Forging ahead with fictional endeavours: ~ Write a life on a page and hurry not to its grave; abhor not the coming age, for eternal is the next page. ~ Read what you will, I hope you will enjoy reading as much as I do writing.

Posts tagged ‘Photos’

Lucky stack

bike

I was very determined to do some fiction today, it seems.  Here’s a short fic which makes it obvious I’ve been working with RSPCA today.  If you’re familiar with Banjo Paterson’s ‘Mulgar Bill’ another influence will be quite clear.  If not I’ve added it as a quote for those non-australians who are interested. It’s not as well known as ‘Waltzing Matilda’ but still an interesting poem.  The photo is provided as part of Sunday Photo Fiction. *Edit Note on my usage of Stack/stacked: a more common aussie meaning means to stack is to crash. (Been back 4 months and I’ve gone native on you.) Okay, going to give up on coherency now.

Lucky Stack

Linda glowered at her Father. Their locked glares became an emotional battle which chipped away at her willpower. Then, with vision blurred by tears, Linda fled the room, grabbed her bike and sped off into the dusk with her Alsatian, Marco. The gentle whir of wheels counterpointed by panting of Marco as he raced joyfully alongside the bike could not calm her tonight. The wrong was too great, and her mind became a maze as she struggled to find a solution. Suburban terrain gave way to rougher bush track but the pair paid no heed; this was their realm, in it they were free. For the briefest of moments Linda forgot her worries. It was then, with a shriek and a yelp, that the pair came to grief on the twilight track. Bike crumpled, and lost in the dark, it was Marco whom found his way from where his mistress stacked. Though he nudged and licked, Linda did not stir. The worried dog let out a sing-song whine as he waited for her. As the temperature dropped he snuggled close to keep her warm, and kept the night life at bay. When Linda was rescued in the light of a new day, her Father uttered not a word of sending Marco away.

MULGA BILL’S BICYCLE by A.B. “Banjo” Paterson

'Twas Mulga Bill, from Eaglehawk, that caught the cycling craze;
He turned away the good old horse that served him many days;
He dressed himself in cycling clothes, resplendent to be seen;
He hurried off to town and bought a shining new machine;
And as he wheeled it through the door, with air of lordly pride,
The grinning shop assistant said, "Excuse me, can you ride?"

"See here, young man," said Mulga Bill, "from Walgett to the sea,
From Conroy's Gap to Castlereagh, there's none can ride like me.
I'm good all round at everything as everybody knows,
Although I'm not the one to talk - I hate a man that blows.
But riding is my special gift, my chiefest, sole delight;
Just ask a wild duck can it swim, a wildcat can it fight.
There's nothing clothed in hair or hide, or built of flesh or steel,
There's nothing walks or jumps, or runs, on axle, hoof, or wheel,
But what I'll sit, while hide will hold and girths and straps are tight:
I'll ride this here two-wheeled concern right straight away at sight."

'Twas Mulga Bill, from Eaglehawk, that sought his own abode,
That perched above Dead Man's Creek, beside the mountain road.
He turned the cycle down the hill and mounted for the fray,
But 'ere he'd gone a dozen yards it bolted clean away.
It left the track, and through the trees, just like a silver steak,
It whistled down the awful slope towards the Dead Man's Creek.

It shaved a stump by half an inch, it dodged a big white-box:
The very wallaroos in fright went scrambling up the rocks,
The wombats hiding in their caves dug deeper underground,
As Mulga Bill, as white as chalk, sat tight to every bound.
It struck a stone and gave a spring that cleared a fallen tree,
It raced beside a precipice as close as close could be;
And then as Mulga Bill let out one last despairing shriek
It made a leap of twenty feet into the Dean Man's Creek.

'Twas Mulga Bill, from Eaglehawk, that slowly swam ashore:
He said, "I've had some narrer shaves and lively rides before;
I've rode a wild bull round a yard to win a five-pound bet,
But this was the most awful ride that I've encountered yet.
I'll give that two-wheeled outlaw best; it's shaken all my nerve
To feel it whistle through the air and plunge and buck and swerve.
It's safe at rest in Dead Man's Creek, we'll leave it lying still;
A horse's back is good enough henceforth for Mulga Bill."

The Sydney Mail, 25 July 1896.

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I need more hours in my day.

No rest for the wicked. I always wondered about that idiom. But I’m certainly not finding time recently. I’ve had to go down to Brisbane twice since I moved up here. 600km trips to see specialists. Oh What fun. Gladstone lack many medical facilities because of it’s rural nature. I even had to go to Rockhampton (2 1/2 hour drive) for my routine MRI because the local MRI unit can only be used for emergency purposes (or if people can afford to shell out $180 that medicare won’t cover). I’m also starting voluntary positions with the Rspca and Welcoming Intercultural Neighbors INC. (WIN). I’m trying out as an Adoption Officer for the former and a Reporter for the latter. Both should be interesting experiences and it will be good to have some work to do again. I’ve also gone ahead and jumped into the crazy pool by applying for a Master’s of social work. Full-time. I will be testing my brain function on soooo many levels with this work load. Any hour work requirements I have to almost double to account for inability to concentrate/memorise and fatigue. -_- If there is any wickedness here, it is my own inability to sit still. Then there are these two hairy babies.

ladymaxiecutieThe dainty, little Border Collie is Charley, and the big, boof-head is
Max. I’ve been helping look after them since I moved in with my grandmother. They require generous walks and lots attention. I have to be careful these days, because they know where I sleep. IF I try to hide around walk time they sit outside my window and whine loudly!

Charley is a 12 year old lady, and is very timid. She was runt of the litter and my Aunt snowwhiteadopted her with her big, bully of a sister, Pepper. Charley has always been dainty for her breed and that make it easy for other dogs to pick on her. Even my sister’s tiny chihuahua has her cowering in fear. When I moved in, she would hide in the background because Max would constantly push her out of the way when pats were being given. She’s a lot more confident now and surprisingly excitable. Her favourite spot is sleeping under someone’s chair. When bush walking she always trots back to check on me and if Max dares to come over while she’s getting pats she now snarls. She has show herself to be possessive and easily gets jealous. She is a little bit deaf but even in hearing range she can be a little bit cheeky and does naughty things frequently.

maxieMax is 8 but still acts 8 months. He’s used to being babied and has no qualms about pushing his way in for pats. He even expects me to go over and pat him while he’s lazying around. He’s a big dog, and causes himself issues because he’s very excitable and has a tendency to jump up. For some reason he thinks touching his ears is an invitation to play-fight so it’s impossible to get any medication in. He loves playing with his tyre-chew toy, gambling about and lazing in the sun. He has always been far better behaved then Charley. He’s really a big sook and wants to be friends with everyone.

Three little kittens

attentive

Practice run at a new piece of flash fiction using last weeks VisDare, the buzz word of which was attentive. I really like these kitties. The cross looking one, in particular.

“Looks like scraps again,” Streak commented with a twitch of her nose, contentedly watching swallows in the birdbath.
“Not touching scraps,” Smudge growled, his claws unsheathing.
“Might be lucky; might get squidgy or crunchy stuff,” said Stripe, drooling slightly.
“Stuff they won’t eat? Foisted on us?!” Smudge scratched the window sill feriouciously.
“Not so bad,” Streak replied.
“Taste goes away with a bit of cleaning,” added Stripe.
Smudge leapt of the sill with a snarl. Within moments all birdlife in the vicinity was dead or flapping for it’s life.
Streak’s tail twitched with amusment.
“He really is easy,” Stripe commented as she licked a paw and washed her ears. The pair lazily stalked over to stake their claims.

Inspiration mechanics

fishyA fish

A deep sea mission
A leviathan
A sapient species born of water
A coral sea expedition
A reef exploration
A thriller with piranhas

But sometimes
A fish is a fish.

It’s been a quiet few weeks from me, I know.  Usually it’s 5-8 posts a week based on various prompts I’ve seen but I’ve felt somewhat uninspired lately.  I took that feeling a produced a poem.  Where there’s a will there’s a way.  I think it’s time to cut back on postage so I don’t burn myself out this way.

‘Shrooms

mushrooms

Copyright to Erin Leary

Friday Fictioneer post. 🙂

“There’s Mushrooms in the soup. I’ve disguised a few in the salad, so No picking them out. I’m talking to you, Jerome. We have mushroom and chicken pie for mains. There’s even some left over for tomorrow to have lightly fried with bacon and eggs.”

Nate furrowed his brow. There had been no mushrooms in the shopping.

“Mum, where did you get the mushrooms?”

“They were growing wild behind the barn.” Nate dropped his fork. This would be fun to watch but he decided to move his farm further away from sight.

Leap of Faith Part 4

autumn

This section is written in response to the photo prompt from Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers. Parts One, Two and Three. <—- Follow to find if you have not read yet.  This is my third segment on the same story today. It is unusual for me to write so many flash-fics in the same day, let alone on a larger plot.  I couldn’t seem to dislodge this one from my focus.  I’ve been sitting here manically typing away despite exhaustion and seizure warnings because I felt compelled to get it out.  Case of the story hijacking the Author.

Eric twirled the pill-jar, staring at half-drunk whiskey. He reached for it. No. Eric hesitated, then reached again. No. He felt restrained by another. Eric supposed it was wistful thinking. Eric hung his head into his hands. The image of the falls rose again. Unbidden; persistent. 25 of March. “Her anniversary. May as well spend it there.” His tone as bitter. Eric left home sober for the first time in years.

Even in winter the area was beautiful. Elendra stood, waiting. A realistic hallucination; the green robe edged in grey was a nice touch. Not something she had ever worn. The warmth of her hand in his grip; he had lost his mind. He felt well. “This time, you leap with me.”

“My turn to take a leap of faith.” Elandra smiled, free of anguish. Together they leapt, he would follow to oblivion. He felt electrified, then… Surprised. They stood on a path of autumnal beauty.

Leap of Faith Part 3

Tower

Another Visdare prompt. Part one is here and part two is here.

Focus

It was difficult. After years of being besieged Elendra had finally locked the voices out after months of training in the tower. Now she had to focus on a single one.

Pick someone you know.

Eric. Elendra felt the nod.

He will be different.

?

Look to understand.

Eric. ~ Dim lights. Laughter. Chatter. Music. Figure hunched over bar staring into empty glass. ~ The scene faded. Mari, is That Eric?

Yes.

He’s middle-aged? I been here months.

Time flows differently here.

Eric ~ Clinical room? Dr. Feldmann. Test results? Liver Disease? Too much drinking… ~ Is this my fault?

? Your action caused trauma. A moment in a life of moments.

Some moments carry more weight than others. I should see him.

…There’s only one moment where you should. The moment of death. It is not wise too interact otherwise.

Elandra was already make her own plans.

Leap of Faith Part 2

snowidea

Sunday Photo Fiction entry.  Part One is here.

Helga boxed Elendra’s possessions; face a frozen mask. Despite summer drafts; Helga was entombed in winter drifts. Her hand fell on Elendra’s ‘hidden’ diary. Bewitched by it’s siren call, she flipped through the last entries.

3/23

Mary wants to teach me. She says the visions and the voices are gifts. I tried to go to Mary, but the Cops forced me home. The locks are back but you’re acting too ‘normal’. What are you planning…

3/24

Meals taste funny today. Eric came for dinner; said it tasted fine. His probably was. Mary’s been quiet today. I need to go, can’t sit still. Eric has been soothing. Offered to take me somewhere tomorrow.  You looked relieved…

3/25

Mum, I’m going to live with Mary. I’m sorry you’ve suffered. Please tell Eric not to blame himself. You can have that ‘normal’ life. I’ll be free to live.

Helga dropped the diary. Tears streamed as her frozen mask melted. As though snow melted, buds of emotion grew once more.

Kaptured

jamboree

Here’s one for Monday’s finish the story.   I’m afraid I bent the rules a little today.  The original starting line is – “Little did they know when the photographer took their picture that they would find themselves trapped in a painting.”  I couldn’t keep the original wording and have it suit my piece.

Little did the victims know that when the photographer took their picture they would find themselves trapped forever in a 2-dimensional prison. They were the lucky ones.

Decades later and Professor Klein was still cleaning up after the serial killer Thomas ‘The evaporator’ Cline. His estranged grandson had earnt the moniker for the odd fashion in which he had made is victims ‘disappear’ – often from busy streets; without fuss or chaos. Thomas’s methods were sociopathic; he would send strange ransom demands along-side increasingly larger sections of the body to his victim’s families. No matter how his damned demands were met the lost souls never returned. The sadistic killer was eventually tracked down via postal routes but the method in which he made people vanish was never officially discovered. That knowledge belonged to the eccentric Prof. Klein alone. Once he finished freeing the poor souls from their photographic prison he would burn all his research, along with the cursed Kapture Kern* prototype and take the bitter secret to his impending grave.

*Kern is a camera of German design from the 1920’s

“Heart of the Sea” – Spray Paint on Canvas by Me…

Perfect for those who like vivid art

Ray Ferrer - Emotion on Canvas

As Ray deals with the hard news of a baseball sized brain tumor, I, his wife, am adding some of his works for public availability / purchase to offset some of the expenses and costs of his costly procedures.

His latest….
“Heart of the Sea”
Original was spray paint on canvas.

Prints now available of this and they are signed and ready to frame.

If you would like to order anything from his Etsy shop that would be a huge help to us right now to offset some expenses. You can use Coupon Code ART50 during check out to save 50%.
https://www.etsy.com/shop/UrbanWallArt

Ferrer - Heart of Sea

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