Sunday Photo Fiction: The Elephant in the Shed


Joshua saw his Papa going out to the brick shed. He saw that Papa left the door ajar. He knew Papa and Nana would be mad at him for taking a look inside the shed, but Joshua couldn’t help but peek.

Joshua gazed in awe in the shed. There was an elephant inside, chained up by his leg. 

Terrified brown eyes stared down at Joshua as Joshua placed his hands gently on the elephants trunk and started to pet him. The elephant closed his eyes in delight. Joshua whispered to the elephant that he would come back and set it free. He also named the elephant George.

Later, when Nana and Papa thought he was asleep, Joshua went on his phone and called his Dad, who was in disbelief. Everyone went out to the shed the next morning, Papa laughing at Joshua’s suggestion that he was keeping an elephant locked inside.

Papa hesitated opening the door and Joshua’s Dad took the key from Papa. To Joshua’s Dad’s surprise when he opened the shed, a great elephant stared down at him sadly. Joshua went and hugged George before his Dad could stop him.

The police and a special vet from the zoo were called out to Papa and Nana’s farm and George was set free. Once his chain had been cut off, George trumpeted and began to flap his ears. He waved his head joyfully.

“How could you do this, Dad?” Joshua’s Dad asked Papa. 

“It was something beautiful that I could keep.” Papa admitted. “I never wanted him to leave and I could never let him free because someone would know.”

Joshua’s Dad shook his head at Papa. “Dad, an elephant isn’t meant to be held captive and he needs to be with other elephants.”

Later, Joshua’s parents took him to visit George at the zoo. “Is George free?” Joshua asked his Dad. “Yes, unlike Papa and Nana,” Joshua’s Dad replied. ” George will never be a wild elephant but he’ll be happier at the zoo with other elephants around.” 

Joshua watched George play, happy George had elephant friends.

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Alistair Forbes
 
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Thanks to Alistair Forbes for hosting SPF.

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©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.

Poem: Free Verse – “Paper Bag Princess.”


  
Here’s for the meanings and the seemings,

The words we’ve been breathing, though they are concealing,

We’re never hidden behind steal, or a solid wall of bricks.

And we’re shamed, peeking out of ‘the cupboard,’ hiding like the Indian did from a childhood book.

 We move through our thoughts, the glances of others who don’t understand —

What it means to remain hidden.

——

They’re all out there with their sunglasses and dreamy looks,

 In a world finding love, come together — some love separates. 

And I haven’t spent the days before Valentine’s Day dreaming,

 I don’t need a man to give me flowers or chocolates. 

I don’t need more demands and inferences of combinations dialled,

Short and electric, but fizzles and drizzles, as the rain pours outside. 

Dividing our time between sleeping and daylight,

And the sun keeps on rising; 

I keep on imprivising all the things I’m construing,

In a mind filled with despising a guy who I left.

Who made me know what it hurts like to feel neglect,

After he’s gone on, but still calling — I wish he would stop.

 That I could forget all about these “tygers” and their wants. 

I’m not happy nor comfortable, unless they get their cut, pieces of my being;

They’re dividing me among each other, taking the best cuts and leaving the scraps.

—–

And outside is a puppy and I want to hold her, because she doesn’t need much —

Only to eat, walk, cuddle, play, and go wee.

She needs her nails clipped and her teeth brushed sometimes. 

I’m a woman begging everyday of her life for things I’m uninspired to give,

If you won’t even attempt to do better, make it as important as a ‘business deal.’

 I’m not above you or below you you dirty-thirty-something.

 I’m just looking for meaning among people who are loyal.

I’m caught in my dreams, betwixt the real and the “real” in this Wonderland. 

And if we look through the ‘looking glass’ we only see people in poverty,

Who are thinking only of eating and surviving. 

Loving doesn’t matter much when you are looking for fresh water, 

When you’re sickly and dying — or does it matter most?

——

But here, won’t you hear me —

In our first- world of problems — 

I’m trying! I’m trying — but it’s never enough.

You dragons eat your steaks and leave me with nothing but my dry bones. 

You ravish a ‘paper-bag princess’ and leave her without a stitch;

Clothes that cover her heart.

And you suck her organs dry of blood and all matter,

You leave a her exposed for the vultures to grasp at,

 You break open a bottle of liquor and the whole room explodes, 

Covered in champagne and the bubbles make you choke.

Sifting through closets, cover up my exposed heart,

I don’t want to reveal myself but in the “real” world I must.

 Because if your broken your fixable and can be put back together,

 A mirror that’s shattered and eternally busted.

——

And these words may make little sense but that’s what you call — prose poetry,

Of a girl, who’s  a woman, who’s a child, who’s lured by the promises,

Of a blackness so bleak no one can see in front of their face,

Because in the darkest depths, the light shines brightest.

Arise and save yourself, 

Think of the words to describe your freedom desired —

Taylor Swift wrote it well: ” It’s too late for you and your white horse to catch me now.”

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©Mandibelle16. All Rights Reserved.