Pixabay
Monday – Day of the Moon
Beginning of the work-week
Which can’t be over too soon
It is oft a day of struggling
To get yourself dressed
After a weekend of parties, and all the rest
But there are – about every blue moon
Bank Holiday Mondays to our boon
Extending the weekend
From two days to three
Giving the illusion of being free
Padre
Pixabay
It was a bit too early in the year to venture beyond the western hills. The last of the winter snows hadn’t even fully melted on the more guarded slopes, but Halian knew that if he was to get a crop in before autumn, he would need to begin the venture.
He, his brother Dalvin, their wives Karianna and Helgi, and Dalvin’s four-year-old son Keelin, therefore began their westward trek on the last day of March. Progress was good up to the frontier settlement of Caston. There they stopped, as it was the last sure source of supplies, though water and some small items might be available from the sutler at Fort Wren at the head of the pass. From there however, the pioneers would be on their own.
“I don’t know why Hal is starting off so soon,” Helgi said quietly to her sister-in-law. “He could have at least waited a month for you ho have the baby first.”
“Helgi, I don’t know why you carry on so. I’ll be fine,” Kari assured her. “Besides, we need to find a suitable plot, and get the grain planted or we might starve once the next snows fall.”
Helgi, gave her quick sideways hug, and the two went into entered the merchants to acquire salt and molasses.
Meanwhile Dalvin tended the oxen, and kept an eye on Keelin who was playing with the hounds Dunder and Blisser.
“I will be back shortly,” Halian called, ” I want to see if I can get some iron nails from the smitty.”
“I will wait for the girls here then shall I?” Dalvin said with a chuckle, as if there was any other choice in the matter as the livestock and little Keelin needed to me watched over.
Dalvin tightened the thick leather belt around his waist. It felt odd to be wearing a sword-belt. He was a farmer, nothing more. Okay, Hal had been a conscript in the Count’s regiment two years before, but that was the only taste of war that any in the family had had. No, it was not since their grandfather’s time that there had been a “real” warrior in the family.
Here they were though, on the road westwards. “An early start to a new beginning,” his older brother Halian had said. Beginning of what? he mused.
“Keeli, don’t antagonise those dogs.”
“Sorry Father,” the lad called and tossed the stick he had been playing tug-of-war with Blisser with. The stick didn’t go far, but both dogs took the few steps to retrieve it.
“New beginning,” Dalvin said aloud.
Padre
Pixabay
Andre had no formal qualifications, but he loved to paint and draw, and he had even tried his hand at some sculpting in wire. He had become proficient in doing city-scapes, and eked out a meagre living selling them to tourists.
His “studio” was no more than a garden shed. It was there that he transformed the sketches he made while waiting for customers into paintings.
One evening there was a ferocious evening storm. It seemed to rock the very foundations of his humble home. In the morning, Andre discovered that a tree had fallen onto the roof of his beloved shed, collapsing the roof. Shelves had tumbled, and canvases and paints alike were strewn willy-nilly about the ruins.
There would be no sales that day as Andre began to pick through to detritus of his livelihood. He managed to salvage two completed paintings of the Lion Bridge, and three other canvases which were salvageable, though they were splattered with assorted paint and garden grime. The grim task completed, he went inside to await the slim possibilities of the next day.
In the morning, he carried his remaining artwork to the Lion Bridge, and set the two extant works against the railings, in the hope of drawing some custom. With no studio to work in, he next took one of spattered canvases and placed it upon an easel. He was just starting to paint a faint outline of one of the lion sentinels onto the canvas when a distinguished looking couple approached.
The hatchet-faced lady picked up one of the completed paintings and held it up to her gentleman companion. The man pulled a face, and the pair both shook their heads disapprovingly. As the man picked up the other work to give it a closer examination, the woman stepped up to Andre’s work in progress.
“Reginald,” she called in a nasally noise, “I think I have found just the piece for above the fireplace in the villa.”
Padre
Pixabay
Green-fingers caress the buds of May
And water the blooms of June
Attentive to each of her sprouting wards
And from the beds weeds exhume
Diligent in caring for nature’s bounty
Through the paths of splendor – Flower strewn
Padre
Image by Jørgen Deleuran from Pixabay
Einar and Destin shifted the long pine plank into position as Thorbold prepared to rivet it into place.
“Don’t let it slide beyond the mark I made,” the master boat-wright snapped.
“Sorry Thorbold,” the pair said almost in unison.
Destin wasn’t really sure he was “sorry,” after all he had been building clinker ships nearly as long as his brother, Thorbold had.
He would show him one day. Sooner rather than later, in fact, that he, Destin Olafson could rival the skills of any boat builder in all of the Norse lands.
Just, today was not quite that day.
Padre
April 30: Flash Fiction Challenge – In 99 words (no more, no less), write a story that features long boards.
Image by Defence-Imagery from Pixabay
“Second Platoon, reporting as ordered,” Staff Sergeant Romero said in a clear voice.
“Excellent,” responded the civilian efficiency consultant, turning his back momentarily to pick up a large stack of fill in the blanks questionnaires. “I have a PowerPoint presentation to explain these for you, and then . . . ”
He turned back around to find the marquee tent empty.
“That’s odd,” he mused out loud, “third time this week.”
Padre
Broken hopes and dreams
Upon the beach shattered lie
By nature’s storm breath
Lucrative catches ended
Bringing a new life ashore
Padre
Inspiration Call: Week 11 March 2020 Writing Prompts: Tanka
“A Tanka is a Japanese poem and similar to a Haiku, however it has seven lines. Tankas are nature, seasons, love, and other emotions. Line one has a five syllable count, line two is seven syllables, line three is five syllables, line four is seven syllables, and line five seven syllables. In total it has thirty one syllables. It uses simile, metaphor, and personification.”
Pixabay
Emma was perplexed. Just yesterday she was at the height of popularity, surrounded by “friends” and sycophants. And why shouldn’t it have been so – in fact – be so? She was classically beautiful, with a figure to die for. She had an impeccable dress sense, and Daddy’s money – abundant money – made it so she could always demonstrate it. She was the belle of every ball, and her dance card was always filled. She was, in short, perfect – beyond perfect. So what did this new girl, Princess Helen have that she didn’t?
Padre
Weekend Writing Prompt #147 – Perplex in 90 words
I was invited to “Finish the Story” by MELANIE B CEE. So here it goes:
Teresa Grabs began the tale : What’s In The Basket?
Evan and Dot woke early Easter morning, jumped out of their twin-sized beds and bolted for their bedroom door.
“Me first!” Evan said, ripping Dot’s hand off the door handle.
Dot scoffed and pulled Evan’s hand away from the door. “Nuh-uh, me first!”
In one swift motion, Evan grabbed Dot’s nightgown and pulled her to the ground. Even though they were twins, Evan had two inches and ten pounds on her. “NO! Me first!”
No sooner had he reached for the door, he began howling in pain as Dot’s teeth sank lower into his bare leg. “MOM!”
Mom and Dad rushed into their room. Evan’s face turned bright red as he spied Dad’s Superman boxers. Dad owned the situation and assumed Superman’s famous pose, glaring down at his daughter. “Dorthy Alice Cooper!”
“What have we said about biting?” Mom finished.
They were always finishing each other’s sentences. Especially when yelling at Evan or Dot.
Tears soaked Evan’s t-shirt more when Dot dug her nails into his butt when she stood.
“He started it!”
“Don’t you dare give me that, little Miss,” Mom said, wagging her finger. “You know what today is, don’t you?”
Dot nodded. “That’s why I wanted to be first.”
Evan’s eyes lit as he sneered at her. “You admit you started it. Oh my gosh! You are so going to get it!”
“Excuse me,” Dad said, gripping Evan on the shoulder. “Is that how we behave?”
Evan winced and shook his head.
“You two know what happens when little boys and girls have been mean to each other on Easter, don’t you?”
Dot and Evan looked at each other in horror. They knew alright. Everyone knew. They gulped and looked at Mom and Dad. “We’re sorry,” they said in unison.
Mom shook her head and looked at Dad who shrugged. “You know what’s going to happen if you don’t mean it. I think the Easter bunny left your basket in the living room.”
Evan and Dot bolted out the door and ran downstairs. Soon, shouts of “me first” and “you’re mean” filtered through the house. Mom sighed and Dad shrugged. “What can you do?”
Evan was the first to reach the Easter basket laden with goodies. There were eggs of all colors, chocolate coins, marshmallow bunnies, and rainbow-colored plastic grass. He slapped Dot’s hand away from his favorite colored egg and reached in to see if there was anything under the grass.
The room started spinning and all he could think of was to grab onto his sister for dear life, hoping she would save him and stop whatever was happening–she didn’t.
With a flash of light and deafening crack, Evan and Dot landed painfully on their bottoms.
Dot was the first to open her eyes. “Where are we?”
‘You mean you don’t know?’ Evan demanded. ‘This is all your fault! I’m going to tell………… DAD!!!’
‘It’s no good calling for your parents, children.’ said a voice. ‘They can’t hear you down here.’
Rubbing her sore bottom, Dot stood up.
‘Where are you? It’s rude not to show yourself when you’re talking to somebody.’
The Smile appeared first, then big blue eyes followed by a furry face, an extraordinarily large tabby body and a forked tail.
‘The Cheshire Cat!’ Evan stated.
‘Not exactly. That’s in a parallel fairy tale, and as you can see ‘ it added waving its appendage, ‘ they got my tail completely wrong! Now then………..’
‘Oh no you don’t,’ said Dot bossily. ‘We want to know where we are and why we’re here. And where’s our basket?’
The Cat’s eyes flashed angrily, then it sighed.
‘Esther Bounie wants to meet you and……..’
‘Oh goody,’ Evan interrupted rubbing his hands in glee. ‘We get to meet the Easter Bunny for real. All that chocolate!!’
‘Er no. Esther might be a relation, but she is not the Easter Bunny at all, and certainly doesn’t like chocolate. She’s more of a ………….
……… a hare.
“What’s the difference?” Dot askedimpatiently.
“A hare is a rabbit, isn’t it?”
” Well she is a rabbit but she is not friendly, she doesn’t like children, especially!” The cat was getting tired of this conversation and these spoiled children.
“If she doesn’t like children, why does she wants to meet us?” Evan felt that he should contribute to the conversation as well.
“She has a task. She puts sense into naughty and spoiled brats. And that description fits both of you, I believe” The words were barely out of the cat’s mouth when with a sudden whoosh an ugly looking hare appeared in the room. Both kids were startled and a bit afraid too. It looked mean and perhaps was angry too.
Dot clasped her brother’s hand and took a step back. She opened her mouth but no words came out! Instead………..
Dot belched. Her brother jumped as if goosed. The hare (which was much bigger than a rabbit and had gray mottled fur), bared its two huge front teeth in a gruesome caricature of a grin.
“Better out than in!” Esther (the hare) exclaimed! “But what awful manners you have girlie!”
Dot’s eyes filled with tears. She was good at rousing up a few crocodile tears if she felt threatened or afraid. And to drum up a little sympathy.
“PHOOEY!” spat Esther. “Your fake tears are worse than your manners! And I’m magical so you think that crap will fool ME?”
Dot, shocked to her core by the exposure, stopped trying to cry and shrank back behind her brother, grateful for once that he was bigger. Evan didn’t appreciate becoming a human shield, particularly since there was an apparently rabid animal who was TALKING F*S!
The big hare (aka Esther) seemed to puff up until she was gigantic. The children truly felt fear for the first time in their lives, and a growing respect. They didn’t know what either emotion was, so they didn’t get what was happening, save they knew it was highly uncomfortable.
Esther told the children that they were going on a journey and that at the end of the journey would be a test, so they’d better pay strict attention to what happened during the journey. Use their gray cells for something other than filling for their heads!
The big hare kicked out her powerful hind leg and a rather small door appeared in the ether. “Come on!” commanded Esther, “Time waits for no hare nor human!”
It seemed rather doubtful that Esther would fit through the door, but she did and with room to spare. Clearly things were not as they seemed in this place.
Dot and Evan reluctantly followed. The cat, it shall be noted, had disappeared completely, taking its manic looking grin with it. The trio found themselves in the midst of a huge dense forest.
And sitting right in the middle of the path through the trees was….
My bit:
. . . a rather morose tortoise.
“Morning Esther. See you got youself some-muer learners,”
“Well, I’m not at all sure of that,” Esther retorted, “I don’t think this pair could take a nap, much less take a hint.”
“Why that is urnfotunate,” Henry Tuttle replied, giving the children a stare that seemed to suggest that they would deserve whatever they got. “You two a better be minding Esther, hear. This ain’t no place to be a foolin.”
“Henry Tuttle, we are in a hurry, so I don’t have any time to waste, please move out of the way so we can pass.”
Dot turned to Evan and sniggered, as she whispered, “The turtle’s called Tuttle.”
“You know that I am not only magical, but that these big ears aren’t just for show,” the hare snapped. That’s strike two. Crocodile tears and sniggers. My badness, you children won’t learn a thing, I’ll wager. I don’t know why Cousin Bunny is even giving you a chance.”
With that, she pushed past the tortoise and snapped, “Keep up or I will just leave you here.”
It was all the children could do to follow her into the hole in a hollow tree where . . . ”
Padre
I nominate Joanne the Geek to continue the tale or to pass it on.
_______________________
Teresa has started a new; Finish The Story.
First, the rules:
1) Copy and paste the story as you receive it
2) Contribute to or finish the story
3) Tag another person to continue (unless you finish it, of course)
4) Have fun!
Pat your pocket, pat it twice
Here’s your link to that ASDA price
It will take you over the River Yare
But better over than under – as pictured hare (here)
Crimson’s Creative Challenge #68
Padre
