Into The Deep

 

He watched the moon glow red in the sky
Throw colour over ripples of  grey,

A whiff of a scent as if in a dream,

A flash, then he’s falling away.
Into the deep, green tentacles flap,

as if; happily waving goodbye.

A panic, an unheard scream,

bubbles bursting towards the sky.
Down in the grime the muck and the slime

beside the hull of an upturned boat,

Protrude  oars, like arms reaching out …

as if to get ahold of his throat.
An eel comes to look at the boy with a book,

who into the water was spilt.

Who struggles and fights,

his  legs disturbing the silt.
Deep down he plunges

The light disappears in a mist,

Like angelic detritus he floats,

intoxicated with heavenly bliss.
The dark clears, a nymph beckons

with barely a flick of her wrist,

A wisp of a thing, lures him deep

Her face he tenderly kissed.

He’s now way below,
Where tides ebb

And flow.

And dreams

Reappear

With

The

Fish.

This piece I have written in response to The Ink Owl with the prompt into the deep I plunge, using the theme of fantasy. Press Here to join in or read some fabulous entries.

Did I succeeded?  did my foray into fantasy work? or should I leave well alone? Answers will be most welcome *waves*

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 Ooh!Ahh!

Dan has taken on the lovely Linda Hill’s #soCs and the prompt is ooh! ah! press to join in HERE.  Pictures used here were obtained via google, but though I used all due dilligence,I am unable to credit the artist as the owner of the copyright evades me.

stream-of-conciousness

Ooh! Ahh! He cried as I launched myself at the guttersnipe. With a tug of his lobe and a boot firmly at his raggedy behind. It should have had him scurry up the nearest  drainpipe and out of my pockets. But no, he artistically flopped to the dirt lifeless, and stiff. Now his already grubby self was plastered in faecal matter of both human and horse from the gutter.

‘Stand up I tell you,’ his acting skills would have had Shakespear signing him a contract.  I kicked with my beautifully buckled shoe, the sight of the schitt’e smeared item and the stench, had me heave. If he didn’t move speedily, vomit would join the mess on himself. I have no doubt he’d be smelt from a mile away for more than a week.

*retch, heave* this time there was no stopping it. I wafted my lace kerchief in front of my nose, heard rather then felt the slop hit my other shoe then splash my breeches. Just at that precise moment, he rolled over, leapt up, grabbed my fob and showed his heels. I cried ‘Thief! Stop him!’ As i felt for my watch, it had gone, leaving me the stomach churning stench.  I cried for the loss of both face and watch… I sobbed ‘Ohh! noooo!’

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I hope my interpretation tickled your sensibilities and maybe like me you were a trifle pleased at the comeuppance of such a fop. Do leave your comments I answer with vigour.

The First Stand For Equality

The painting borrowed is a Princess picking lice from a troll. Jane Dougherty’s picture prompt press here to join in or read the responses.

picking lice from a troll

 

.The people of the kingdom thought it a pretty job being a Princess, opening buildings dancing with Princes. But behind the scenes under the castle but above the dungeons… this princess had her work cut out.

This place was where the true ruler lived if an agreement hadn’t been sought… if a truce hadn’t been struck, well it doesn’t bear thinking of. As with most Kingdoms, for a kingdom to become such,  the good has to prevail… hence the truce. In the throne room the king sits with his queen, they feel at ease, the princess is getting her training and  in turn keeps them safe. They have their kingdom so to all intents and purposes… all is good with their world; until.

Princess Romana,  takes off her crown slumps to the floor she crosses her arms. *thinks* why am I the one working so so hard, they sit atop their thrones being fed sweetmeats and dancing while listening to lively music, laughing at the jester’s amusing words. She scratched her head and shuddered… “yuk” she cried, looking at her hand crawling with lice; she ran to her chamber. Romana tugged at her braids and fought with her sash as her ladies, both gloved and aproned, pulled her a paraffin scented scolding bath. “Leave… all of you”  she scowled and clutched a bearskin to cover her pride. Once the water was bearable she eased herself beneath its depths. Tilly the maid, her friend and confidant pushed the huge oak door to see if it was safe to enter. Submerged beneath the stinking water with her nose like a reed poking up for air Romana sobbed. An hour later after being lathered and scrubbed until her skin was rough and raw, her hair combed with the finest of combs, and handfuls of her blonde hair had been gathered from the floor she still whimpered. Tilly stood her on a turning plinth and stroked soothing balm into the skin of Romana, and stroked her forehead until the shuddering stopped and she slept.

By the time the princess had cried silent tears and the bath removed from her room and scrubbed, the court had heard of her misfortune and demanded an audience with the king. On his knees before the king the lord trembled “Oh mighty ruler king of this land, I come on the say so of your court, I beg you to see through the impudence of my words and know they nieve as they are come from the love and caring we have for you and the kingdom.”  The King bellowed “Get on with it! But be aware, I will not be some weak minded pushover and though the executioner has been resting for many a year he is at my call”. The King sat stiffly and his fingers tightened on his sceptre as he frowned at the quivering shape before him. “We, your Royal highness, have learned today of the Princesses distress, we believe that time has come to put a stop to the distasteful tasks she undertakes. She one day will be queen and she too will have to subject her child to the same degrading filthy task. Lord, we beseech you enough is enough this cannot continue. We have knights trained and willing to fight. We have archers son’s of lord’s ready to fight for the princesses hand. All we ask is for our wonderous lord to think on the suggestion. Not waiting for an answer bowing to his knees eyes on his feet he slowly reversed himself from the great throne room.Once calmed the King summoned his wife his mother and his knight commander, over supper they talked, demanded and finally agreed that the Queen as was her duty would speak to the girl.

A pale unhappy Princess went to her mother’s chambers to seek comfort. The queen had agreed this task would be hers and hers alone. “Romana it has come to the attention of the court and indeed the land, of your unhappiness. She raised her hand to still her daughter. The knight commander has arranged for a challenge to be thrown down to the King of Trolls”.Romana gasped…”Yes, he who you groom and feed and care for in the undercroft;  below the banquetting hall. The knight who thwarts the troll will win your hand. Before she could get any further the Princes shouted.  “He will not! I refuse to be treated like a prize in an archery tournament”.The queen gestured her to sit, her high colour disturbed her greatly.” Let me explain” the queen said.  A truce was made when you were conceived that the child born of my loins would live until marriage to serve and groom him the king of Trolls. In return, the kingdom would be free of rampage and disease. Once you married, the fruit of your labour would take your place… so you could rule in the knowledge that you and your kingdom would be safe from The trolls evil”.Feeling pleased with her description the Queen relaxed, until…

“You mean I have been picking lice from his coat, wiping jam from between his toes,  spooning mucus from his nostrils, and picking the flesh from his teeth every day since forever, because the king was stupid enough to agree!” The Princess was incensed she strode up and down screamed and tugged her clothes, the queen thought she had gone insane. “Take me to father now” the queen twittered and trembled she pitter-pattered behind her furious daughter to the door of the throne room. Suddenly Romana slowed, looked thoughtful and taking her mother’s arm and guided her up to the solar. Romana had formed a plan she would not be a prize, only for the man she loved and certainly wouldn’t want to be seen as weak by those who one day would be her subjects. Her mind turned over her idea as she embroidered with the queen, as she stitched she planned and all the time she contrived to show her mother that she had changed her mind and agreed.

Some nights later, while the knights drew straws in the banqueting hall the thunder rumbled, Romana’s plan came to fruition. She collected the great helm with a huge spike a top, a hat she had the blacksmith’s son make in secret; and paid him a handsome sum. She lured the Troll undercover of darkness. They went by torch light up past the merlon to the parapet. The stupidity of the Troll amazed the Princess, he believed she had brought him there to gaze at the bridge where underneath his family lived. She convinced him they would be hoping to catch site of their great masterful Troll to bow before him this night, and so they could see him clearly he was to wear a helmet with a mighty spike fit or so she said for a king. The thunder made him jump, but she patted his hand and led him on. Once at the highest point, he leant out over the parapet at the princesses insistence. Just as he did a crack of lightening struck with humongous force. Romana fled just as the spike conducted the force into the hapless Troll, an almighty bellow shook the battlements people ran to the courtyard to gaze upon the sight of a burning bellowing beast tumbling into the moat. The heat sizzled and left the moat dry with the only remnant being the spiked helm embedded in the earth beneath the castle. Romana became the first woman to have the power of a king, and women’s rights movement was born, and today on this blog it is recorded as ‘The First Stand For Equality’.

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.The Great Helm.

Above is a vague likeness to the one used in my true fairytale the pictures are by way of pixabay. Of course, the actual one had a spike and we, unfortunately, have no recorded evidence as cameras smartphones or other photographic sorcery was at the time deemed evil. Thank you for reading your comments will be waited for in anticipation.

 

 

A Rosy Pairing

press to join in. Sue Vincent’s  picture prompt.

Here is this weeks photo. All.entries to be in by March 22nd.

Stalactites hung like chandeliers from the roof of our cave, the formation split it into two rooms. Since his leaving I had made it welcoming, sweeping the animal waste in a pile,  hanging a lantern from a  root that pierced the ceiling. The rosy welcoming glow was encouraged by the minerals in the rock that cast a sunset; perfect for this night. Animal skins shone silver on the vine that provided cover.

My heart bounced in my chest, as his shadow fell on the ridge. I trembled and perspired at the shape of him. Picking up the mewing bundle I stood at the entrance and thrust it towards his broad chest and said… “Your  gift” With his huge hands he twisted the neck, a crack of splintering bone was heard. A gasp left my throat and I wiped my eyes with trembling fingers. With swift strokes he skinned and gutted it, throwing the debris aside. Taking me roughly in his arms to the inner chamber he reminded me what we were together for.The calf spat and cooked on the fire  as we writhed on its soft skin. Now I was his, I had successfully filled his needs and his belly .
I remember my son asking what it was like when we lived in caves. Though I am not quite old enough for that, I think maybe my story would have fit.I bet you thought that bundle was something else… leave me a comment I am dying to know  😀 😄 😮

MicroFictionchallenge#26

Jane Dougherty challenges writers and poets amongst us with another visual prompt press 🔜 here 🔙 to join in The artist to thank for the loan of this picture is John Bauer.

Lady Godiva, wife of Leofric, Earl of Mercia is a well-known tale across the land, but the lesser known second cousin once thrice removed of that noble Lady was Stanley Kingsbury, after hearing of the famous ride it gave the down at heel blaggard an idea.

Stanley had himself seven daughters and one beautiful dapple grey stallion. Stanley’s daughters were begotten via three sisters none of which he had been betrothed…  early that year they gifted him his daughters and fled to some say sunnier climes in the hope of finding husbands while unchattled by the presence of their loose morals. They together persuaded Stanley that once settled they would call for the girls as ladies maids and staff, that way they would live openly under the wing of their birthmothers but hidden from the smear of wrongdoing.

Meanwhile, Stanley poor as a church mouse decided to replicate Godiva’s ride with all his daughters on the one horse. He paraded the girls in hope of suitors,  through the streets far and wide they rode.  Alas, each time the townsfolk were alerted to the coming of an ungodly scoundrel and ordered to “keep within Doors and from their Windows, on pain of Death” Subsequently the girls were handed over to their grandmother and Stanley could be seen from the four corners of Mercia mounted on Pikes.

  • Any likeness to any living or dead person or persons is entirely coincidental.

Yes! Sir. #soCs

Your Friday prompt for Stream of Consciousness Saturday is: “yes” Use it as a word, use it in a word, extra points if you start and finish your post with it. Enjoy!


Yes! This is what climbed down in front of my face.  I was In the supermarket gathering items, reading label’s, trying to compute calories, sugar, fat, and really not taking much else on board when this happened. On yesterdays trip it was eyes peeled, trolley nicely filling up when . YES! A flipping “S” word, him up there👆dropped like James bond absailing into th O2.  Hairy legs wriggling from a sign, you know the ones (TEA and sanitary protection Here isle 4).

My arms froze in crucifixion position my eyes crossed, i leapt back and the Agave nectar spun out of my hand and slapped hard into the direction of a passer by. At that precise moment I was doing an impression of a first nation Indian warrior dancing on hot coals… voice an all. Meanwhile the recipient of the Agave had turned as it’s thin plastic container slapped his forehead, split and sent rivulets (all in slow motion) down his face and suede jacket. *Humpf* who wears suede to do the shopping anyway. I remember hearing a frantic tannoy announcement but couldn’t understand what was said, for some random screeching commotion that was going on. That was when I realised it was me. Some person was dragging me towards pet food and finally clamped a hand over my mouth. Yesterday was a not such a good day for shopping.

The ‘S’ word had long since gone scuttled away no doubt looking for Miss Muffet. Two girls were cleaning down the irate man in isle 4 ( he appeared to enjoy that bit) and I was escorted (manhandled by a chauvinistic security guard) out to the door to my car,

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minus my shopping and thoroughly traumatized. “You will go home and think yourself lucky that the gentleman in isle 4, does not… doo you for assault” said the security man close to my ear.”You have serious issues and I suggest mental ones.” How dare he I thought,  but meekly I unwound the window and said “Yes Sir I am going… yes”…
P.s. Just incase you didn’t notice “I hate the “S” word.I do Yes.

What don’t you like? That could get you to loose control? leave me a comment and I will get back as soon as I can.🙂

To Begin  A New End.

​November 9th 2016 charli’s carrott ranch weekly prompt.’The End’ write a story that pivots around an unexpected ending. Press here to join in or to read the others.


  •  Thousands gathered, some rode, others walked to the stones. Drawn some say by forces, maybe magnetic, psychic or coincidence. Either way we all gravitated here and more arrived daily, with scraps of lives some in rags.Escaping the turmoil, that destroyed life as we knew it.
    In a flash, unease spread tempers began to flare. Before long gangs tore people limb from limb they burned and ate the bodies in that once sacred place. Until the ‘Hum’… the light,  In a suck of a vacuum a gigantic slurp all evil was gone. We clung together as one; to begin a new end.

Above The Sky Light.

Photograph by Robert Bultot for use on Friday Fictioneers Prompt only. Press here to visit Rochelle Weisoff-Fields blog  where you can join in or connect with more 100 word fictioneers.  from-roger

 

A twinkle of lights fell over the stairwell as spotlights hit the patterned skylight. People tucked away in plush apartments for the night were oblivious to what was happening above. A hum could be heard it throbbed and pulsed, followed by electronically stylised notes.

One by one the doors opened, children clutched teddies, men smoked cigars and Women holding nightgowns shut while others scratched and craned their necks. In single file they climbed, in silence they followed the sweep of the staircase; until they gathered on the roof terrace, never to be seen again.

 

What do you think happened next? Id love your input, leave it in the comments I promise to reply soon.

The Lure of Calypso.

image

She rode the back of a wave like a professional surfer, lifting, curling, arching her back, her body rose above the water and powered through tubes. When the winds dropped and waters were once again calm, she disappeared. Calypso was exhilarating to watch.

For the past year, a fisherman had been recovering from an accident. The trawler lay wrecked on the ocean bed, his body and livelihood smashed like the hull. Andrew was sailing back when a freak storm lifted his vessel and tossed him overboard. Waves smashed him off the rocks and spat his broken body to the sand.

Andrew was found lying face down with his clothes ripped. The body was unrecognisable, salt encrusted his hair and seaweed bound his feet. Wounds bled from every visible part of the man, his bones protruded from his leg, arm and shoulder. Swollen and unrecognisable, Doctors didn’t hold out much hope.

Many operations and procedures were undertaken to pin and repair the damage. Andrew had been comatose for several weeks before he was able to speak and let them know who he was.Through those early weeks, he screamed with terrors, his eyes rolled in his head as he called the name Calypso in his fevered sleep.

Once on his feet, much of his recuperation was taken up at the window of his Cliff top home. Searching and waiting, watching closely to each lick of the sea. Hours were spent looking at the coastline through the glass panelled front of the house. He sat and watched, hoped for a glimpse of her. With his grandfather’s spyglass in front of the window; he waited.

Slowly Andrew recovered and other than the strange hallucinations about that night, he soon regained his strength, only a limp and scars were left to remind him. No matter how much better he was, he could not get Calypso out of his mind. She was a mermaid-like creature that called him that night. She whipped up the sea to a terrifying crescendo then lured the semi-conscious Andrew to the shore. How did he know her name? Was he going mad? Did she really kick up the storm that almost killed him and wrecked his vessel? He couldn’t fathom why he would believe this. Not only his mind, but his own eyes challenged him as he struggled with the memories.

Every night that the moon was bright and the sky clear, he’d search the sea looking for answers. With the old spyglass propped on its plinth, he would sit and search. On one night in particular, like a magnet, he was drawn towards the window. Calypso appeared as if through a fog, he blinked, looked again as he fought to steady his hand. She put on a display that made him groan, his masculinity stoked, the desire was pumping in every pore. Knowing his sanity was at stake he forced himself away from the sight, but moments later he twitched and was drawn back. Andrew picked up his own eyeglass, hoping to get a closer view, but could not see anything other than the rippling sea. That was when he knew the catalyst was the old spyglass, it was as if she were inside.

The harbour masters glass had been bequeathed to him with the house and belonged to three generations before him. He grew up on the stories and myths of the sea at his Granddad’s knee. Stories he listened to and one day would pass on in tradition to his children and grandchildren, but they weren’t stories he believed.

Andrew frowned as he lifted the glass to his eye sweeping his gaze left to right, catching his breath at dark shadows. His chest tightened, breathing became ragged and his hand shook, as once again he saw her, It was like she was calling him. He heard the soft lilting song travelling through the air around him. As if she was putting on a show, Calypso arched her back and whipped her hair over her head, it felt as if she was looking straight at him when she beckoned him with her hand. He stepped back, shaking his head in disbelief, he went to splash his face and compose himself; he was afraid for his sanity . Logically she could only be a figment of his imagination, that’s what he had to believe.

Pulling on his coat he grabbed a cane and walked down to the Jetty. The wind whipped up a squall from nowhere and made his footing less sure. A grey sky dulled his vision, the shingle rattled with the waves as the sea growled with anger. Andrew’s sight was obscured by the weather, so he climbed wearily back the way he came. Taking himself to bed, he hesitated at the medication on his bedside; then swallowed them down.

A lousy night lay ahead, the exertion on the jetty left him in pain and weak. He couldn’t get Calypso out of his mind, events played out in his head. At last, he decided this nonsense had to stop, he was a rational man and wouldn’t allow the accident to change him. Andrew packed the glass into its box and put it in the loft. He finished his healing at his Mothers house, and soon his mind was clear and Calypso was forgotten.

Sometimes he hears an eerie song which catches him off guard. Just sometimes, the call of the Mermaid challenges his mind. On the night of a bright moon, a flash of colour can be seen out at sea. And once in a while, when returning tired from days on the waves, the spyglass has appeared on its plinth there in the window, and he can’t resist one last gaze.
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This was my attempt at fantasy. Have you stepped out of your comfort zone?
Tried something new, If so what was the outcome?
Do you believe in Mermaids?
Leave me a comment I’d love to know.