Quote For The Day 6-25-2017

“Heroes know that things must happen when it is time for them to happen. A quest may not simply be abandoned; unicorns may go unrescued for a long time, but not forever; a happy ending cannot come in the middle of the story.”
Peter S. Beagle, The Last Unicorn

Friday Fictioneers 3-10-2017

untitledff

yellow-bug-shaktiki

PHOTO PROMPT © Shaktiki Sharma

Friday Fictioneers

“Closer, move him closer,” Jacs whispered.

“I’ve got it!”

“So move him closer.”

“Shut…..!”

Which he did for about five seconds. “I can’t hear.”

“Well,” Tim whispered, “if you’d just shut up and let me work…..”

“Okay….”

Another five seconds.

“Hurry.”

“SHUT UP!”

“You are the only person I know who can shout in a whisper.”

Tim ignored him, jumping the grasshopper inside the door.

“Oh, look, a grasshopper.” Female. Footsteps like thunder.

“Crap!” in unison.

The woman tossed the grasshopper out.

“Thank god. If the BugsMilitaryListeningDevice prototype had been destroyed, we’d be in deep you-know-what!”

But it hadn’t.

Success!

FRIDAY FICTIONEERS 3-4-2017

friday-fictioneers-farm-path

clouds-above-the-trees

PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields


Inside

I can only know you, he said, if I’m inside
And so he crawled in,
My legs spread like a sprawling giraffe.
I am in you.
I am in you.
Like clouds on the sun,
Shadows pretending rain.
When he found nothing
He crawled out,
Walked away without
A word of
Goodbye.

FLASH FICTION FOR THE PURPOSEFUL PRACTITIONER- 2017 WEEK #03

 

The challenge for Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner will open early Thursday morning, January 12th. Allow the prompt to take you anywhere you want to go! (Limit your stories to 200 words.)

This challenge is open until 11:00 pm Wednesday night, January 18th, 2017.

Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner

man

The statue of Man faced the building, across a paved courtyard, like an omen. An omen for what, he wasn’t sure. Maybe it was the statue’s blank eyes or the glass facade of the building, but he actually hesitated. Not for long, but long enough.

Hands in pants pockets, he regarded both, statue and building. He’d learned to trust his instincts: they were shouting at him to walk away. Why?

He didn’t take walking away lightly. In his price range, it wasn’t wise. Still, stepping back to wait for another opportunity was acceptable. He had no interest in returning payment, but neither was he going to turn stupid and miss the chance to spend the money.

He dialed a number on a cell he’d soon throw away. “Carter. You checked the Client?” Of course, he had, but asking never hurt. And asking would tell Carter things he didn’t want to put into words while in public.

“Don’t I always? The money’s good; it’s in the bank.”

“Look again. Deeper.”

“Davis?” A pause. “Okay.”

Davis looked at the statue once more – the building – and walked away.

Daily Post One Word Prompt – Maddening

Maddening

 

He set the book in his lap and leaned back, nape of his neck resting against the rough horse-hide of the chair. Not his choice of sitting accouterments, but then again, this wasn’t his place. More a borrowed place.

Regardless of ownership, he loved this place. It allowed him to escape the endless ebb and flow of the world. Of reporters and paparazzi; a million people calling his name, pulling him in a million difference directions. The second leg of their tour started in two weeks and he was wiped out. He loved touring, loved interacting with the fans, but the older he got the more downtime he needed if, for nothing else, the fragile thing he called sanity.

Not that he considered himself anywhere near sane. Life in the music biz had never been sane. His parents had called him high-sprung; his friends crazy and the band members, probably, an arrogant prick.  Which, he was. He was all of the above, but fronting a band like The Secret Agents and being the main creative genius, didn’t tend to engender one towards sanity.

Jay walked in and sank down into the other chair, shifting around to get comfortable. “I hate these chairs.”

Chris raised his eyebrows. “And you are sitting there why?”

“To bug the hell out of you.”

Chris snorted.  “Well done, Jazzman. Well done.”

“The call earlier was Kerry,” Jay said, leaning over to look at the book in Chris’ lap. “He’ll be back by the beginning of next week.  Rudy should be here by then, too.”

Kerry was thir bassist. Rudy the drummer, both coming in upon the departure of an original band member.

“So why the hell are you here and not amongst that gypsy band you call kids.”

“It’s so not a gypsy band,” Jay protested.

“How many kids is it now?” Chris asked.  “Ten… twenty?”

“Seven.”

“And one on the way.”

“Well, yeah.” Jay blushed, faint redness spreading across brown skin. “I’ll be heading home for few days so I can be back with the others.”

They fell silent.

“Are you all right?” Jay asked.

“Yeah,” came the answer, more upbeat than was the truth. He was never wholly all right, but he’d learned to keep himself to himself. It made things easier all around. No one need know the maddening world inside him.

He felt Jay watching him, figured  he wasn’t fooling the other man.

“No more broken mirrors,” Jay said, suddenly serious.

“Nope.”

“Make sure you eat.”

“Yep.”

“Sleep.”

“Yep.” He was lying and they both knew it.

Rising, Jay lay a hand on his shoulder.  “Call me.”

“Yep.” He didn’t watch Jay walked out. Heard the faint sound of the outer door closing behind him.

Alone folded him inside. Hidden, sinking into the disorder of his own mind.