Monthly Archives: May 2015

Friday Fiction – Ouroboros

(No baby 😉 )

I hope photographer Douglas M MacIlroy will forgive me pulling the limbs off his pleisiosaur for the purposes of this story and Rochelle will consider it far enough from the picture to meet the demands of her dare!

pleisiosaur_

Ouroboros

“So what is it?” I asked. All I knew about snakes eating their tails was “The Greedy Python” at 3am, breastfeeding one child and comforting another.

“It’s an ancient symbol of circularity, or self-reflexivity,” Sadie replied. “Jung reckoned…”

I wanted to listen, but my phone demanded to be checked. We’d both escaped, of course, she from clients; me from fingers under the bathroom door – but at that moment I felt the more trapped.

“Either way though,” she laughed; my wonderful childless friend who knows these things because she loves my children, and me, “He’s going to swallow hard and disappear!”

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Friday Fictioneers – Surface Tension

Last week’s literary references seemed to go down well with most of the Fictioneers – anyone would think you were a bunch of readers as well as writers. I have never been a big fan of poetry, but there are some that I have learned and loved, and both Ozymandias and For Whom The Bell Tolls fall into that box for me. Another favourite verse is referenced this week, although this literary theme is purely accidental! Thank you to Rochelle for guiding us, and Santosh writer for this week’s photo.

As ever, your comments and critique are welcome and constructive criticism is strongly encouraged. Thanks to the early commenters, the story below the pic is version 2 (v1 appears below it for posterity). I hope it’s clearer now, but you are welcome to disagree.

On a personal note – no baby yet, but hopefully not long to go. 😉

ff_santoshwriter-1

Surface Tension

Danny was everything to Ellen: he nourished her, feeding desires she’d never known she had. When they were apart, she felt parched by his absence and when he returned, she drank him in with unquenchable thirst. To Ellen, it was love.

But her mother saw a man who minimised his exposure: who shared Ellen’s unshakeable fixation… with himself.

She saw, and she worried, but having spoken once, she held her tongue to avoid a schism. And she watched her daughter drift away, hoping only to still be in sight when Ellen stopped waving and realised she was drowning.

VERSION 1:

Surface Tension

Danny was everything to Ellen: he nourished her, feeding desires she’d never known she had. When they were apart, she felt parched by his absence and when he returned, she drank him in with unquenchable thirst. To Ellen, it was love.

But Jennie saw a man who minimised his exposure: clinging with that same unshakeable fixation, to himself.

Jennie saw, and she worried, but having spoken once, she held her tongue to avoid a schism. And she watched her daughter drift away, hoping only that she would still be in sight when Ellen stopped waving and realised she was drowning.

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Friday Fiction – Ozymandian Defences

 

 

 

 

 

 

In recent weeks, when I’ve written to FF prompts, I’ve tried to steer away from illustration in favour of inspiration. This week’s story is a bit of both. There is a literal element to it, but that’s not actually where the story came from. It started with a line from John Donne (via Bon Jovi, which I’m not ashamed to say is where I first heard it!) and a bit of philosophising on our species’ behaviour and then cycled back around to the picture mostly by accident. What a strange beast the brain is.

Thanks to Marie Gail for the picture, and to Rochelle for her ongoing leadership of our little archipelago.

silo-has-come

Ozymandian Defences

“Boss calls ‘em Ozymandian,” Rufus directed his apprentice to the remains of a solitary tower.

“What’s that mean?” said the boy, “Hermit?”

Rufus kicked a stone block so his foot would hurt more than his head. He hated when the kid used brain even more than when the boss did.

“’Parrently they had this saying: no man is an island, entire unto hisself,” he said, quoting her and hoping the boy wouldn’t ask any more, “But then when The Wash came, everyone took off on they own.”

“Maybe an island’s easier to defend.”

“Jus’ get on wi’t job,” Rufus snapped.

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Friday Fiction – Fix It (reprise)

Rochelle is the kindest, most understanding leader ever and just to prove it, she’s given us a repeater photo today. So here’s one I made earlier … July 2012, when I was not a mother at all, let alone a few weeks from being one twice over. Copyright belongs to FF founder and original leader, Madison Woods.

Interesting to read it back; I remembered the gist but not the story and certainly not the words. Would I write it differently now? Maybe, but I can’t put my finger on how. Your reactions are always welcome.

faucet-21-224x300

Fix It

“There’s a hole in my bucket, dear Liza, dear Liza,” Dad sang as Chantal wiggled the tap again.

“Could you possibly do something more useful than singing?”

“Like fix it?” he asked, adding “Dear Henry,” under his breath.

She tried to smile. Singing was better than the gloom he’d been in since Mum left. But he looked manic: seven-week beard, shirt Mum hated. Perhaps that’s why she left: his dress-sense.

Or perhaps it was this infernal tap: dripping at all hours like the incessant tick of time. Maybe if she fixed the tap, or changed his clothes, Mum’d come back.

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