Patriarch

 

Peter replied, ‘From foreigners.’ <br/></dt><dd class=

“If your journey is of God then my blessing will be unnecessary,” the Patriarch explained to his son. “And if it is not of God, then my blessing will be useless.”

“But Father, I cannot go without your benediction.  That is the law.”

“Son, if I said that I thought the venture was foolhardy and unlikely to prosper – what would you have said?”

“I would have replied, that you could not possibly know and that I would prove your opinion wrong, and then I would ask for the required blessing.”

“And if I then said the formal words, but without a godly intent, or my heartfelt belief in your cause – what would you have done?” the old man asked.

“I would have knelt to receive my blessing, and then ran off to join my friends at the pier,” the son replied.

“Then, as I have said, my blessing would be truly useless.  Therefore, I shall not sully the sacred words by thus uttering them.”

The young man stared at his father in disbelief, and then shouted, “I hate you,” and ran off into the fields to feel sorry for his misfortune of having such a hateful father.

While the young man moped, his friends set sail to find their fortunes.  Later that day the tiny ship was caught up in a freak storm and was lost with all on board.

When word of the tragedy reached the village, the Patriarch turned his face heavenwards and said, “Thanks for the heads up.”

 

Padre

 

Tale Weaver – #284 – Blessing

 

Image: FreeBibleImages

 

 

 

The Dragon Hunter Part 4

Dragon, Zodiac, Chinese, Culture, East, China, Oriental

Pixabay

As Wilfred entered the flickering glow, he discovered that the passage was lined with an assortment of high quality, state of the art armour.  There was no coherent pattern as far as he could detect.  There seemed to be Nordlanic, Ralulee, and Kingdom styles, yet each bore the rearing dragon sigel of Hanon.  As he slowly passed these, there was an  occasional roar, as if a great burst of breath was being released.  These bursts echoed through the cavern.  Each of them was accompanied by a momentary increase in the brightness of the passage.  At the last of these, he noted a bunk wedged in among the racks of armour and weapons.  On the bunk rested the other sentry, a blindfold of sorts shielding his eyes from the periodic flashes of scarlet light, as he slumbered.

Wilfred wasted no time, but quickly repeated the procedure whereby he had captured the other guard.  The man thus incapacitated, Wilfred rounded a bend in the tunnel towards the sound of the incessant metallic pounding.

What he discovered was a group of Dwarves working a huge set of bellows and working anvils on which they were affixing dragon crests to armour, or replicating weapons in the styles of those Wilfred had seen in racks.

“Who are you, Boy?” one burly Dwarf snapped, “and where are the guards?”

“Guards?” Wilfred repeated.  It was only then that he noticed that the Dwarves were shackled.  “I – I um – tied them up.”

“Well then what are you wait’n for?” the lead Dwarf challenged.  “Come and unlock us.”

“But, I don’t have a key,” Wilfred replied.  “Why don’t you just use your tools to break out?”

“Why don’t you just use your tools?” the Dwarf mocked.  “Why didn’t we think a-that? Becuz the chains is bleed’n magic ain’t they?” the Dwarf spat.  “Why don’t you go and fetch the bloody key?” the Dwarf said coldly.

Wilfred hurried back to the bunk, and there on a hook was a key with mysterious runes on it.  He went back to the Dwarves, and held it up.

“Yes -yes.  That’s it,” the lead Dwarf said, “So get on with it.”

“First, tell me where the dragon is,” Wilfred insisted.

“There ain’t no bleed’n dragon, you dunce,” the Dwarf responded.  “It’s all a ruze. A ploy.  Them Hannies made up the bloom’n dragon caper so they could steal the armour and weapons to equip their army.  This place ain’t got no iron to speak of, and no good smitties that’s for certain. So they lure heroes ‘ere and ambush ’em.  That’s how they got me and the lads as well.  But they kept us alive to do their dirty work.  The rest they strip, then toss in the furnace – just long enough to char them – mind.  Then they take the bodies back to the border to build up their dragon yarn.  Now, about the bloom’n key.”

“I will let you go, but I need you to do something for me first,” Wilfred said.

“And what might that be?” the lead Dwarf asked with a huff.

“I want you to make me a dragon’s head.”

 

Padre

 

Rewriting History

CCC #88

It had long been believed that the extinction of the dinosaurs had been the direct result of a meteor strike in the Caribbean.  Though no one at NASA or NOAA had ever acknowledged the fact, a deep ocean scan in the 1960s had discovered that rather than a large meteor, the object that struck was in fact a large spacecraft which hit at a much lower velocity that originally believed.  This craft had been examined by a joint American and French team with recovery operations led by Jacque Cousteau.  Much had been learned, but the cause of the crash had never been adequately explained until an amateur photographer in the English county of Norfolk happened onto a huge nut, of an unidentified alloy, along the coastline.  The mystery had been solved.  Official explanations for her discovery, however, have been covered up under the Official Secrets Act, and buried within a series of photo-prompted sketches on a popular blogging site.

 

 

CCC #88

 

Padre

High and Dry

77166850-13AB-49F8-B9C9-28FD591962CF

Google Hub Photo Frame

Extinction took a different connotation during the third peak of Covid 19.  Lock-down was accompanied by “shoot to kill” orders for violators.  Extinction, with this new mutated form, was something that even Right Wing deniers had to accept.

Extinction took a different connotation; Extinction Rebellion was all but a footnote.  Lock-down led to work from home orders.  Long nights of lights burning, and the constant demand on the internet raised electricity demand three-fold.  In order to cope, governments recommissioned coal fed plants.

Extinction took a different connotation, in light of the power drains and the thawing of the last of the Ross Ice Shelf, as well as the ice from, the now green, Greenland.  David ignored the last stay at home order and grabbed Barbara and the kids and made his way the the High Sierras.

Extinction was far from David’s mind as he stepped from his little cabin at New Sierra.  He took Barbara’s hand and they gazed into the Pacific sunset outside their home.  Tomorrow at low-tide, they would picnic on the beach.

 

Padre

 

Fandango’s Flash Fiction Challenge #74

 

 

Brownie Kinbump

 

Fairy, Fae, Wings, Fantasy, Magic, Fairytale, Woman

Pixabay

Brownie Kinbump was bored.

“There is nothing to do,” Brownie Kinbump said.

Brownie Kinbump saw a family.  The family had a mum, a boy, and a girl.

The family was playing.  The family was flying a kite.

The family had left a picnic basket on a blanket.

Brownie Kinbump wanted to see what was in the basket,

Brownie Kinbump went and peeked in the basket.

Brownie Kinbump fell in the basket, next to an apple.

Brownie Kinbump liked apples.

The family picked up the basket.

The family put the basket down again.

Brownie Kinbump peeked out of the basket.

Brownie Kinbump was in a house.

Brownie Kinbump saw the girl.

The girl was dressed like a Brownie.

The girl saw Brownie Kinbump.

The girl jumped up and down and clapped her hands.

The girl said she would take Brownie Kinbump to help her sell cookies.

Brownie Kinbump said, “What’s the matter with you?  With growing childhood obesity and type 2 diabetes, you should be ashamed of yourself.  Besides real brownies eat fruit.  Fruit, not that processed rubbish.”

 

Padre

 

Trespassers

 

CCC#86

The boys looked eagerly through a gap in the orchard wall.  Just beyond, luscious fresh fruit would be theirs for the taking.  At nine feet in height the barrier wasn’t practical to scale, well at least on the return journey with their arms full of the delicious bounty.

As Charlie reached for the gate, to see if he could open it, an Old Timer called out to him.

“Yea won’t be wanting the meddle with that there gate, young fellers,” he called.

“Why not?” asked Davy.

“On account of them there high tech security systems, and such,” the codger replied.

“A security system on a rickety old gate like this?” Charlie questioned with an air of disbelief.

“Aye. It’s been said around these parts that those be Bill’s Gates.”

 

Padre

 

Crimson’s Creative Challenge #86

Sentry

F3D75BFB-5037-4AFF-A897-E9EC9D1A82F9

Davidoasa at Pixabay.com

“Alright, Hunt, you shall be relieving Tyler,” Ensign Biggleswade said.  “Take off your breastplate and helmet and place them next to Tyler’s over there.”

The pikeman complied and then returned to stand before the officer.

“Now, let me see the bottom of your shoes,” Biggleswade instructed.

The soldier gave a puzzled look and then lifted his left foot to allow the officer to see the iron hobnails on the sole.

“Take them off and put them with your armour,” he was told.

Now standing in stockinged feet, Hunt waited for further order.

“Do you have a pipe?” the ensign asked.

“Yes Sir,” the pikeman replied.

“Go put it and your flints and any tappers into your shoes.”

“Pardon me, Sir.  May I ask why I have had to strip so?”

“Simply put Hunt, you are going to go into those cloisters and guard five hundred barrels of gunpowder.  We don’t want any accidents.”

“Thank you, Sir,” the soldier said.

“Thank you?” the ensign asked.

“For looking out for me, Sir.”

“Ah, protect you.  That too, I suppose,” the officer mused aloud.  “However, the king’s primary concern is not having to rebuild Oxford.”

 

Padre

 

Fandango’s Flash Fiction Challenge #72

 

Lost In Translation

Two Men Talking

image – Pexels

Crystal let out an involuntary laugh, and then tried to stifle her giggles.  The two broad shouldered macho-types sitting on her couch looked at her as if she had gone mad.

“What’s so funny?” her boyfriend Rich asked.

“It’s just – it’s just,” she tried to say before bursting into another chuckle.  Calming herself, she finally managed to say, “It’s just that Dave just asked you, ‘Do you remember when we used to hump until we died?’.  You don’t want to know the image that went through my mind,” she said, before bursting into another fit of laughter.

“Ha ha,” Rich said sarcastically.  “Hump – ‘hike with full gear and pack’.”

“I need to hit the head,” Dave said.

“Down the hall and on the left,” Rich replied.

As his buddy left the room, Rich said, “I know Marine jargon is a bit arcane, but just try to act like a grown up.”

“Okay,” she said and then burst into laughter again, “You two humping.  Can’t wait to tell Janet.”

 

Padre

 

FOWC with Fandango — Arcane

 

 

 

 

 

Questionnaire

Writing, Pen, Man, Ink, Paper, Pencils

Pixabay

Kurt stared at the unwelcome questionnaire and sighed. Another waste of at least fifteen minutes of my life, he thought to himself, as he ticked the first of eighty-five boxes. Have you had formal training?  Yes, and tick, he said silently.  Have you had formal vocational training? Yes, duhIf yes, to what level?  Culinary College, tick.  After another dozen questions he stared incredulously at the form. What does my sexuality have to do with whether I can bake or not? he inwardly fumed, ticking the Prefer not to say box.

Padre

Weekend Writing Prompt #163 – Unwelcome in 91 words

The Piece

Rust, Wall, Texture, Old, Vintage, Rustic, Grunge, Door

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

 

Tale Weaver – #281 – Artwork