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Qui Tacet Consentiere

27 May

 

100 words for Friday Fictioneers.

Unlike the many creatures we’ve sent, as W.S. Merwin said in For a Coming Extinction, “…to The End.”, I have returned, if only for this week, because the photograph is mine and speaks to me of teeming seas from a time long past…. No need to comment. I love you all. Aloha, D.

 

Silence implies Consent

(Copyright Douglas MacIlroy)

“And they lived in the oceans?” At three years of age, my daughter was just beginning to get an inkling of the world that had gone before her.

“They filled the seas, Pearl. We were once just a distant rumor to them.”

“If there were so many, where did they all go?”

“To feed us, darling.”

“Every one?”

“Some say a few still live in deep canyons where nets can’t reach, but none have been seen for many years.”

“Will they ever come back, Daddy?”

“In time perhaps.”

“When we’re gone?”

 

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Snow Angel

11 Mar

One hundreds words for Friday Fictioneers based on the photo prompt below by Sandra Crook.

 

Frost on a stump. Sandra Crook.

(Copyright Sandra Crook)

On the morning of my sixth birthday they were fighting again.

I took my Flexi-flyer to the estuary and hurled myself down chaotic tilted slabs of tidal floes and out onto the thinner ice of the river, which popped and cracked behind me as I passed.

At day’s end, cold, wet and tired, I felt something soft brush my eyelid. I lay down on the sled and looked up. Flakes the size of quarters spiraled from a featureless gray sky.

As the new snow fell silently with the night I closed my eyes and wondered whether they would miss me.

 

 

angelsnow

The Dog House

14 Jan

100 words for Friday Fictioneers based on the photo prompt below from Jan Wayne Fields.

 

Dining Room

(Copyright Jan Wayne Fields)

 

“What are you in for?” asked the old-timer.

“Disappointed my wife,” replied the new guy.

“Rough.”

“Failure to live up to expectations, failure to change and failure to be her first choice for a husband.”

“Rough again. How long you in for?”

“Life.”

“Double rough.”

“No, that part’s not that…”

“Rough.”

“I’ve got a roof over my head, some good company and best of all, she’s not talking to me.”

“Good point.”

“What’s your crime, buddy?”

“Humping your mother-in-law’s leg every time she visits.”

“Good boy.”

 

 

 

 

dog-humping-leg

God of All Things

23 Jul

100 words for Friday Fictioneers a group of writers from around the world who meet at a virtual restaurant every week and choose one story from column A and two from column B. The head cook and bottle washer is Rochelle Wisoff-Fields and the stories are inspired by the photo prompt below from Marie Gail Stratford.

My story is a requiem for two goats, dear friends of a dear friend, mauled to death by a pack of wild dogs on a recent moonlit night. The link to the picture is obscure, but has its roots in the Japanese superstition about not placing chopsticks upright in a bowl of rice.

God of All Things

 

No luck today in my search.

In a shaded grove of tangled bamboo, iridescent Tui’s fill the air with mournful song. A shaft of sunlight bathes a low mound.

Khalil Gibran said, “Love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation”.

I don’t blame the dogs. They are man’s best friend in daytime, but at night and in a pack they answer only to the moon.

I do blame the owners and pray we never meet.

In fresh turned earth I stand two lighted joss sticks, one for Brad, now at peace, and one for Calvin, still missing.

 

 

 

goat on stump

 

 

 

The Nerve (II)

18 Jun

100 words for Friday Fictioneers. (A reposting this week as per Rochelle Wisoff-Field’s suggestion. Coincidentally, I will be on the road for two weeks, so her idea could not have come at a better time.)

When I first posted this story (The Nerve) it was woefully overlong at 147 words because I had yet to master the fine art of slicing, dicing and killing my darlings. For this post I decided to try to pare it down to 100 words. The result, again based again on a fine picture by Mary Shipman, can be read below. For those of you with time on your hands, you might want to check out the original and compare it to this one just to see what got blown away. Or not. I’ll never know. (I’ll try to comment on your stories when I can this week and next, but expect me only if you see me. Mahalo.)

Should I get taken to the Land of Oz on my travels and not be able to find my way back, please know I meant every word I ever said.

I love all of you.

 

Aloha, D.

 

 

Copyright Mary Shipman

 

The funnel cloud writhed, sinuous and silent above rich farmland.

If you’re going to stay up there, say hello to the Wizard for me,” screamed my wife from the cellar. A shrew and a control freak, she had long ago become oil to my water.

“Courage,” I heard Bert Lahr intone.

A thunderous roar filled the air as the tip touched down across the street and blew the Baum’s house to splinters.

Time to fly.

My last thought before darkness descended was that the witch was finally going to have to get some new wallpaper for the living room.

 

 

A Revolutionary Act

6 Nov

A 100 word homage to Eric Arthur Blair for Friday Fictioneers, a collective of writers overseen by Little Sister Rochelle Wisoff-Fields, inspired by the photo prompt below which was supplied by Alastair Forbes.

If you think it cannot happen here, you haven’t been paying attention. It is happening now.

The telescreen

The walls shook with the sound of approaching helicopters.

“We might as well say goodbye,” Winston said to Julia.

“YOU MIGHT AS WELL SAY GOODBYE!” the house shouted.

“You’re thirty years late.” Winston replied, free of the need to maintain the illusion of conformity. They could only kill him once, and thoughtcrime was thoughtcrime.

“What is it, Winston?” asked Julia. “What have you done?”

“I expressed an opinion on my blog…”

“YOU EXPRESSED AN OPINION ON YOUR BLOG…”

“How could you?” Julia asked. “The penalty is….”

“…DEATH TO PERPETRATOR. RE-EDUCATION OF RELATED INDIVIDUALS.”

The door burst open.

“Homeland Security, freeze!”

ingsoc

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Dear America...

Arevolutionary act1

Higher Learning

3 Jul

Here’s another 100 word story for Friday Fictioneers, an ever changing group of authors from around the world who use a weekly photo prompt as a catalyst for their work. This week’s photo, shown below, was graciously provided (thank you) by David Stewart. Stories can all be seen here. Check them out or write one yourself or both. Live a little. Stretch your wings. If you’re wondering whether you can, the answer is yes, and it will be awesome.

Thanks to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for organizing, herding cats, putting up with serials, serial killers, vampires, zombies and her constantly changing and/or misspelled name. She is a diamond in the rough and we are fortunate to have her in the driver’s seat.

Higher Learning

I spent graduation night in the company of pigeons atop the rusty township water tower. Earlier in the day, Mrs. DuBois had given me the quarter credit I lacked but attending the ceremony didn’t feel right.

Much later I realized my parents had given up and that my guidance counselor just wanted her books cleared. I don’t blame them. Somewhere along the tortured road of childhood I’d found a way to escape into myself and even if they’d tried, I wouldn’t have let them in.

 Nothing is ever as it seems.

 Forgive yourself and others.

 Remember to enjoy the view.

Sat outside and looked at the stars

I can attest to the truth of this.

P.S. Do not read on if you are pressed for time.

P.P.S. (You have been warned.)

P.P.P.S. Once I got things sorted out I decided to become a fireman. Here is a short video the photo prompt brought to mind. It is just one of the many skills we were asked to master at the firefighter’s academy.

P.P.P.P.S. I washed out early on and decided to join the navy and become a submariner because I knew that flooding would likely put out all the fires and my ineptitude as a fireman would remain a secret. The rest is history.

P.P.P.P.P.S. Do not click here either.