Grammar Goof 7-21-2018

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Reena’s Exploration Challenge – Week 44 7-5-2018

challenge 44

Reena’s Exploration Challenge Week 44

The format can be a a story/poem/rant/anecdotes/journalistic coverage of events/ reflections as usual.

Pour out, and let it flow ….

LAST WEEK’S ROUND UP

Jim Adams at

https://jimadamsauthordotcom.wordpress.com/2018/06/28/the-grim-reaper-is-waiting/

Eugenia at

http://amanpan.com/2018/06/29/the-conclusion/

hecblogger (Amit Agrawal) at

http://playingwithwords.blog/2018/06/30/%e0%a4%95%e0%a4%ac%e0%a5%8d%e0%a4%b0-%e0%a4%95%e0%a5%87-%e0%a4%aa%e0%a4%be%e0%a4%b8/

Jane Basil at

https://janebasilblog.wordpress.com/2018/06/30/38123/

Michael at

http://summerstommy.com/2018/07/01/reenas-exploration-challenge-week-43-in-death/

Bladud Fleas at

https://moonisrising.wordpress.com/2018/07/01/spark/

Indira at

https://amaltaas.wordpress.com/2018/07/03/reenas-exploration-challenge-week-43-honour-killing

athling2001 at

https://athling2001.wordpress.com/2018/07/05/response-reenas-exploration-challenge-week-43-7-3-2018/

Reena Saxena at

https://reinventionsreena.wordpress.com/2018/07/05/be-not-vain/

 

 

 

 

Response Reena’s Exploration Challenge Week 43 7-3-2018

Reena’s Exploration Challenge

 I am keeping it simple this week with a picture prompt.

Mary Shelley - Literary Witches

Image Credit: Mary Shelley


The prospect of death didn’t frighten him. He knew his family would grieve, but he’d be dead so he wouldn’t know or, by that time, care. Dead was dead. Period. None of that idiotic coming back as a bug if you hadn’t lived your life right; thought what was meant by ‘right’ was a question in itself. No angels blowing the trumpets with Saint Peter at the Pearly Gates, pointing either up or down.

How could he? There was no heaven and no hell. No monster wreaking havoc upon a fellow for the rest of eternity.

Dead. Was. Dead. Period.

His mother was dead. His father. Aunts and uncles, maybe some nieces or nephews. Come to think of it, there wouldn’t be anyone to grieve him anyway.

Good. He despised moaning and wailing, but even more so, quiet tears. Tombstones. Flowers.

Lord, deliver him from flowers on his grave. Stinking, wilting, browning, ugly flowers.

Lord, just give him oblivion.

That wasn’t so much to ask, was it?

Death came quickly at the end, though it had taken years of pain and suffering to reach that end. Laying in his hospital bed, frail and broken and done. There was nothing else he wanted besides death. He just closed his eyes one day and was gone.

Did he reach the Pearly Gates? Did he turn into a bug? Was he roasting for eternity or living on a fluffy cloud somewhere in an invisible realm? No one knows and no one will ever know. Death is like that, personal for each and every one of us, a creeping blackness closing slowly in from the first in-drawn breath.

If you see him after, you might ask, but you might not. Probably won’t. There are a thousand miles of darkness in death. How likely you’d find one soul in a million.

But, it doesn’t matter. Maybe he was right. Maybe there is nothing. Maybe….

It doesn’t matter. Just close your eyes and sleep.

Everything will be over in the morning.

Question of the Day 7-2-2018

Please feel free to answer these questions on your blog or in the responses. If you leave me a link to your post, I will re-post it on my blog. You can also feel free to forward these questions to anybody who might be interested. Thank you to those who have already shared their thoughts.


What is your favorite Broadway Musical?

By and far, and always, the best – Phantom of the Opera.

Okay, I haven’t seen any others, but I am happy to stop at Phantom. From the very first chord to the last lingering notes of Erik proclaiming “It’s over now, the Music of the Night,” I get chills.

Face it, I’m a sucker for the tortured soul. I won’t say many of my characters are tortured in the same way as Erik, but they all have a bit of torture in them. I relate to him as both a person and a writer. I also played Erik in several play-by-mail games and had a blast!

So, what is your favorite Broadway Musical?

 

Friday Fictioneers 7-2-2018

 
PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields


He sat frowning, frustrated, staring at the small workstation stuck in the corner of the room. It wasn’t like he couldn’t write here, but the lack of space, and freedom, irked his sense of creativity.

Picking up a guitar, he stepped onto the balcony and settled into a chair, strumming softly. Singing softer, words for his ears only.

The sky was bright blue, fluffed with clouds. A breeze nuzzled his hair and, for the first time in days, he was content.

Music rolled off his fingers, words from his tongue. Angels bending down around him, whispering in his ear.