clearly printed words at the bottom of the sheet of paper.

What I found there, that I should have read in the beginning said, “When you think you’ve gotten enough exercise, use your cell phone and call this number. We’ll come and get you for dinner.”

Proving the point you should read ALL the directions first!

*

For more information about Sunday Photo Fiction and how you can enter click here for the details. your very talented host, Alastair, will guide you through the steps. And, while there, be sure to click on the little blue guy for more short stories by some great writers!

Thanks for stopping by, hope you enjoyed,

~ Penny

Sunday Photo Fiction – There’s A Dragon on my Bedpost!

Photo Prompt for This weeks Writer’s Challenge:

90-12-december-7th-2014 (1)

photograph © Alastair Forbes

My Entry:

Dragon On My Bed Post

Briefly opening my eyes, I rolled over on my side and considered staying in bed longer. After all it was Sunday.  Dozing off, I heard a loud cough and a caustic voice which had me reopening my eyes and sitting up in bed with pounding heart.

“Would you mind, terribly, waking up, I’m getting bored sitting here.” The creature attached to the voice said.

There at the foot of my bed, sitting atop one of the bedposts was a miniature dragon, a surly look on his face.

I stared, rubbed my eyes and stared again.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m real.” He responded to my obvious expression of disbelief.

“Um, you’re a dragon.” I said incredulously.

“He speaks and has some intelligence,” was the dragons reply.

“Wh … what are you doing here … are you real?” I asked.

“Hmm, I spoke too soon,” the dragon added. “Yes I-am-real, you’re talking to me aren’t you? And I’m here doing penance for something I shouldn’t have done, so I have to stay with a human for twenty four hours. My punishment.”

“Staying with me is a punishment?” I asked.

“You have no idea,” he said. A great deal of derision in his voice.

“Why me?” I asked.

“Why not?” He answered with a smirk.

“Why Earth, then?” I said, continuing to ask what I thought were fair questions upon finding a dragon in your bedroom.

“Because this is the worst place the Committee for Criminal Offenses could come up with on short notice.”

“Earth the worst place, ah, come on now,”  I said, preparing to defend my home planet.

“Gee let me see …” He held up one of his claws and ticked off each point he made. “Well, you not only kill each other out of hatred and greed, but you consume far more than you should and are systematically killing off other life forms on your planet and…”

“Okay, okay,” I sighed. “You’ve made you’re point.” Changing the subject I said, “So you have to stay here for 24 hours?”

“Yeah, 24 lousy hours. Say you don’t happen to have a cigarette on you … well not on you but… do you smoke?” He asked, looking hopefully around the room.

“No, you can get lung cancer from smoking,” I answered.

“Dragons can’t.”

“Oh okay, and no I don’t have any cigarettes. So why are you in trouble?”

“For smoking.” He replied.

“That’s a criminal offense?” I said.

“Yeah, just one cig. and my fire breathing capabilities go out the window. I become useless in the defense of my lair, not enough flame left to even light a cigarette.”

“Well I can see where that would be bad. So do you have a name?” I asked.

“Yes, yes I have a name. You have a name don’t you? Of course I have a name!” He was back to being rude and surly again.

“I’m called Puff, I’m Puff the magic dragon and don’t say a word about that stupid song. I’m still living that one down … frolicking? FROLICKING? Dragons don’t friggin’ frolick.”

He let out an irritated sound with a blast of steam and said, “The next time I sneak a smoke …” He paused but I could see he was really worked up so I kept my silence as he finished with …“I’ll make gosh darn sure no one can see me. Oh, just go back to sleep.”

“Earthlings!” He muttered, sticking his head under his wing, steam seeping out.

*

For more information about Sunday Photo Fiction and how you can enter click here for the details. Alastair, the host with the most will take you through the steps. And, while there, be sure to click on the little blue guy for more short stories by some great writers!

Thanks for stopping by, hope you enjoyed,

~ Penny

Sunday Photo Fiction: Troubled Waters Bridge!

89-11-november-30th-2014

photograph © Alastair Forbes

 

Photo prompt of a bridge going over a small river:

 

Not my usual gig.

I’m a detective. Wat (pronounced watt, short for ‘Waters’) Allen Bridge, my name. ‘Wat’ a nickname I got as a kid who loved being in the water more than anything else.

Anyway, I would have turned this gig or job down, except the money was too good, I was down to my last sawbuck and then there were the usual enticements; gorgeous sexy broad in fear for her life, hidden stash of cash, mob involvement … yada yada yada.

Like I said, all the usual we P.I.’s get our kicks out of … with one exception. The fish bowl.

Lily, that’s the broad’s name, came in carrying a fish bowl with obligatory goldfish, mermaid, fake sea grass and a closed miniature treasure chest sitting on some gravel inside. The water swishing along with the dame as she walked over and set the bowl on my desk.

‘What’s with the fish bowl, doll?” I asked.

She explained. According to his will, inside the closed treasure chest were a portion of the remains of her deceased husband. Not missing a trick I said, “Yeah if his remains are in there, he’s definitely deceased!” She wasn’t amused. She told me that inside the remains, inside the treasure chest was a key. A key to the location of a million dollars.

The problem was she couldn’t bring herself to open the miniature chest and dig through her husband’s remains to get the key. Which I could understand being a sensitive guy, but a million smackers is still a million smackers and for what I was being paid, no prob. I could get my fingers wet and open the sucker… or so I thought.

But the more I thought about it, well it kinda’ started to bother me too. Putting my fingers inside his remains just seemed, well, weird.

So here we sit staring at the fishbowl. I am troubled.

*

Hope I made you smile, at least a little bit!

For more information about Sunday Photo Fiction click here for the details. Alastair will be your capable and caring guide. And, while there, be sure to click on the little blue guy for more short stories by some great writers!

Thanks for stopping by, have a great Sunday and week ahead,

~ Penny

Sunday Photo Fiction – A Scary World Out There (in your head)!

88-11-november-23rd-2014

photograph © Alastair Forbes

Trapped in A Vortex of Negativity

“Hey, I tell you it’s a scary world out there.” Jerry said.

“I think it’s all in your head.” His best friend replied. The two were sitting in the warm den near the fireplace, mugs of coffee in their hands.

Paul waved toward the window. “Just look outside into the forest. It’s frightening. Weird sounds and I’ve heard people are going missing. Bad things are happening everywhere.”

“You’ve heard, yes. but has anyone actually been lost in our forest?” Paul held his fearful friend’s gaze with his own level one, waiting for the response and then he motioned to the window and the beautiful forest scene unfolding outside. “The sun is coming up, it’s going to be another great day. Enjoy the day Jerry, enough with this negative crap, already. There are always bad things going on somewhere, but no more so than at any time in history, maybe less.”

“Yes but they say…” As Jerry stopped for another drink of his coffee Paul interrupted him.

“They say, they say … it’s all in their heads too. You know what Jerry, I’m sick of all this.” He stood up banging his cup down on the table. “You all need to come to your senses. I’m going home.”

Jerry watched as his friend headed for the door calling out to him “It’s dangerous out there Paul, would you like me to walk with you to your house?”

Paul snorted, shaking his head sadly as he looked back at his friend before heading to the doorway, derisively adding “Jerry, I just live next door.”

Paul could be heard to mutter to himself as he slowly opened and then closed the door behind him. “An emotional epidemic, that’s what this is and it’s contagious, everyone thinking, saying and writing all these negative things. When will they see it’s all in their heads.  Thoughts are things and they’ve created this condition with their thoughts. They’re trapping themselves in a vortex of negativity.”

***

For more information about Sunday Photo Fiction where the photograph is the prompt to your imagination, click here for the details. Alastair will be your guide. And, while there, be sure to click on the little blue guy for more short stories by some great writers!

Thanks for stopping by, have a great Sunday and week to come,

~ Penny