I lifted my legs; one at a time. They fell to the ground like lead. How much longer could I go on? I had been looking for him for days! Lost and alone in the bush, he was my beacon. My tongue felt like sandpaper and my mouth was so dry, my lips stuck together. If I didn’t find him soon; I was a goner. And then I heard it. “Here boy!” he called. I raced to his side, exhausted but relieved, to be reunited at last.
Exhaustion takes hold
but before it can claim you,
I’ll carry you home.
Frying Pan Lake is one of the world’s largest hot pools. It is located within the hills of Echo Crater in the Waimangu Volcanic Rift Valley, New Zealand. Its acidic water maintains a temperature of about 50–60 °C (122–140 °F).
Honey-tinted sunshine filtered through branches. The forest was thick with the crescendo of bird-song. If gravity hadn’t been holding me down, I could’ve floated away to the blue skies above.
It was a perfect day for a walk.
I continued along the boardwalk snaking its way through the dense woodland. It was an advertisement for safe passage, as ferns and scrub scratched at its edges.
My eyes were drawn to leaf litter peppering the path and it was then, that I saw blood. My senses immediately became electrified and the peace around me shattered.
The red droplets smattered here and there, dotting their way along the planks. Every instinct was telling me “Run!” but curiosity urged me on. I justified to myself that if someone was injured, maybe I could help.
I rounded a corner and there, I saw a pool of crimson so thick, it was impossible to believe anything living could’ve gone on.
Teeth bared, the beast was upon me so quickly, I slipped in viscous liquid, becoming one with he who’d fallen before me.
My breath rattled in my chest, as I exhaled my last, and I thought, It had been a perfect day for a walk.
Simply put, at the base of all matters, is the heart.
We can analyse agendas; our differences; but the bones of our own personal narratives can be revealed as a desire for one thing.
Erstwhile the heart beats. Its mission; to sustain life. Yet somehow, it undergoes transmutation to become something else; something more; altogether.
A catalyst for our emotions.
And of belonging.
In this we holdfast, unrelenting in our pursuit love.
And of hate? It is not the antithesis of love, merely the absence of it. We must be tireless in monitoring our metronome of life, as taught to us by the tub-thump of our mother’s heartbeat, our first-known sound.
Mother Nature knows no slumber. The sound of her beating heart is ever present, in all things. Even we, in our bleakest times, listen for it. Until no longer that sound beats within us.
Is death the ultimate culmination of love?
Or is it to be so alive, that we can love what death touches?
Prompt: Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie, Saturday Mix – Same Same But Different, 24 February 2018, Task: Use synonyms for the following words – table (agenda), sleep (slumber), take (narrative), foot (base), black (bleak). Synonyms used in my prose are shown in parentheses; and also, Sammi Scribbles, Weekend Writing Prompt #43 – Heartbeat, Prose Challenge: In less than 175 words, write a story that uses the sound of a beating heart for dramatic effect.
This week we are diving into the depths of our thesaurus and exploring the world of synonyms.
Same Same But Different
Your ‘Same Same But Different’ task is to take the five challenge words and NOT use them in your writing. That’s right, you need to dig out your thesaurus and find a synonym for each word instead.
Your words this week are:
Your writing form is either poetry or prose.
Synonyms are words that are similar, or have a related meaning, to another word. They can be lifesavers when you want to avoid repeating the same word or if your word might not be the most appropriate. You can search for synonyms online at: http://www.thesaurus.com/
You may be asking yourself, What are some examples of synonyms? Luckily, the nice folks at YourDictionary have some…
I inspected its creamy white head, and caramel-coloured body. What an amazing creature.
“Where can I get one?” I asked my sister.
She whispered the answer, adding, “There aren’t many left, so you’d better be quick.”
I didn’t hesitate, following her to its habitat.
The man beamed, “Ah, a wise choice madam! Inspired by the magical pillars of our universe: Unicorns, Christmas and Ice-cream; Bridge Road Brewers presents its limited edition, vanilla ice-cream ale, the Magical Christmas Unicorn. Please enjoy this beverage of fun.”
Handing over my money, rolling my eyes, I thought, Come on! It’s just a beer!
Author’s Note:The Magical Christmas Unicorn is in fact, a real beer, as described in the story. It was limited edition and available from Bridge Road Brewers, over the Christmas period. Despite my ambivalence in the flash, it truly was delicious and certainly worthy of such wax lyrical!
Prompt: Carrot Ranch, Flash Fiction Challenge – February 22, 201&. Task: In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story about a unicorn. It can be realistic or fantastical. Go where the prompt leads.
This week I continue sharing my “doors of Carlton” photos. As mentioned last week, I was recently out and about on the streets of Carlton, an older, inner suburb of Melbourne, Victoria. Hopefully you enjoy today’s offerings, and are looking forward to more in the next couple of weeks.
On my recent trip to Hawaii, I stumbled (literally) upon this unusual tree and its root system at the Nuʻuanu Pali Lookout on Oahu. I was captivated by its unusual shape and thought it was a good fit for Frank’s Challenge today – shape.
I should never have followed my urge to explore the abandoned asylum, but my hunger to venture into the spirit-world was boundless. I’d done this kind of thing before. Many times. No problem.
Mesh fencing, chains and “No Trespassing” signs plastered everywhere, should’ve served as a warning, but I didn’t want to miss out. This place was reputed to be a powerhouse of hauntings, on account of the madness and misery of the hundreds of people who’d died here.
The wind howled around the main administration building as I entered. I consulted the map I’d drawn, heading to the notorious “Bullpit”. A ward that had once housed the most violent male patients.
I hadn’t been in there long when I heard a sound. A scraping along the bare, tiled floors. My hair stood on end, senses on high alert. Excitedly, I grabbed my EMF meter and night vision goggles, and heard a shout from one of the rooms.
That is all the memory I have, of how I died. Now I too, am trapped here. Another crazy spirit, existing in parallel with the real world, where the sands of time move so slowly.
Prompt: Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie, First Line Friday – February 16th, 2018; and also, Sammi Scribbles, Weekend Writing Prompt, #42 – Revelation. Prose Challenge – In words or less, write a story about the uncovering of a secret.
Today’s Daily Post Prompt “rube”, immediately got me thinking about the one and only, cartoonist and inventor, Rube Goldberg and those fantastic Rube Goldberg Machines.
A Rube Goldberg Machine is a deliberately complex contraption, in which a series of simple devices perform simple tasks to link together and produce a domino effect (e.g activating one device triggers, the next device which activates the next etc. in a sequence).
I first remember watching them in action on Sesame Street, in various formats.
Whether it was learning the alphabet in that crazy, apartment filled with nonsense…
…or being fascinated, watching that little red ball unearth a delight at the end of its travels…
…or giggle as Kermit’s attempt miserably fails!
In later years, I enjoyed a Rube Goldberg Machine in the form of the board game, “Mousetrap!”
Of course we never did actually play the game properly. We just loved the chain reaction part and did it over and over again.
As an adult, my favourite Rube Goldberg Machine, is by one of my favourite bands, OK GO. (On a side note, if you haven’t checked out their songs or film clips before, you MUST!) The film clip for their song This Too Shall Pass, is AMAZING and I often use it as a brain break with my class. I never tire of it…
If you google “ultimate Rube Goldberg machine”, several noteworthy ones are showcased, including this one that lights up a Christmas tree
One that produces music
And this one that seems to be the most elaborate advertisement for a photography company, or someone who can’t work out how to do a selfie (lol!)
Cheers to the man who started it all! Thanks Rube!
She awoke with a start, drawing a sharp breath and blinking her eyes. Retinas searched for light; searched for form, in the darkness.
Where am I? she thought, confused. How did I get here?
A sense of panic welled within her. Trying to sit up, the panic deepened when she couldn’t move her arms or legs, or anything neck down.
Racking her brain, she checked her last memory. At the club. Drinking. Then black…‘til now. Twisting her head, she felt flat, slimy, coldness beneath her cheek. The door opened, and she realised with horror, she was on ice…
Prompt: Carrot Ranch, Flash Fiction Challenge – February 15, 2018. Task: In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story on ice. It can be an event on ice, a game on ice or a drink on ice. Go where the prompt leads you.
Out and about on the streets of Carlton, an older, inner suburb of Melbourne, Victoria, there is a veritable smorgasbord of beautiful doors. I ventured down Drummond St mainly and a couple of alleyways. Over the next few weeks, I will showcase some of the wonderful doors I discovered.