Flash! Friday: “Boneyard.”

 

BEGIN TRANSMISSION.

 

I’m starting to re-discover my love for TV Tropes.com. Someone please send help.

 

Have fun~

 


 

 

Title: Boneyard

Setting: The Middle of the Ocean

Theme: Power of Nature

Word Count: 125

 

My father told me that there used to be an ocean here, beneath our feet. But I don’t believe him. Oceans just seem so impossible. All that water and all that life taking up so much space. Where did all the people live before the salt-soaked Endless Land formed in its stead?

I ask if oceans ever existed. This makes my father sad for a reason I can’t figure out. He bends down and picks up one tiny bone. A fish bone, he tells me.

“There’s still more?” I say. “I thought I got them all.”

My father pats the huge ribs of the whale’s skeleton that’s become our house.

“That’s what we thought when the oceans were still around. That there’d always be more.”

 

 

THE OTHERS

 


 

 

I really am starting to think that TV Tropes is so brilliant because it’s like Confirmation Bias, the website. It makes you realize how not-insane you are for thinking that something was just soul-crushingly sad on TV when none of your friends think so.

But the internet knows better. It always does.

 

 

Good luck, you brave writer folk!

 

END TRANSMISSION.

 

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Daily Prompt 1: “Express Yourself!”

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Express Yourself!.”

 


 

 

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Well this feels odd. I’m trying to write this post using the big button on the taskbar that says “Create a New Post.” I’m not used to this bright white landscape that I can carve my words into. It’s too… stark. And accepting. And kind of bright since I always write in darkness.

My sister claimed that habit was “creepy.”

Anyway, so I’m going to be starting on this The Daily Post thing called Daily Prompts. I might do more of the Daily Post things since they’ll force me to come onto WordPress more than once a week and since Five Sentence Fiction is out until 2016, I need something else to flood my servers since I still refuse to do more Lorequests because of reasons that are numerous and stupid.

Anyway, have fun~

 


 

Title: Express Yourself!

Question: “Do you love to dance, sing, write, sculpt, paint, or debate? What’s your favorite way to express yourself, creatively?

 

I think the answer to this one is rather obvious, don’t you? I mean, clearly I’m an interpretive dancer at heart.

But really, I’m a writer. Dur. But since that answer’s so obvious, I figure I should now dive into a diatribe about why I love it so.

And why that is is a bit of a complicated answer. Because i suppose I could say that as somebody with a hugely overactive imagination, sometimes going so far as to have lucid day/dreams that writing allows me to put my imagination down onto paper. But that’s actually wrong, for the most part. I mostly imagine things that I would consider to be either (oftentimes) poor reading or poor things to write about. That is, high fantasy with a sword-and-sorcery focus. Because I listen to a huge variety of music that must meet very strict “vibe” guidelines, meaning they need to be high-energy and charged with emotions through the lyrics beyond simply saying words. So a lot of thoughts cross my path that would follow that trend of high energy and even a kind of glorious violence.

Meanwhile my favourite thing to write about is the life of a person in a world that could really use a hero. But instead of using heroes as my protagonists, I turn to those regular people. I’d like to think that, beyond just toying with expectations, I can also speak to something greater and more universal to all of humanity. We all wish, at some points, that we were heroes with real power. Unfortunately though, none of us are or ever will be in the ways that we’d probably hope. Technology will help us fight our enemies but our “enemies” are merely other human beings trying to make their own ways in the world. There’s no “easy” enemies to fight that would free us from moral qualms like the Orcs, hordes of the undead, or other horrible beasts and hostile aliens of fantasy and science fiction. We are a species defined by our togetherness and strength when united, so a charismatic leader is the closest thing we’ll ever get to being a true hero. But will that help us when a loved one is in danger of falling off a cliff or stuck in the middle of some other cinematic-charged life-or-death situation? Eh, not really.

So while that might seem rather pessimistic of me to say, “none of us can be heroes,” there has been a lot of instances throughout history where people thought they were truly heroes and got themselves or others into a lot of trouble/pain. Haven’t those people heard of the phrase “don’t be a hero!”

This, of course, runs off of the entire idea that “heroics” are as dividing-ly subjective as good and evil. One person’s hero is another’s butcher. The world has never quite learned that lesson, elsewise we’d stop glorifying the things we as a species have done and will continue to do that bring destruction, oftentimes irreparable destruction, on the world and on others.

Follow that up with the idea that everybody who has ever been a hero in the eyes of anyone always has A: flaws, B: dark secrets, C: a laundry list of stupid decisions that run out the door.

Again, nobody’s quite figured out that we as human beings are human. One wrong can destroy a person forever and we expect a lifetime of perfection.

We all want to live in a world of heroes when none of us can be.

This got a lot more existential than I had expected to be.

And THAT is why I love writing.

It’s also why boring people can’t write.

 

 


 

Well, there you have it. My first entry into this new daily (? [probably not]) writing prompt. I don’t even know if I’m linking this correctly. Time will tell!

 

Pingback:

<a href="https://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/express-yourself-2/">Express Yourself!</a>

 

 

Good luck, you brave writer folk!

 

END TRANSMISSION.

 

Friday Fictioneers: “Anima Memoria”

 

BEGIN TRANSMISSION.

 

I wanted to do something with a huge spinning clock and having to do with time but once the Doctor Who episode I was watching ended, I reconsidered. The Doctor does that to me, making the insane sound like a good plan. Fitting, I know.

 

Have fun~

 


 

 

Image Copyright: Ted Strutz

Image Copyright: Ted Strutz

 

Title: Anima Memoria

Genre: Fantasy (?)

Word Count: 100

 

Ah, the sky. I once had ten thousand fingers to reach towards it. Leafy and rough, I could almost touch the clouds. Then they came, in hordes, little pale conquerors. They pulled my fingers from the ground and crafted homes and plundered my depths to forge factories and bombs.

I felt the fire of their wars turn my soil into bloody swamps. Then the regret… So much unfettered sky stretched above, they must have felt truly small.

So they planted new fingers for me. Will I always hold their hands in harmony as I do now? The land will tell.

 

 


 

 

I actually always really liked the swings rides down in Chicago. I just never thought of the pictures spinning above people’s heads as anything more than eye candy for the unlucky doofuses on the ground to gawk at. So now I might just be seeing that from now on. Joy!

 

 

 

Good luck, you brave writer folk!

 

END TRANSMISSION.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Flash! Friday: “Long, Long Life”

 

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Because I was feeling zippy and optimistic today, I decided to write about the collapse of an aging father’s family life and sense of joy.

We all just have days where we want to spread joy and love into the world, right?

 

Have fun~

 


 

 

Title: Long, Long Life

Character: A Doomed King

Setting: A Castle

Word Count: 205

 

 

What happened to Don McClean and dinner with the family?

I think I saw them walk out hand-in-hand with my 14 year-old daughter and her 17 year-old boyfriend. She told me she’d be spending the night at his house, my castle. She came home to visit once in a when she decided to stay the night for the rest of her life.

My son was texting before I could dial a cell phone. He’d always be looking down at his screen, talking to somebody he doesn’t want me to see. When I was young, your neighborhood was your world and everyone knew each other. Now the whole world is at your fingers and is stealing conversations with my kids that I’ve never had.

Many dying years later, my son married to the man on the other side of that phone. I wasn’t even invited. “Too conservative and old-fashioned,” my son labeled me. I cried myself into a waking nightmare of an empty nest.

Elvis died on the throne, I always say. He won’t be the only king to die there. Every time the clock’s hand ticks, it slaps me in the face. I can feel my own life drain away like a thermometer in winter.

 

BLUE FRONG

 


 

 

Did you know that “Scorpion” is pronounced “Score-pea-an” and not “Scwore-pea-an” like I’ve been pronouncing it for years?

Oh, you did? Well then why didn’t you tell me?

Some friend you are.

 

 

Good luck, you brave writer folk!

 

END TRANSMISSION.

 

 

 

 

Friday Fictioneers: Shakespeares Writing Monkey

 

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With all of the information and technology of the digital age at their (figurative) fingertips, this is what they decide to do with it?

 

Have fun~

 


 

 

Image Copyright: Marie Gail Stratford

Image Copyright: Marie Gail Stratford

 

Title: Shakespeares Writing Monkey

Genre: Fantasy (?)

Word Count: 100

 

 

Our master always leaves the computer on when he goes to work. One day the keyboard and screen rebelled.

“I made his name autocorrect to ‘loser,’” the keyboard clackled.

“He hates spiders,” the screen snickered, changing the desktop.

I just hid like the little mouse I was. The screen and keyboard convinced the headphones too. She twisted her cable into a Gordian Knot.

The front door opened. The master came into the room.

*Click*- Firefox

*Click*- Bookmarks

*Click*- eBay

They keyboard didn’t notice when I pushed it off the desk. Its keys went everywhere— time to get a new one.

 

 

 


 

 

But wait! you might shout awkwardly into your quiet room, how can the master order a new keyboard when the mouse went and broke the old one?

Good question. And there’s no real answer to that. Why? Because this was a plan formulated by an inanimate object that spends most of its life underneath somebody’s hand.

Sometimes the main character is just an imbecile.

 

 

Good luck, you brave writer folks!

 

END TRANSMISSION

 

Friday Fictioneers: “Silent Steel”

 

BEGIN TRANSMISSION.

 

To think I could go from cramping my stomach watching John Hodgman to writing about, well, this, really just proves I’m supposed to be a writer with my onset mood-swings.

 

Have fun~

 


 

 

Image Copyright: The Reclining Gentleman

Image Copyright: The Reclining Gentleman

 

Title: Silent Steal

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

 

You’ve never heard of where I live because it doesn’t exist anymore. You’ve never heard of me because I died without a name.

The Blitz our horizon and we couldn’t live in fear anymore. One night we took every car in town and drove north.

Propellers chopped up the air from far away. I craned my head out into the cold, still night— the kind of night when no man deserved to die.

But those propellers were coming from the east, from Germany.

They must have thought we were a convoy. Their bullets only destroyed town cars and humble hopes.

 

 

 


 

 

What a zippy fun story this one was! I really want to go back to writing more either funny or just kind of zany stories, if only for a little while. But a nighttime bridge with big eye-like headlights attached to cars poised to run over the cameraman didn’t really scream “zany” to me.

Next time.

Next time.

 

 

Good luck, you brave writer folk!

 

END TRANSMISSION.

 

 

 

Flash! Friday: “Beauty in the Eyes”

 

BEGIN TARNSMISSION.

 

Yes, that’s a typo. I left it in because I think it sounds FUNNY.

 

Have fun~

 


 

 

Title: Beauty in the Eyes

Conflict: Man vs. Everyone/thing Else

Character: A charismatic hedonistic narcissist

Word Count: 160

 

-Excerpt from page 1 of 150 of the legal confession of Jo Brakenburg

 

Burb of Ny’roh 6, Mike the Sentient Planet and me, Jo Brakenburg were all in the running for “The Most Beautiful Not-Necessarily-Organic Lifeform in the Galaxy”

Why was that even a contest worth having? I don’t care how many fjords Mike has. I have magnificent sunlight-golden living hair that is perfect. In every way.

And the day before the final judging, I’m in third place. I can’t even count to three! I’m that much of a Number 1!

That night I had a revelation that shook me. Beauty was in the eye of the beholder. My definition of beauty was not everybody’s definition of beauty.

So I had all of the judge’s eyes removed overnight. You see, such things are possible when you’re beautiful and beautiful people like me just have that kind of power. Not like you’d know. Mountains of money from Brakenburg Beautifications helped too.

 

 

FRONG

 


 

 

 

I kind of have a seething hatred of Fridays now, which is terrible because it’s  the best day of the week, just because I have these two writing deadlines due (the other is Friday Fictioneers, obviously) and then work at an obscenely early hour in the morning.

And the morning is evil.

 

 

Good luck, you brave writer folk!

 

END TRANSMISSION.