Sunday Photo Fiction – October 23rd 2016


The idea of Sunday Photo Fiction is to create a story / poem or something using around about 200 words with the photo as a guide.

The city stretched before him, tangled mass of metal and humans and fear. Oh, yes, fear. Humans lived with fear so intricately tangled into every aspect of their lives, they had forgotten what it meant to be free. No masters needed to put the human race in slavery, they did that for themselves, no matter the color of their skin. Slavery, after all, isn’t all chains and whips. Each village build, tower raised, each step of ‘progress’ took men further from the truth. They told stories to trap the monsters and gods out of their lives and into books. Fiction. Forgotten. Dust.

Gods gave meaning to the lives of men, but mankind didn’t want freedom. He was not, would not, would never be the god of fear, rather the god of everything free – free speech, free lives, free minds.

Time to retire to Shady Groves Forgotten Gods Home in the sky.

Maybe… just maybe, Loki had waited for his next move in their chess game. Probably not, the little stinker.  He cheated.

Opening his eyes, he studied the chess board.  Good thing he was the god of Memory too.

DP Writing Prompt 1-31-2016

I apologize because this story does not fit the 200 words, however, the story stayed the way the story wanted to stay.  Thanks.

Lying In Waituntitled

The ducklings floated close to their mother, exploring the pond around them, safe under her watchful eye. I wondered how she managed to care for, and watch, so many ducklings at once. For a moment, I marveled at the arc of dried grasses, tips dipping down to kiss the water’s surface. The soft sounds of spring peepers radiated from the grasses, reminding me of childhood. Or what I’d had of a childhood.
It didn’t hurt anymore. I’d given up that fight. For a moment, I had to wondered how I could see such beauty, such tenderness as a mother duck with her young, and not be struck down by God. Maybe you had to believe in him to be struck down.
Footsteps echoed on the wooden bridge, men and women walking from one side of the lake to the other, children bouncing from rail to rail. Excited cried of ‘Look at the turtle.’ ‘Did you see the baby ducks. Can I take one home?’ More subdued ‘Is that an alligator, Mom?’
If any of them had looked at me, they would have seen nothing unusual, just a man in baggy shorts and a ‘I keep hitting the delete key but you’re still here,’ tee-shirt.  Tennis shoes because, well it’s damned hard to run in sandals if the need arises.
Average Joe, that’s me.
My eyes traced lines from mothers to children as they took in the beauty of the lake. Happy all of them, at least on the outside.  Most folks looked happy, pretending where other eyes might see.  I knew most of them were different inside, but then I was, too.
I spotted him as he stepped onto the walkway from the other side of the lake, sound of his footsteps rolling through the wood to throb inside my body. This was the start.
Tall. Dark suit. Sunglasses. Men in Black, anyone? Most of the people glanced sideways as he passed, but not for long. Instinctively, they knew he was to be avoided, not to even be seen. I could feel his eyes boring into me with every step that brought closer. Without even knowing what they were doing, the people faded away, hurrying to the Nature Center or the Cafeteria, anywhere but here.
I turned as he reached me, leaning back against the railing. I could still hear the soft sounds of the mother duck gathering her brood.  Even she knew the feel of danger.
“Well,” I drawled. “If it isn’t my brother.  Looking sharp, Cain.”
Even behind his glasses, I knew he didn’t blink.  He never blinked, the ice-cold reptile that was my brother.
“Abel,” he returned, voice cold as winter.
“How’s crops?”
“Growing well on the blood of your flock.”
“Oh,” I waved a lazy hand.  “I found a different flock ages ago.  Not quite so…. sheepish.
“Always the humor, brother.”
“Well, somebody in the family has to have humor. Lord knows you don’t. Mom and Did didn’t much either. That’s what eating fruit will do for you.”
Cain looked around.  “Charming spot for dying.  I see you have resigned yourself to the role.” He looked over the railing. “Alligators.  Hum.”
I grinned. “Yeah, fancy that.”  And then I shot him. Poor Cain, he never adapted well to change. As he crumbled, I moved forward, ducking down to put my shoulders under his legs.  Pushing up, I tipped him up and over into the water. Let the alligator’s do their work.


An Unorthodox Belief in Faith

Response to the Daily Post question about faith.



I don’t have any strictly organized faith. This was not the fault of my parents. They went to church regularly, taking my sister and me regardless of our preferences. It wasn’t until we got into High School that we were allowed to choose two Sundays a month to skip Church. I think my parents expected us to inhale the whole of religion from Sunday School, Church and Youth Group. Obviously, I didn’t. Yes, I know the stories and basics but, being the literal person I am, I’ve always had a hard time with the strict concepts of faith.

My parents never talked about their beliefs. I saw my father praying in church but never understood what prayer meant to him because he never told me. Did he believe strictly along denominational lines or did his faith veer off somewhere along the way, taking in the bits and pieces which made sense to him and leaving the rest?

If I believe Jesus is the son of god, do I then need to believe each and every word written about him? If I believe in the story of Noah’s Ark, how do I mesh that with the scientific history of the world?

History is written by the victors. So how do I balance that with a word-for-word belief in the Bible? The Disciples were starting a ‘new’ religion. Can you tell me without a shadow of a doubt that none of them ever embellished a story?

The Disciples were actually just revising a religion. The idea of one God wasn’t new, just some of the building blocks of the Bible are differ from those which came before. Or maybe not. Comparative Religion was never a serious interest for me.

Don’t get me wrong. I love the idea of religion. It plays a large role in several of the manuscripts piling up on my bookcase. I just don’t believe organized religion works well in the real world. Too many years of Victors rewriting history to champion their cause.

And that certainly does not mean I don’t believe. I believe all the gods in all the religions are one. I believe we are all one. The ‘god’ is in us and is us. I don’t need the four walls of a building to celebrate the beauty and glory of the God within us all. All I need is a beautiful sunset or the quiet call of the whip-or-will to remind me of the real truth of God. Those things are worth more than all the Sunday’s of my life spent inside four walls, worshiping like I’d been taught, not how I really believe.