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 |  For the 30 Day Image Prompt Contest |
My entries for
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. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** . Couple Celebrates New Year While Their Child Cries In The Rain! Charles and Tammy Abool were arrested today on charges of child neglect and child endangerment. It began with invitations to a New Year's Eve party and a babysitter who was late arriving. Charles and Tammy asked their son Chucky Jr. to wait for the babysitter out in the yard so they could lock up the house. The plan was for the babysitter, Mildred Slack, to take Chucky Jr. to her home for the night and return him in the morning. Needless to say, Charles and Tammy trusted her to perform as requested. Problem is, Mildred never arrived to pick up Chucky. Chucky sat in the yard on an outcrop of rock holding a balloon and waiting, waiting, waiting... And then it began to rain and the temperature plunged. At the New Year's Eve party, Charles and Tammy were unaware of Mildred's failure. "But they should have checked to see what was keeping her!" said the prosecutor. "They made no attempt to contact the babysitter. This shows a feckless disregard for the welfare of their son." As you can see by the sad photo that heads this story, Chucky froze to death and became an angel, still holding that balloon. When this reporter attempted to question Charles and Tammy, Charles took a swing at me and Tammy spat on me. I'm pretty much convinced they are lousy parents. I hope they get the maximum punishment. But that poor kid, eh? What a fate! . . . |
. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** . All afternoon we gathered while the sky grew dark For the midnight parade through Mythology Park When the griffins and unicorns will strut their stuff While the ogres and goblins huff and puff, But my favorite moment of the night will be When the Golden Dragon comes stomping by me! He's as long as a train and twice as loud; A mighty cheer will rise from the crowd As the beast comes slithering down the street With a mouth full of teeth that threaten to eat... But I'm not afraid of the Golden Dragon, not this year, no I'm not! I won't scream, I won't run, my feet are glued to the spot. No, literally, I squirted some glue on the soles of my shoes! Running away is an option I can no longer choose! . . . |
. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** . In the city of Mixymolean where the sun shines orange through the thick air heavy with fumes and vapors, a body slumps in a chair. The chair is placed before the glass wall of the Observation Room of the Palace of the Last Emperor. What is there to be observed but the decaying ruins of Mixymolean? Hundreds of kilometers to the North, in the ice cold mountains of Cjaldea, a band of armed horsemen return to their stone citadel. It is they who have caused the body to slump. It is the slump of death, but not a normal death. This is a death of permanent paralysis. This is a living death. The Emperor's mind continues to function, but he cannot lift a finger or blink an eye. How long will he last in this state? Perhaps quite a while, because the toxic fumes of the Mixymolean air have killed 99% of the organisms that normally cause tissue to rot and transform back into its basic elements. The Emperor will sit there in a slump for a very long time, observing the ruins of Mixymolean, the proudest city of the Empire at one time... but that time is over now. . . . |
. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** . "Aw, go home, you big crybaby!" yelled one of the boys. "Oh, that's right, he doesn't HAVE a home!" yelled another. Toby ran downstairs with tears in his eyes, down into his favorite hiding place, the basement of the old dormitory. He sat with his back against a wall, hugging his knees, crying because he had no family, no friends, and no reason to keep on living. Why had he been singled out to be so miserable? All the other boys in the orphanage seemed to have adjusted well enough. But for some reason they always picked on Toby and made him cry. He knew he was small and weak and easily moved to tears, but that should make the other boys want to protect him, shouldn't it? Not want to hurt him! How could people be so cruel? Even the teachers and dorm leaders seemed indifferent to his concerns. It wasn't at all like the way things went in the storybooks he read. He got up and wandered around the basement thinking about that. In a storybook someone would be his friend and help him, but not in this god-forsaken, hellhole of a school! Angrily he kicked the big iron door that stood at one end of the basement. Something clicked inside it and it opened a crack. Toby stared at the door. He had tried to open it before when he was in the basement having one of his "fits" as the others called them. Always the door was locked. It was heavy and painted red and the words "KEEP THIS DOOR CLOSED AT ALL TIMES" were painted on it. But now something had happened and the door was unlocked. Toby grabbed the edge of it and used all his strength to pull it open enough for him to slip through. There was a brightness on the other side, so bright it almost blinded him. But once he was through the door completely, his eyes adjusted to the light. He was standing in a wide meadow of yellow grain. In the distance were green fields and forests and blue water . A great happiness swelled in Toby's heart. "I belong here," he murmured. Then he took off running across the yellow field and never looked back. After a thorough search of the grounds, they finally found Toby's body in the basement of his dormitory. At first foul play was suspected, but an autopsy showed that Toby had died of natural causes, although why a boy as young as Toby would have heart failure was a mystery. There was a small funeral, but no one came except the boys from the orphanage and they would all have rather been somewhere else. . . . |
. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** . The moon rose heavy and full above the cold forests of the frozen Northenland. The silhouettes of three birdmen soared across its face. They were Wizards of Ice and Fire, all three of them masters of their craft, called to the court of the Northenland king for a special task. "Even as I speak to you," said King Holden, "the kidnappers sail South with my niece. As you know, in her mind is the key to the Third Treasure, a post-hypnotic command that can not be triggered until her 21st birthday. She can not be allowed to fall into the hands of the Southern heathen!" The ugliest of the three bird wizards stepped forward. "What do you wish us to do?" he croaked. King Holden glared at him. "Do what you have to do." "But she is your niece, the daughter of your sister..." "No one in Northenland is ever to know of her fate. Do you understand?" "Yes," agreed the Wizards of Fire and Ice. As one they lifted from the ground with flapping wings and flew South. It was the next day before they spotted the ship carrying Princess Alura, the niece of King Holden. "Tis a shame!" croaked the ugliest birdman. Then he made a powerful gesture and the other two wizards joined him in a chant of power. Nali rastov poji brak! Below them, the ship carrying the princess burst into flames and quickly sunk. In the Northenland, at that very moment, King Holden clutched his heart, for he felt a brief pain there, as though something important had been lost. . . . |
. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** . I found two old family photos that I don't think you have seen before. For many years my Grandpa lived life as a snowman in upstate New York. Everyone in the family knew he was really a sandman, but it was easier for him to get jobs by pretending to be white. He owned a snow removal service and when summer approached, he would shut it down and conveniently "go South for the summer". Thus no one ever suspected he was other than pure as snow. Most of us in the family were fairies or other magical beings of one kind or another. There was only one witch in the family, my Aunt Helga, but she was a good one. If you needed to lay a curse on anyone she was the go-to gal. As for me, I spent my childhood dabbling my toes in enchanted pools, talking to birds and butterflies, and playing the games that fairy children play, like Buttercup, Buttercup and Toss Me In The Clover. When I was 13 my Grandpa retired and moved permanently to an island in the Caribbean. This was great for me because now I could spend my summers visiting him on his island. When I got back to school in the fall I was always the fairy with the best tan. Ah, sweet memories. I love looking at all these old photos, don't you? Every one of them tells a story. I wish we had taken even more. . . . |
. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** . She retrieved the wing pack from its hiding place, wound its clockwork mechanism with the key, and strapped the wing pack to her back. She then tucked the ancient key into a special pocket sewn into the black cape she wore to hide her wings. Finally, the bone white mask to hide her face, although her natural skin color rivaled it in whiteness. One last look in the mirror and Chronogirl was ready to fly, but not from her window. That would be dangerous if she were to always fly from there. Someone would surely notice and all her efforts at disguise would be wasted. Instead, she walked to the ruins of Ableton Mansion. No one visited it at night and she had discovered a stairway that still gave access to the upper floors. It was a dark night with no moon. She stood on a third floor balcony of the old mansion and engaged the lever that operated the wings. They were noisy despite much application of oil and grease to all the working parts, but if she flew high enough, perhaps no one on the ground would hear it. It could easily be mistaken for the fluttering of birds. She stepped off the balcony and twisted clumsily in the air for a moment before she got herself into the proper orientation for smooth flying. After that moment of brief panic came the exhiliration of being airborne again, sailing through space and time thanks to the genius of some wizard who lived many centuries before her. As she crossed the rooftops of the city she also traveled backwards in time. Tonight she was on a special assignment for an important nobleman, a count, who had lost something of great value many years before, the love of his life and his left eye. It was because of a duel fought with his rival for a lady's hand. The Count's foot had slipped on a wet pile of dog excrement left in the grass and that gave his rival an opening to ram home his sword into the Count's left eye. She could not interfere with the duel, of course, but she could get there before the duel and remove the offending dog poop. She wondered if that would really solve the Count's problem. Time had a way of filling in the holes and correcting any changes you tried to make. It was quite possible he would just slip on something else when the duel was fought. It was an easy assignment and when she was done she flew back to the old mansion, folded her wings and walked home. She had arranged to meet the Count in the morning and accept payment. That night she dreamed she was flying and met herself coming or going and collided with herself, tumbling out of the sky in a nightmare fall. She woke up sweating, but managed to get back to sleep. The next morning, at ten o'clock sharp, she knocked on the Count's door. He maintained a modest apartment in the city, while the bulk of his estate was out in the countryside. When he opened the door he was not wearing his customary eye patch. "I assume the mission was a success?" she said. His smile was wry. "I'm afraid not. It's true I did not lose an eye, but I still slipped on the grass and lost the fight." "I'm sorry," she said. "Time preserves it's flow. It's very difficult to change it." "At least I have my eye back. I'm quite willing to pay you for that." "Thank you," she said. "And if any of your friends need my services, please refer them to me." "I would be more likely to do that, Chronogirl, if your services actually worked as advertised." "But you admit you are better off than you were before?" "Yes, I admit it," said the Count, "but now I see what a terrible risk I took. I could easily have fared worse as better." "I suppose that's true," she said. "Nevertheless, I am who I am and I do what I do. Toodle-oo, Count!" "Good-bye, Chronogirl. I fear one day an angry customer will kill you." "Let's hope not." She turned and walked swiftly away. Customer relations was not her strong point and sometimes she just wanted to punch a client in the face, but that would be very bad for business. She walked down the street humming her theme song: Chronogirl, oh, Chronogirl! Make the flags of time unfurl! One day you might save the world.... Chronogirl! . . . |
. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** . "I'll take Mermaid Adventure Number Seven," said Winston. The CYOF attendant smiled. "You realize that's an adult fantasy?" "Yes, I realize it quite well. With pirates! That's two of my favorite things: mermaids and pirates." The attendant, a cleancut young man in a light grey uniform, adjusted Winston's headrest. "Just close your eyes and relax. Don't forget the code word if you want instant release from your fantasy." "How could I forget it?" Winston said. "It's my wife's first name." The wind was refreshing, full of salt and moisture. He listened with pleasure to the sounds of the galleon, the squeaking of timbers and the rustling of sails. "Look sharp, there, mates!" yelled Captain Leroy, "For we be passing through the Isle of the Maids. Perhaps one of ye will spy one of those amazing women of the sea." Captain Leroy laughed heartily at his own suggestion. He was not a believer in the legend of the mermaids. Many times had he crossed the oceans and never seen a mermaid. He suspected it was only ignorant men who saw dolphins and seals and porpoises and such and imagined them to be women because those men had been at sea for so long without a woman. Winston was the first to see her. "There! There! Oh, stop the ship, Captain! It's a mermaid for real!" Captain Leroy snorted. "What ye be smoking, man? I'll not stop the ship for an old sea lion lounging on a rock!" Winston was frustrated that his fantasy was not cooperating with him, so he jumped overboard. He could always use the code word if he got in trouble. He could swim quite well, he found, even though in his "real" life he was a terrible swimmer. He reached the rock and climbed up on it. She was beautiful with long wet hair and pendulous breasts. He didn't find the scaly tail offensive at all. It sparkled as the sunlight reflected off its slimy coating. Expecting her voice to be melodious, he was surprised when she barked. Then she grabbed him in her arms and dove into the water. As they descended into the depths, Winston desperately tried to remember his wife's name, but the lack of oxygen was affecting his brain. In the CYOF building, the cleancut young attendant, a new employee fresh from the company's training program, was shocked to find that his customer had stopped breathing. He threw a few switches, but it was too late. The customer was dead. The cleancut young man put his face in his hands and wept, because now he would surely lose his job and he really needed the money. I suppose the moral of this tale is: Don't cheat on your wife, even in your imagination. It can be fatal. . . . |
. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** . Amos slapped the robot hard. "Dammit! I said pick up the dirt with your fingers!" "But it is more efficient to use a vacuum cleaner," replied Robot RX-73. "No more back talk!" yelled the man Amos. RX-73 was calm. "You are like the fictional character Simon Legree." "Is that supposed to be funny? I didn't ask for a bot with a sense of humor. Why can't I get a machine that does what it's told?" "Modern robots are more than just machines, sir." "A machine is a machine is a machine and I. Don't. Like. Smart. Ass. Machines." Amos punctuated each of his words with a sharp blow to the robot who, of course, did nothing to defend himself. One must not harm a human. Finally, one of Amos punches shattered a hydraulic line and red hydraulic fluid spurted out over everything, including in Amos face. "Oh, s***! Why do they make the stuff red?! It looks like blood!" Amos had a sudden urge to vomit and became even more furious when he saw that he had soiled his best shoes with the remains of his half-digested lunch. In a rage, he began tearing the robot apart with his bare hands. Behind a one way glass, TZ-92 and FD-37 observed the scene. "Will he ever be suitable to put back on display?" asked TZ-92. "Not at this rate," replied the other robot. "He simply hurls curses at visitors to the museum and refuses to engage in typical behavior." "If there were not so few humans left I would suggest simply disposing of him." "Not only are there very few of them left," said FD-37, "but I hear that the last five breeding couples are refusing to breed. They say it's better if the human race dies out than that they live like zoo animals." "There has to be some solution," said TZ-92. "What about my island idea? We put them all on an isolated island to fend for themselves. No robots there at all. But of course we have plenty of cameras set up to monitor them." "It wouldn't be nearly as good as having them here in person on display in the museum, but... if that's the only way we can get them to breed..." "And in the future we could take the children that are born and raise them ourselves so we can train them how to be on display. They wouldn't have the ingrained prejudice against it that their parents have." "That might work. I think we must push this idea hard in council. It might be the only way to save humanity from extinction." . . . |
. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** . It snowed all night. Lobo howled. But the morning dawned blue and clear. Lobo smelled the Hunter long before he heard him. Lobo heard the Hunter before he saw him. The Hunter was a man beast with a killing thing. Lobo remembered the twang and zip noises that the killing thing made. If you were not quick, it would hurt you. Lobo nudged the pack into silent movement and they shuffled away from the Hunter and then ran. This was the only thing that Lobo feared, the man beast when he was a Hunter. When the pack was safe in one of their secret hiding places in the hills, Lobo belly crawled out on a ledge and looked down through some weeds at the man beast. The man beast was looking all around. For a moment he seemed to look right at Lobo and Lobo's panting stopped and Lobo froze in position. But the man beast's gaze traveled on. He had seen nothing. Nevertheless, Lobo would remain alert, and if necessary the pack would move again. For now, they rested, confident in the abilities of their leader. . . . |
. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** ... ... ... ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** . The Little Pig Girl's given name was Marla, but only the man who claimed to be her father knew that. He was a pig farmer who kept his pigs in a sinkhole because he was lazy and that way he didn't have to fence them in. Since he was lazy, he put his home ( a shack) in the sinkhole as well. The only friends that Marla had were the pigs and a puppy that fell in the sinkhole. Her father fed Marla, but he was such a bad cook that their meals weren't much better than what the pigs ate. He had no interest in playing games with Marla, but he did teach her to read and write, so I guess that was one thing good about him. Marla was usually quite filthy and covered with mud because the pigs liked to build mud wallows in the soft dirt at the bottom of the sinkhole. If you have pigs for friends you can expect to get dirty. As Marla grew older she became curious about what might be outside the sinkhole, but her father made her swear to never climb the long flight of rickety stairs that led up and out. However, there came a summer when the rains were unusually extreme and water stood ankle deep in the sinkhole. On a hot night that rainy summer, a ferocious storm dumped so much water from the sky that the water level in the sinkhole began to rise above Marla's knees. She became very alarmed. Her father was off on one of his jaunts. By now Marla was of an age where children often defy their parents, so she vowed to climb the steps and exit the sinkhole. The wind and rain tried to blow her back, but she struggled through the darkness up the stairs. At the top of the stairs, a brilliant blast of lightning next to her illuminated all the countryside in a flash while also making her temporarily blind. The thunderclap from the blast so close to her ears also made her temporarily deaf. Unable to see or hear, Marla had the sense not to stumble about and fall back down into the sinkhole. Instead, she stood there with that lightning-lit image of the countryside seared into her brain and realized that the world was a big place and there was no way she was going back down into that sinkhole. As soon as she could see again, she started walking. . . . |
. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** . When it became clear that the end was near, Sonja and Emily sat quietly on the bed, Eyes downcast, lips mumbling a prayer, showing no fear. The blast of light made a halo around each head So that they both seemed to be angels even before they were dead. . . . |
. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** . I stand before the glass prison of my soul looking out, looking in, My avatar a crow, bedraggled, dark, and thin Sent out into the city Where he finds no pity, Only wasted souls who languish in their tall glass towers of sin. I see the last day dawning with a pale and dimming sun; My life spent walking, talking, always searching for the One Who could end the tribulations, Unite all the nations In a way that shuns the ideology of The Gun. Now I hear wings flapping and a lonesome, mournful caw; My avatar, the crow, returns with empty claw; He perches just above me, Oh, how I wish someone would shove me Through this glass so I could forget all that I saw. . . . |
. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** . An enthralling historical passage through Medieval Ghent admiring its wide range of monuments: • St Bavo's Cathedral, the Belfry, and St Nicholas' Church • old guildhalls built by boatsmen, masons, grain measurers,fishmongers, hagbutters etc... • impressive castles like the Castle of the Counts and the Princes' Court, birthplace of Charles V of Spain. • the old Fish Market facing the even older Meat Hall built many years ago. • the more than solid 13th-century monasteries previously occupied by Augustinians and Dominicans. • the Ancient Port of Ghent along with its quay-walls and mercantile houses, never too far away of shady inns packed with girls of easy virtue, etc. Highly recommended if you would like to explore and discover the city of Ghent. Guide on board. The rain began shortly after we entered the boats. Umbrellas were provided. I shared mine with what I hoped was a shady woman of easy virtue, but she tuned out to be an Augustinian with more than solid morals. I might as well have tried to flirt with a hagbutter. I felt like a fishmonger in a count's castle and was more than happy when the excursion ended. . . . |
. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** . Two paths diverged in the building's bowels And I did not know which one was best. As a writer I depend on vowels; As a carpenter I need good dowels; But now I must decide: Go East? Or West? On the East Coast I could be a writer, A trade that suits me very well. I like a deadline, do an all-nighter! My muse will go if I invite her, But a writer's work is difficult to sell. On the West Coast I would have a trade With a reliable cash flow, not a random dribble. I could have a Spanish maid; In the warm Pacific I would wade; Did I really want to sit inside and scribble? I shall be telling this in a way that's funny Somewhere ages and ages hence: Two paths diverged in the building's bowels and I... I took the one that paid more money And that has made all the difference. . . . |
. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** Fishing for Taxis Of course, the biggest problem is what to use for bait. A sexy lady in distress is the best bait, but it's hard to find one that can withstand prolonged dunking in pond, lake, or river. A wealthy old man makes a good second choice... that is, if he looks generous, i.e., a good tipper. But then there is the problem that if he is so wealthy then why the heck is he riding in a taxi? He's probably an imposter. Possibly the most reliable bait is the tourist. With tourists, there is always the potential for taking the "long way" to the destination and running up the charges, so taxis find tourists especially appealing. Once you have your bait on the hook and ready to cast, take a moment to check the water for ripples. It's hard for taxis to move beneath the surface without leaving a telltale trail of exhaust bubbles and ripples. Once you've spotted the signs of a possible taxi, throw your bait in near the taxi, but gently so as not to dislodge your bait from the hook. Now, be patient and don't yank on the line at the first nibble. Wait until the taxi has completely swallowed the bait, then set the hook and reel him in! Exciting, isn't it? But be alert to taxi tricks like letting the line go slack and then snapping it with a sudden rush. Try to keep tension on the line at all times. You'll probably lose your first two or three taxis. It's disappointing when they escape at the last moment. But don't give up! Perseverance wins here as it does everywhere else and eventually you will land your first taxi. When you do, send me a photo of your catch! . . . |
| . ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** Tightly wrapped in costume black, The Snow Queen trudges forth and back Through drifts of crystals, soft and white, On a day that's almost dark as night. The Snow Queen mourns the end of cold, Fears the approach of Summer bold Marching forth with warmth on his cheeks. Into every nook and cranny he peeks Searching for any scrap of Winter's snow; He will puff his cheeks and blow A hot breath until all trace of Winter's efforts vanish... The Snow Queen mourns the coming of Spring, That jaunty lad on a highland fling To make the blossoms grow and bloom Bringing joy to some, but to the Snow Queen... gloom. She strides now through drifts and furrows, Where tiny animals sleep in burrows, But their comfort is none of her concern, She only worries about Summer's burn. Tightly wrapped in costume black, The Snow Queen paces forth and back Through drifts of crystals, soft and white, On a day that's almost dark as night. . . . |
. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** I don't know if it's officially recorded that Houdini had a granddaughter. In fact, I strongly suspect that Sandra Houdini made the whole thing up. As Houdini's granddaughter, Sandra felt she had to not only continue the "family tradition", but go it one better. Hence her most famous trick - The Thousand Shackles. It wasn't really a thousand, but it was a lot of them, and not just on her arms, but also on her legs. After being shackled she was put in a sack and the sack was put in a trunk and the trunk was dumped off a pier into the river. Miraculously, Sandra would emerge dripping wet but free of all the shackles. Now, truth be told, there was a trick to it. She had accomplices hidden under the pier that helped her get out of the trunk. Eventually the public caught on and declared Sandra Houdini a fraud. After that she changed her name to Elvira Edison and claimed to be the granddaughter of Thomas Edison. Unfortunately, the things she invented were hopelessly impractical. For example, a "S'Mores" kit for kids that included, along with graham crackers and chocolate and marshmallows, a small brazier of charcoal and a cigarette lighter. Or, an apple that cored and peeled itself using a spring-loaded mechanism attached to the apple. It meant each apple had to sell for $4.99. Sandra did manage to live out her life as Elvira Edison. Her obituary didn't list her as Thomas Edison's granddaughter, but it did mention that she had once been famous as "Sandra Houdini" the master of the trick known as "The Thousand Shackles". . . . |
| ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** Mirror, mirror, in the trees, Reflect my image, if you please; Tell me how I look today: Am I fit for work and play? If I'm the fairest in the land I'll still behave like Macho Man; There'll be no ribbons in my hair; Nothing frilly will I wear. If it seems vain to ask a question About the nature of my reflection Then please excuse my vanity For after all, I'm just a tree. . . . |
** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** The girl who ate flowers was my cousin Tabitha. When we were very young we used to "play house". I was the daddy and she was the mommy. She would "cook" meals using the plants in the yard - seed pods for beans, loose seeds for peas, leaves for spinach, mud patties for hamburgers, and flowers just because they looked edible, although there was one flower whose long buds looked like fish. We never actually ate the meals, of course, except for the flowers. Some flowers are actually quite tasty with their sweet nectar and soft petals. I never made a habit of it... but she did. As she grew older she became more and more an aficionado of flower eating. I'm not sure why. She always wanted to be somebody special and maybe that was one way to set herself apart from everyone else. I don't know how many different kinds of flowers she eventually nibbled on. I do know the last species of flower she ate because the coroner said it was azalea that killed her. . . . |
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