September 17, 2020, prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less), write a story of mice. It can feature any variety of the little critters in any situation. Are the the character or the inciting incident? Use any genre, including BOTS (based on a true story).
Milo, a little grey mouse With the heart of a giant He could stare down the largest cat And get away unscathed he would be sent out For the most timid of his clan His days were long and slow He wanted more. Dressed in his best suit Knapsack on his back He was off to the cries of “Don’t go Who will hunt for us, we’ll starve!” “I will teach Jacko before I go I must seek my fortune. If Mickey can make it big In Hollywood, Then so can I I will take Hollywood by storm someday…”
As I sat at my workbench I told myself I would paint myself into history Like Di Vinci, Van Gogh, Monet Only my mind is as blank as the page I looked at Where did they get their inspiration from? The five and dime, the local minute mart? If only I don’t remember painting the strange circles Other worlds, my notepad splashed with paint As if a five-year-old sat in my place Fred, my friendly skull Told me to pursue a different career I thought this a good idea, closing my notepad The next time I look at a blank page I will fill it with wonderful words Produce the next best seller Ten weeks at number one I told myself Hoping that one day, what I say will be so…
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Is there any sound more haunting? Than a wolf crying under the full moon Lending his voice to an ancient magic Long forgotten Only the echo in his heart remains Will his continued howling Bring back a little magic one day?
September 10, 2020, prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less), write a story that includes something heard on the radio. It can be from any station or era. What is heard? A song, announcement, ad? Think of how radio connects people and places.
I remember falling in love with a song After hearing it coming from my mum’s little Dansette radio Indian Reservation Years later I bought it on vinyl Played it until it became paper-thin The neighbours banging on the wall Begging me to play something different It’s strange how one song Heard on a tiny radio Can colour your life To me the world suddenly became wonky, off-kilter. Why do people think they can take what doesn’t belong to them Changing Nations with their greed Indian Reservation remains one of my favourite songs to this day Played often…
He heard the sound the minute he walked into the dining room to start work removing the ugly fireplace.
A faint scraping sound echoed around the room, but where was it coming from?
His mind returned to the job in hand, the removal of the totally unsuitable faux marble fireplace. He swung the large club hammer at the bolster chisel to separate the cheap surround from the wall. Seconds later, the scraping sound set his nerves on edge. He winced.
“Don’t be daft…you’re imagining it!”
But every blow he made was answered by the sound that seemed to be coming from the walls.
Once the fireplace lay on the floor in pieces, he started to carry the pieces out to his truck. Each time he returned; the noise greeted him.
What began as curiosity and amusement, slowly turned to annoyance and he couldn’t decide what to do about it.
He had to be imagining it, for he had moved in six weeks ago and not heard anything before now.
Maybe he should just ignore it.
Instantly, as if it heard his thoughts, the slightly louder sounds seemed to argue with that idea.
He slowly walked around the room, pausing at each wall but annoyingly, he heard nothing.
Three of the walls were brick, but the one adjoining the kitchen was a partition wall, plasterboard on a timber frame. He remembered building it the week before, and if there was anything trapped, it would be in that one.
It was getting late, and he was hungry. Whatever was going on would have to wait until tomorrow. As he turned to leave, the noise began again, and the sense of urgency was palpable.
He reached into his toolbox for his utility knife and approached the partition wall. Carefully, as he couldn’t remember exactly where the power cables were, he cut a sizeable hole and using the torch on his phone, he stretched his head through to see what the wall might conceal.
He could hear something moving about. He tried to see what it was, but the hole was too high.
Minutes later, after cutting a hole at ground level, a small, bedraggled cat crawled out, barely alive.
You can feed a family of six On mash, fishfingers and peas Not a great dish to flirt over Somehow my young daughter managed to. Our new neighbours 14-year-old son Sitting across our table, Mostly hidden by his unruly fringe I wondered what she could see that I couldn’t I followed the conversation flow between them As if they had known each other for years I felt my insides freeze When my husband told me he had invited them I met George at the pub, he said They seemed like our kind of people I’m sure they won’t mind what you put in front of them. I need not have worried, the early tea went well Somehow over a simple plate of food We managed to forge new friendships…
Waking to the glass forest Charming as it may be With the wind running through its leaves Like the sound of windchimes on my porch This cannot be, send for the master druid We need bird song, squirrels, well water we need bark, deep green leaves Go boy, don’t think The spell, the chain must be broken Before the rain can send the old seeds away…