Happy Feet

She is an inspiring artist, and a wonderful sport. I love her vision, and have longed to use more than one of her pieces as prompts. With one of her more recent works I blurted out my desire, and instead of politely ignoring me (as she should have), she actually invited me instead to go ahead and do as I wished. Dear Elena, I truly hope I don’t disappoint you with the following…

Copyright - Elena Caravela

Copyright – Elena Caravela

The shoes are key.

You see, it’s the shoes that always point forward, never back.

And my friend, if you’ve even one that points in the yesterday direction, then I should think it high time that you invest in a new pair!

No, it’s the shoes that point forward. Ever looking towards the horizon. Ever hoping for the next step instead of the last, scary monsters and super creeps be damned.

Be they jaunty or clunky, tight tipped or broad-nosed, dirty or clean, new or old, they carry you on your journey. They are – if you’ll pardon the deplorable, yet necessary pun – with you every step of the blessed (or damned, as the case may be) way.

For you see, while the shoes may point the direction, tis you who decides how they’ll get you to where they’re going. Tis you who decides whether they’ll bounce or thud, whether they’ll crisply cut the low air, or drag along the concrete sulkily. Tis you who decides whether they will move with purpose and speed, lounge along casually with a certain ease of mind, or trawl dead-weighted from moment to moment in sullen despair.

You see, whether you turn to the left or turn to the right is not the thing. The thing is in the very fashion with which you make that turn, and in the passion with which you tarry forth.

And best of all, tis you who decides that, my friend – YOU!

As for yours truly, I had decided several epiphanies back to slap the smile on my face, and screw my best hat – yes, the flouncy one – securely to my noggin just prior to heading out my mind’s door.

True, the rain still comes, and the weather must still be weathered. But I’ve come to learn that it’s not so much the rain that stops me, as it is these very drops of salty wetness that serve to create me – making me who I am and who I might someday be.

The smudges these sky-fallen tears leave are worn with pride, not embarrassment. And much like the shoes that are charged with moving both them and my own good self along, on our way forward we all march gaily to the ‘morrow!

•••

I hope you come along too.

And yes, I am ending today with this…

Have You Ever Had It Blue

Another Friday, another Friday Fictioneers (sorry kids, but I can only submit these when the pictures tell me the story, as this week’s did.) As always, I hope you enjoy what today’s muse whispered into my ear…

Copyright -Anelephantcant

Copyright -Anelephantcant

The chain – well, you could hardly call it that, now could you? – Would’ve never been left draped around his neck in days of old. No, back then he was prized, needed, secured.

He remembered the lad who’d rode him, screaming together down blown-out streets to get messages to the front.

God, he loved that boy. So handsome, so gentle, so fast!

The lad had a good eye, failing him only on that day where “Jerry” had hid in the bell tower.

Lying beside his dying love, he wept while his seat slowly absorbed the blood.

A lifetime ago of course, it was now a mere cherished memory as he sat idly – unloved, unneeded, and most decidedly unchained.

•••

Subculture

So, what sort of unadulterated douche does it take to not play Friday Fictioneers in “like, forever,” only to return, and then not plunk down the maximum 100 word allotment, but rather (2) 100 word installments instead?

We’ll just have to wait and see.

Here is this week’s 2-parter (if you’re really militant about the word count, just shut up and read the first part only, already!)

I hope you enjoy, I hope you play along, and I hope you get back to me with how you feel I can improve!

And to those of you who read along regularly, #1 – thanks!, and #2 – I apologize for having this week, two “dialogue-only” posts, back-to back!

Copyright -John Nixon

Copyright -John Nixon

Now, where did I place it?

Sir, it’s…

Just a moment Geoffrey, I’m attempting to locate my rapt-scallion key!

“Rapt-scallion,” sir?

Oh my, Geoffrey, you’re so pedestrian, really. Dear boy, I couldn’t very well say God-damned-able, now could I? Certainly not in front of a mere child!

Sir, I’m not a chi…

Shush now lad, help me search!

But sir, it’s directly behind you.

Behind?

Yes sir, protruding from your back, actually.

By Jove! Right you are m’boy, right you ARE! Now, why do you suppose…

Sir. Please not again… We’re toys sir.

The devil you say!

The devil, I don’t.

••

We are toys. Just like we were yesterday sir.

My dear boy, I do believe your lid is positively flipped.

Sir, you have a KEY sticking OUT of your BACK!

Well… isn’t that just a very British thing to do?

No sir. It’s a very wind-up toy thing to do.

Rapt-scallion!

Sir…?

Oh, fine. GodDAMNed!

I’m terribly sorry sir.

No need m’boy, no need! So, I suppose I’ll wind down then?

Yes sir.

And I’ll have forgotten I was a toy next go-round as well?

I pray not, sir. This conversation IS becoming a tad bit monotonous.

•••

Bloggers note:

Today’s tune is more than just a musical accessory to a toy trapped within it’s own short-term memory. Today’s tune, TMI be damned, could have almost have been my theme song, at quite a number of points throughout my life. In short, today’s tune is important…

Are You Gonna Go My Way?

I liked this one.

I can’t be too sure that many more will. I hope you do, but you know, they can’t all be zingers.

Friday Fictioneers, HO!!!

danny-bowman

Copyright – Danny Bowman

Jesus???

Ain’t no flippin’ way you’re Jesus. That’s bullcrap!

Then why’d you answer? Weren’t you just now asking for some sort of sign; that I’d “call you?”

Well, yeah… but a phone?

Look, the device is obviously defunct. Inoperable. You’re pretty dense Dave, and I had to get through. Plus, I thought you might also enjoy the spectacle of it all.

I suppose…

I have been talking to you your whole life. You get that, right? You just never listened.

Yeah?

Yeah.

…Yeah.

So, do I need to perform these asinine tricks anymore?

No, we’re good.

Good. Now hang up and go your wash your hands. That thing is filthy.

•••

Beyond The Sea

You know what I said last week about finding inspiration for these pictures? Yeah, well this week none of that happened, as the very second the prompt picture popped open, I shouted excitedly – and to no one in particular – “PEN PALS!!!”

That’s right, this week’s Friday Fictioneers immediately made me think of the pen pals bit I wrote a little while back for the 100 Word Song challenge, and I thought we’d revisit these kids now to see how they’re doing, cool?

Hope you enjoy!

aqueduct-sarah-ann-hall

Copyright – Sarah Ann Hall

Wanting to touch her cheek, he reached out slowly, till his fingertips softly tickled the image on the screen before him.

They were so much alike, yet different. They were so very connected, yet far apart, each firmly entrenched to their own place.

He longed to traverse those few thousand miles, but was unable to break himself free. So instead, he continued sending pictures and words across the ocean, hoping that she would see in them, his love for her.

Sighing, he wondered what she was doing at that moment.

Wanting to touch his constantly tossled hair, her fingertips softly brushed the image on the screen before her…

•••

Drunk

A couple of items.

First off, I apologize that I don’t yet have a running title for my Friday Fictioneers submissions, similar to those used for both my 100 Word Song and Master Class entries. It’s not that I think any less of this worthy endeavor, I just can’t seem to find one that’ll stick yet.

Secondly, when participating in these picture prompts, I typically enlarge the image and scour its contents to find my inspiration. This week was no exception, but as the damned-able word limit (coming in at 115 for a second week in a row) made it almost impossible to both tell the story and divulge who the narrator was, I’ve included instead, a small screen grab of this week’s “inspiration point.”

As always, I hope you enjoy!

Copyright-Ted Strutz

Copyright-Ted Strutz

They’re so stupid, that lot.

Day after day they come in walking, and leave crawling. Every night they sit there and lament. Lament over any number of things. How their car isn’t “sexy” enough, how their house isn’t “impressive” enough, what a pain it is to keep oneself in shape. They grumble about having too little of this, and far too much of that.

All the while, their words continue to slur, their eyes glaze, and they slowly become more a part of my world than their own.

I remain stoic, dour even. Gazing upon them while they bellyache about the very thing I will never have, freedom.

They really are stupid, that lot.

•••

Picture 1

Turn to stone

Cut, cut, snip, snip.

I do apologize Friday Fictioneers, but even after many excursions into word removal operations, I was still unable to obtain the solid 100 word count I usually aim for, without losing the entire flow of this week’s story.

Yes, assuming that there is any flow to this week’s story in the first…

Hope you enjoy =)

Copyright -Kent Bonham

Copyright -Kent Bonham

I’ll never make it up there, daddy.

Yes you will.

It’s too high.

Not too high dear. Besides, you’ve those outcroppings to pull upon.

It’s scary tall.

But only until you reach the top. Then it’s open, fresh.

Like our old place?

Like our old place.

Daddy, can’t we go back there?

No dear, they tore it down.

I liked it.

Me too, but life doesn’t always give what we like. You’ll grow to enjoy here too.

Will I be able to play here?

Not once we reach the top, you know that.

Then we just sit and watch?

Yes, when we reach the top, we sit and watch. Like all good gargoyles do, dear.

•••