Tag Archives: FOWC

Karry-no-key

I did karaoke once. That was enough, for me, and for everyone else’s aural health. I think I had conjured up a romantic idea of the experience from movies such as 27 Dresses and How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days. Supposedly, you can impulsively grab a microphone and start belting out a song without any preparation, and even if you don’t have a great voice and are somewhat off-key, you’ll still sound okay and look adorable. 😍

Wrong! You have to start with a decent voice, know the song, especially when to start and stop, and have a sense of music generally. Which I do not. Otherwise you’re just filling the room with a cacophony of noise. It’s not fun for me to remember how awful I must have been. πŸ˜–

Though they don’t even know, I accept the gratitude of all future ears I won’t harass with my terrible “singing.” 🎢😜🎢

The Quiet Life [fiction 325]

“There she is!”

“Oh, my God! She’s really alive.”

“Can you believe it? After all these years!”

The Countess waved gracefully to the crowd gathered on the lawn. She had agreed to answer a few questions and pointed to a reporter near the edge of the stone steps. Two armed guards stood at the bottom of each side of the steps, ostensibly to deter anyone from coming too close.

“Countess Greta,” the reporter said. “It’s so good to see you again. What inspired you to emerge from your solitude?”

Greta smiled and indicated the perfectly maintained grounds. “I wanted a fresh lemon for my afternoon tea.”

Everyone laughed politely. It wasn’t a real answer, for they all knew the Countess could summon a servant to fetch a lemon.

Another reporter asked, “We were used to seeing you dressed in mourning black. Does your more colorful attire signal a change in your lifestyle as well? Will you be entering society again?”

The crowd murmured. It was a bold question, to indirectly refer to the death of the Count. No one really knew what had happened, though of course there were many stories and rumors, some of them bordering on the scandalous and vile.

But Greta appeared unfazed. She touched the lace of her heather pink dress and said, “Oh, thank you for noticing my gown. It is springtime after all. But I do prefer the quiet life of reading poetry and painting watercolors in my studio.”

A few more questions followed regarding her taste in poets and such. One of the guards subtly shifted position, at which point, the Countess said, “It’s been lovely chatting with you all. We shall do it again soon.” With that, she disappeared back into the cavernous castle.

“She has so much class.”

“So ephemeral.

“Such a great beauty, even now.”

“How old is she? Does anyone know?”

“The guards seemed more concerned with keeping her in than keeping us out.”

~*~

Written for The Daily Echo

The Last Firewall

She’d dreamt this moment

Into being, and behold!

His fearsome form appeared

Like an emerald angel,

Launched from the stars.

No angel he, but a vengeful beast,

Intent on destruction, far and wide.

That’s why she’d been hidden here,

Behind the last firewall,

Safe from the dragon’s ire.

They’d built an asbestos tower

To keep her from her prince,

Yet here he was, anger flowing

In molten streams of red and gold,

But accomplishing nothing.

She waited, wondering…

What would be his strategy?

Surely he would rescue her,

Not fail, after coming this far.

But he drank from the moat

Of Hypnos and lay down to sleep.

She cried bitter tears

That turned into a river of ice;

If only he’d known

He could have whispered her name

And the gate

Would have opened.

Keep It Down

Spectators gathered

In the alley.

There seemed to be an

Impromptu play happening

About noise, with a catch–

There were no words.

Mimes conveyed a bitter,

Twisted drama

To an enthralled crowd.

The mimes writhed

And expressed every

Sick, tortured emotion

With their graceful bodies

And supple faces.

Finally, the one killed the other

For gesturing too loudly;

It was not a match

Made in silent heaven.

Every Day is Friyay

When you’re the King of the Castle!

Gatsby here. Like my new pic? It’s properly regal, I thought, except for the campy toy that Mommy insisted on plopping near my face.

She says it’s my first toy, one they sent home with me from the shelter. Mommy just found it in the bottom of a basket and gets sentimental over things like this, but I’m a rebel and will claw it up same as all the other toys. Equality!

Seems like an eternity since I last blogged, but ’twas only Sunday. Busy busy. Must go prowl about and see if anything needs to be killed. Bye for meow! 🐱

Happy 4th! (with bonus rant)

My latest discovery, which I will share, is that everything is ridiculously complicated and costs too damn much.

In my youth, life was simple (although frequently unhappy). My mom did many things herself, but now these projects are out of reach. Take knitting and crocheting and sewing, forex. Loading up on the supplies costs a fortune and the patterns are complicated, wah. Don’t even get me started on scrapbooking (again) or making bead jewelry. Soooo costly! Plus, in my case, I’d have to take classes first, for jewelry, sewing, cooking, etc. I’m not one who can watch a video for twenty minutes and then go mmhmm now I see how to construct a tiny house, easy peasy!

I remember we usually had an aquarium going on. My mom dealt with it, but it could not have been outrageously expensive because we weren’t wealthy and we lived in small apartments for many years. The aquariums were really pretty, but the fish died often, and we were always traipsing off to the pet store for little baggies of new ones. I bet now though aquariums are just another one of those crazy costly and super complex hobbity bobbity things.

I liked watching the bright little neons dart through the water after their specks of food. We had graceful black and white stripey fish and some goldfish varieties too. A few catfish at the bottom keeping things clean. Mom always indulged me and got a teeny pirate treasure chest for decoration in the sand. Haven’t thought about our aquariums for years…

Ah yes, the sands of time, rushing so fast through the hourglass now, piling up at the bottom, waiting to meet that last big wave that will wash them out to the eternal ocean and then… and then what?

Nothing.

*

You know, I feel I’m pretty chill with anyone who comments here unless they’re an obvious spammer or troll. If you’re of a different political persuasion, cool, just keep it civil and don’t insult other peeps or me. I have accepted loads of criticism and disagreements over the years. Don’t mind it at all, and I particularly welcome any comments on my poetry and fiction. I am not thrilled with advice I haven’t solicited, especially about health, but whatever.

But that’s not the case elsewhere. Some bloggers don’t want any disagreement or difference of opinion. I’ve noticed I will be condescended to or explained at if I dare to express a thought contrary to the OP’s. That is unpleasant, FYI, and I will not be visiting these blogs much or at all in the future.

YHBW. πŸ™‚

Have a great weekend! β˜„οΈπŸ’₯πŸ”₯

Dreams

Bubbles form and float in the deep…

Thought waves building as I sleep;

Jumbled dreams crash to the shore,

Tickling my consciousness

With the hiss of ideas

And ebbing away once more.

I wake in the dark and everything seems

Possible; I’m energized with the drive

To change my life today…

But I drift off with the waves;

My dreams dissolve,

As if they never knew the warmth

Of the fine sand

Or the infinite paths

Out of the swirling sea.

Tunnel Music [flash 250]

She crouched in the tunnel, wedged behind a concrete pillar. It was damp and cold back here, and she was hungry and tired. But this was the designated meeting place. It was imperative that she obtain that thumb drive and pass it along to her superior officer Agent K back at base.

She smiled at the thought of seeing Agent K again. He was so handsome! Suddenly she heard music, very faintly. Omg! She had been here so long she was hallucinating!

Cautiously, she straightened and moved away from the pillar, her silent movement sending a small puff of dust up from the dirty floor.

The music became louder. It sounded very familiar… an old-fashioned melody without words. Who was playing it? The opposition obviously… but where would he hide? She had been carefully watching this end of the tunnel and Agent R was at the other.

The shadows became a person: Agent R was walking toward her. “I have a surprise for you, Agent G,” she said, holding up her phone, from which the lilting music flowed.

“But… but… the mission!” Agent G sputtered in confusion. What was happening?

A man stepped out from the shadows behind Agent R. “Forgive the ruse, Agent G. There is no double agent to meet tonight.”

“Agent K!” She was so thrilled to see him. “What are you doing here?”

He got down on one knee in front of her. “I came here to propose to you. Please say yes, Agent G.”

The Right Door [flash 217]

It was supposed to be my vacation. A long overdue break from demands, deadlines, and stress. But I couldn’t relax. During the mornings, I sat on the sand, watching the waves, my stomach a knot of anxiety. In the afternoons, I wandered through the quaint shops, where tourists tried to scramble over each other for bargains, but I walked away, uninterested. Why couldn’t I enjoy myself?

And at night came the dreams, each one more disturbing than the last. The dark corridor, the semi-open doors with a faint glow of light emanating from inside. But I couldn’t see what was happening. A vague sickly sweet odor. Fabric rustling. Moans… of pleasure or pain? I could not tell. I knew I had to choose a room, and once I made my choice, all others would disappear. But each night I awoke drenched in fear just as I stepped over the threshold of the one I’d chosen.

Except this night, the last one of my stay. I walked resolutely down the shadowed hall, the decaying fragrance stronger than ever. I heard fabric tearing, as if someone were ripping a bedsheet with their bare hands. And then in the deepest, most recessed alcove I found the right door. All my worry melted away as I glided into the light.

~*~

The Daily Echo

The Analyst [flash 150]

“A boa constrictor wrapped around your boss’s head?” She made a note on the chart. “And what else do you see?”

He leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes. Swirls of color rushed through his mind forming brief images and breaking apart again. Then he gazed at the poster once more. “A bonfire. A bonfire of charge cards.”

She bent her head and wrote something. “Very interesting. Anything else?”

“The neighbor’s cat. It’s always digging in our flower garden. Annoying little critter.”

There was a rap tap tap on the office door. “Must be an emergency,” she said.

He shrugged. “They always are.”

The door opened. “Excuse me, but it’s time for Analyst Britney’s ballet lesson.”

Britney jumped out of her chair. “Oh hi, Mommy. We were just about to have a breakthrough!”

He waved them off. “My brain should still be here when you get back. Hopefully.”

~*~

50-Word Thursday