A Tall Tale

(https://preziosofrye.wordpress.com/2017/03/15/walking-along/)

 

Walking along I came to the end of a rainbow. “Well damn!” I thought surprised though there should be a pot of gold, well; at least in all the stories I’d read. “Isn’t there supposed to be a pot of gold, and King Brian, where’s King Brian?” He stood taller than me, had he been by the tree I wasn’t sure but strong built, a non-threatening air and welcome said his grin. I looked up at him into smiling eyes. They did, well, they were. I couldn’t help thinking, “fuck me it’s true; he’s taller than I tho…”

 

I stirred and saw he was sitting lighting his pipe. With a leg extended he gave a kick. A jingle sounded like coins falling on the ground. So distracted by his eyes he tilted his head, I followed his gaze and looked. It was a small pot but not a cauldron, nothing for brew… well, not that kind. His arm around me gently pulled me close in, “well now it has been quite a night…”

 

 

The First Thing They Teach You Is Never Assume

 

 

You know that’s the thing. If I had a nickel for every time someone figured I couldn’t possibly know anything when I visit his or her country. How could I not? Being an outsider you have to know more, where you’re going, how to get there and most importantly what to do when you get there. Take these two women for instance:

 

I’d flown in to this lovely little town in Northern Italy on holiday. For fun I thought I’d check out public transportation instead of shimmering around like usual, faster of course but as everyone knows public transportation abroad is top notch. I’d taken the funicolare, a tram that gets you up the mountain and then the bus to get closer to the upper city. These two women who were dressed to the nines and feeling no pain from what I could tell got on and were having trouble with the ticket dispenser. They looked at me and knew I wasn’t from around there automatically figuring there would be no way I could help not speaking their language which translated into I couldn’t know how it worked anyway. I watched them fumble and fuss though laughing at themselves the whole time until finally they gave up and sat down. I stood, went to the machine and retrieved the one ticket they thought they’d lost. Looking at each other they busted out laughing and said in Italian, you’re the one who’s not from here and you know how to work the machine – rough translation but you get it. The other walked to me, I showed her what to do and she got her ticket. When they got off they were both still laughing about how the person who didn’t speak Italian knew how to buy a ticket. I waved ciao, ciao and continued on with the bus then decided to shimmer off and fly around a bit. I noticed the two leaving a pub and flew in close to them to say hello. They were startled to say the least as I uncloaked myself and my ride, this big pussycat of a griffin with the softest fur, brooms can be a little uncomfortable – don’t know how they did it back in the day. In fact they stopped laughing and their jaws dropped. “Never assume” I smiled to them, scratched Pikachu behind the ear (yeah, he just loves watching those cartoons) saying, “let’s go”! He raised us up and I watched as one stepped back from the sidewalk stumble sitting into a puddle in the street as she kept staring up. The other hadn’t budged or taken her eyes of me. I laughed out loud as we disappeared behind the clouds.

 

That’s 10 cents right there. Of course if the exchange rate is still around the way it was or better yet the euro’s gotten more valuable over the American dollar, I could make 20, 25 cents for every time. Even half I’d be making out like a bandit.

In The Middle Of The Night I Woke To Write But I Need A Tissue

 

 

So I did that first. Write, write, write, write… a good kickoff, no? Not. Here I am reading it over and over without an inspirational thought to continue on with. I’d thought maybe the morning or if not I’d check back with it at different times throughout the day and now the sun’s setting – still nothing. There’s a strange light in the distance, you know, over the balcony and the view of the trees. Could be pollution or a small planet. A ship? A specter? Huh. I’m not going to stand here like a fool watching as it gets too close like a Hollywood scene. But what is it? And it is moving. Son of a gun.

 

Which reminds me of that restaurant again…

 

How did I get home? I woke up in bed but the last thing I actually remember was being in the painting watching the flames devour the dining room feeling I was beginning to melt with the colors. It was such a brilliant morning.

 

Guess I’d better make sure her social security checks stop coming to me. At least get that right. Things’ll work out somehow.

 

Nary A Hippodumpling But Human Beans Methinks

 

He seemed transparent, not like men she’d known… No time for that. She watched him tear down the street his feet not touching the ground. She crossed to offer help but he was gone. She saw him again but this time stood in front of him as he was barreling in her direction. “This’ll get his attention – I hope he doesn’t knock me out of the way.” Bracing herself he ran right at her, through her and kept running leaving her tingling like circulation returning.

 

Jen shot up in bed. “I know that street! I’ve got to find him.”

 

 

 

 100wcgu-7

 

 

http://juliasplace.org.uk/100wcgu/100-years-roald-dahl/

 

 

 

Prompt: “…mix a dream for someone. Think about their character and what sort of dream you would like them to have. What happens when they wake up?”

 

 

Celebrating 100 years of Roald Dahl – the amazing wordsmith! 100WCGU#189

Off The Sinus Meds…

 

 

I feel like writing something spooky, been on my mind all morning then I thought of this one piece from a while back to do with underhandedness, keeping social security alive although the recipient is dead and possible consequences. When all is said and done, we do bring it on ourselves…

 

Oohhh… I remember it now and what it was inspired by. Wonder if I could find it? Anyway, the laptop was left on and the woman’s face, I’ll not forget it seemed she was looking straight at me. First of all, I never leave the laptop on, that move was weird in itself. Second, glancing down at the obituary the look on her face startled me. I didn’t remember it looking that way. Why would she care anyway? Can’t use it anymore, her social security I mean. Why come back from the grave to seek… well, what are we seeking? Not revenge, no one was hurt or anything, money wasn’t kept from anyone, she wasn’t murdered to get it, I mean, I wasn’t going to collect it forever, just until all the paperwork caught up. As her caregiver or I should say if I were her caregiver she’d have given it to me and I’d done it with others who never saw fit to come back… wait, well; I guess someone did, that man with her in the restaurant. Didn’t try to collect his though. Guess we make friends in the afterlife.

 

Food for thought.

Shall We Have a Moral To The Story: The Cool Morning Air

 

 

The little toad hadn’t gotten far but nestled itself in the base of a tree just outside her patio. He sat there staring ahead trying to wrap his mind around what had just happened then glancing down noticed his skin had become the same shade as the tree. “Compassion or a side effect? Would she change me back? How do you ask about that when all you can do is croak? Why did I break-in in the first place? Do frogs sleep? Is that what I am?” The sound he let out was weak as the sunset settled into darkness like a blanket over his world. His eyes closed.

 

The morning was peaceful and comfortably cool. She stepped onto the patio coffee in hand to drink in the silence raising the cup just enough to inhale freshly ground steamy goodness. The aroma snaked around him and stirred him. Startled he opened his eyes not in bed but on the ground, saw her standing and was overcome by thoughts of a large mug full along with a bacon, egg and cheese on ciabatta. “I’m hungry.” His tongue shot out snatching a roly-poly from under a leaf. Down his gullet it went. “That was gross… satisfying… will I always be a frog that thinks… and can smell?” And on that note he recalled reading somewhere the roly-poly was not an insect but an animal and wondered if it qualified as meat or wasn’t it a crustacean, then seafood? Helplessness, the hopelessness of his situation, his limitations all overwhelmed him. A fly with a man’s head caught in a spider web flashed in his mind causing a shudder severe enough he jumped from hiding into the open. She looked down.

 

 

He woke on his back stark naked by the tree next to her patio. He sprung up in a sitting position wildly looking around. Next to him was a bath towel. If the police found him he could come up a reason or two as to why he was wearing only a towel running down the sidewalk, maybe humorous enough the police’d help him get home.

 

 

As he sprung from behind the tree toward pavement he heard her sliding glass doors click shut.

Dirges In The Wind

 

 

So much I’ve read

 

Of sorrow

 

Love lost

 

Of woman’s forthright hope

 

Her strength

 

Determination

 

Odds don’t stand a chance

 

But she fights her battle alone

 

His heart never was there

 

 

A woman will despair

 

Why doesn’t he know me?

 

The one who I love

 

Unconditionally

 

Passionately

 

But that’s the thing you see

 

He does know you

 

More than you can ever hope

 

Perfectly, complete

 

 

He knows the song your synapse sings

 

The fire it will bring

 

He could fulfill you more

 

Than a diamond reflects

 

His refractions are limitless

 

Therein lies injustice

 

Upon which his foundation acts

 

Driven, selfish, and vain

 

He knows just how to use them

 

That you don’t detect

 

Undiscovered as of yet

 

 

Time passes

 

Life fleets by

 

How did you get here where you now stand?

 

Feeling without substance, without quality

 

Lost never to be found

 

Take heart yet still lament

 

Let it leap in its pain

 

One thing is certain

 

He knows you inside and out

 

Your dream is reality

 

If but only for his gain

 

 

Or so he thinks

 

 

In all honesty you knew

 

 

“I never took you as stupid”

 

Don’t be afraid to say

 

“I’ve known all along

 

I’ve known since I met you

 

Your ability for pain

 

Substances comprising you

 

Of which no human should be made

 

What you know you’ll gain

 

From what you intend to do

 

Chin up, my dear one

 

I never doubted you, intimate friend

 

But woman has the burden

 

To see it through to the end

 

The path stretched ahead

 

To set you back on the curb

 

As she walks away

 

Now turn

 

Face that with your impeccable vanity

 

Toward the mirror

 

Look hard

 

What does it have to say?”

 

 

“What a weird poem” he thought as he tossed the letter she’d written him in the direction of the trash. “She trying to get romantic? Appeal to my soft side? She’s ready. I can ask for anything and I’ll get it.” He turned toward the large package wrapped in plain brown paper that’d been delivered with the note. “Did she buy me a mirror? Does she want me to see how beautiful I really am?” He laughed out loud partially spraying the Small Batch Rye he’d just taken a mouthful of. Instead of wiping off what had spilled down his chin he rubbed it into his jacket lapel. “My perfume for the evening.” He tore the paper and doubled over in hysterics. “It is a mirror! Too much… Impeccable vanity.” He calmed enough to admire his reflection. “She got impeccable right…”

 

The light in the room changed he thought. He turned to look toward the window thinking clouds were passing but he couldn’t see it. “Was it supposed to rain?” He took a step or tried to but hit the glass hard knocking himself back. He stumbled, sat on the floor shaking his head looking around. He was surrounded by darkness the only light coming from the mirror. “What the… how… this doesn’t make sense… I walked into the mirror? How’d I do that?”

 

He thought he saw her standing in the corner but hadn’t heard her come in. “What…” She walked toward the mirror. He stood and began yelling at her but she just looked around like he wasn’t there. He took a step to grab her but his hands hit glass. He tried to grab the mirror frame to throw it across the room but there was no frame. He was trapped. She’d found his baseball bat; prized possession autographed by Babe Ruth, took her stance and swung.

 

The mirror shattered into fine powder that she vacuumed up before she left. She removed the bag and got the trash to the curb just before the sanitation truck pulled up. Back in the house she replaced it, put the vacuum away and locked the door behind her.

Food & Drink Here: Myas’ Place

It’s been a while.

A mysterious road-stop when you need it. Walking, biking, driving, passing by better than Brigadoon it appears. You’re not sure you’d noticed it before but it’s a friendly looking place, cozy Lincoln Logs, not something you see everyday, and the smells of coffee and cooking are heavenly. Like fog clearing you remember running into people you’d always wished you could meet, having great conversation, something that seldom happens when you’re looking for it, when you’re prowling at night knowing the next dive will be the one, though you can’t seem to remember when you were there. The aroma surrounds you, wrapping itself like a best friend’s embrace, infiltrating your vehicle as you’d slowed to take a look, putting gentle hands on your handlebars.

You pull over and park. You could use a rest from walking anyway. You stop pedaling.

You go in.