Saturday Mix Flash Fiction: Soliquey – Blank Verse – “The Con” #amwriting #soliliquey #fiction #SaturdayMix


Thanks to Bastet from MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting Saturday Mix. This week’s prompt is a soliloquy at a train station. I’ll be using blank verse or unrhymed iambic pentameter as the Bard did. 

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“Imagine a scene, a train is pulling out of the station and a person standing on the platform looking dejected. What can have happened. Perhaps this person is someone in the station wishing to leave but for some reason hasn’t. “

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Credit: GSK 2017

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So leaves the train, so leaves my heart, 

Why him I once loved, now I know not? 

Must have been his eyes so brilliant a green, 

Gems such as emeralds, a sea-green storm brewed.

Was it his cavalier smile, his laugh? 

With him I felt wanted, weak in the knees. 

I was his Queen, he my adoring King. 

He cared for me gently, said I shouldn’t stay —

On my own, for he loved me; fooled me, 

Underestimated a woman cruelly scorned. 

I saw cracks in the vase, facade crumbled, 

An artist’s dream of beauty such a fake, 

He left, emptied my pockets of money. 

This con thinks he’s safe going to Bahamas, 

Since he betrayed me, I say differently. 

He’ll be doing some flying, and me thinks he’s done. 
Thrown off the tallest bridge, out of the train. 

Expensive was his end, but I’m appeased

I watched his train moving away, still —

Missing his voice, his touch, time spent loving. 

But I know he never loved me, I was ‘means’ —

To an end; yet, the ‘real end’ was his own. 

——

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 

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Poems: Free Verse  – “Chivilry is Dead; Love Lives” #amwriting #poetry


http://www.polyvore.com

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Swords, steel reflecting light, might against might;
Who has the stronger arm; who’se trained to perfection? 

End ridiculous contestants, challenging each other, 

Coming to blows over Ladies, with medieval weaponry.

Put your duelling pistols away, live through dawn;

You combat with each other as you choose, 

It means little to me; chivalry the grim has scythed.

——-

Twenty-first-century woman, with poise taking on life.

Chivalry, extinct and never truthfully was ‘in,’

It was a gest, a game the court played for King and Queen,

Beneath the game, feigned affection reigned.

No thought for the personal freedoms of a Lady, 

No thought for the woman; she was owned.

At the hub of a wheel of chilviry, the Princess on her throne.

Married off on a white horse, to a dashing young Prince.

He a tyrant, spinning the cogs and wheels of his kingdom.

She primps, preens, performing a show;  

Accepting her Prince’s knight’s fealty; his dying love,

On battle field, the enemy soldiers ran the knight through.

Courtly manners, hide whispered secrets;

Lethal games, converging in mortality; bloody corpses.

 Hold your swords away, do not thrust or perry for attention.

The world has out-grown “pissing contests.”

—–

Win the woman of your dreams, with humour, 

Demonstrate, actual life, not fairy tales, can be fun together.

Your wife can be your lover; your lover your wife,

No having a woman pure enough for wifely duties, 

And a mistress a man loved and made actual love to.

Forget Authorian Legend and courtly love; it’s rules are lore.

Buy your own Lady gloriously coloured flowers,

Take her for a night dancing; giving a memory to smile about.

Together is being with all of your close friends, 

Together is melding your families;

Being united by oath; an agreement between you both.

A Lady is no longer the Princess on the courtly pedastool;

 A man is no longer the white knight; we’ve put to rest fairy tales.

Netflix and chill on the couch; a stately royal date,

Closing the leather bound, dusty history’s books, 

On weird courtship rituals, forced marriages, and chivalry.

More than anything, chivalry was a literary tradition.

Yet, the modern era cries; find your soulmate if you can.

Most parents finished arranging marriages,

A new way to win the bride, to win the Lady.

——

Love her for more than her sexuality, her ability to have children; 

Love her though she is flawed and not entirely ideal.

Love her forever, your heart beating for her;

Chilviry in true form; hides in the modern world.

Equality of woman and men; yet woman adore being catered to,

How lovely to be spoiled; treated as if you were special despite feminism.

Only, keep your swords and your pistols in the vaults of history, 

A game of fists won’t usually solve the problem.

Slipping in through the cracks of ice in her shield, 

Growing warmth and heat, so her hard heart beats, 

Thawing out the cold; letting spring light up her voice, 

Allowing the light in her eyes to flourish and glow, 

Hiding winters barren drought filled radiation.

Rays of light, they ignite and bring fire to her tears, 

Bring a Princess, ignored and used —

Into the modern-era; she’s your Lady, so you treat her well, 

And all her love acquire in return.

——–

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.

Poem: Etherees – ” Diamonds, Suits, and Equality.” 


http://www.walllpaperup.com

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I could keep on telling you of all the —

Possibilities, endless in row, 

Diamonds glittering, light within, 

Such falseness in clarity, 

Like you, extensively cheap —

You don’t comprehend, 

Lies kill love and —

Con-artists, 

Thrive; I 

See

—-

Through, 

Your lies, 

You’re glass with, 

Fractured cracks split, 

In all directions, 

Blaming me because you’re, 

A lost boy never grown up, 

Buying your way with jewels and, 

Expensive booze on your breath; putrid, 

The smell, of vanity, and self-deceit.

——-

Broken old man, in business suit glaring, 

Imagining you’ve an empire but you’ve,

Only got a shilling and its, 

Currency long past, not used, 

So pay for your glitter, 

Die for Diamond rings, 

You’ve only things, 

And no ounce,

Substance, 

Fake.

—-

Look

Down on, 

Condescend, 

From you high horse, 

Fall on marble, crack, 

You’re a paragon, 

Sayings of virtue spent, 

Lying with each word on your tongue, 

Never saying what you mean and —

Not receiving your just dessert, 

Razing a woman below your boot,

It’s not Madmen; she cares not for jewels.

—–

Rather, she wishes you’d respect her more, 

Pay her equal for the same type of job, 

Not peer down on her to use her, 

Not think she is stupid with —

Her four-year-degree not —

Good enough for you, 

She isn’t going, 

To be stuck, 

Keeping, 

Home.

—–

Jewels, 

Don’t phase, 

Her more than, 

A moment’s past–

She sells them all back, 

Letting you see she’ll toss, 

Your silly rock she’ll not be —

That girl; she fought for her place and, 

The dealings were rough; no respect for —

Her a diamond unformed a jewel still scorned.

——-

In modern world she’s disgusted with the —

Throw-back to Don Drapper; but even he told, 

His teen daughter “You’re beautiful –

The rest is up to you; TV —

Showing reality and, 

The issue at hand, 

Equality means, 

Woman, Man,  

Same. 

——-

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved

Writing 101: Poem – Shadorma – “Plastic” #everydayinspiration #amwriting


The Writing 101 prompt for the second last day of the course, is to feature a guest. I will have Jacqueline from A Cooking Pot and Twisted Tales doing a guest post interview in the coming days. Maybe, a week or two. So that’s when I will fulfill the prompt. For today I have a poem for you to enjoy. 

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http://www.kencloudpix.co

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The plastic,

Face of Ken Doll I —

Grew up with,

Playing Barbie,

His head nothing special, no —

Hair to comb; plastic.

—-

But I find,

Ken doll, he never–

Went away.

I see his —

Visage, the face of many —

Men; breathing and real.

—–

Yet I can’t,

Deal with the facts which —

Say the truth,

You’re alive–

So plastic, nothing could make–

You smile for real, yet —

—–

All I see,

Is eyes a fake shade,

Contact lens,

Enhanced blue,

Secrets beneath, hiding you,

Botox face, contorted. 

—-
You do the —

Right things, say the right —

Words to speak.

But plastic,

Is cheap and replaceable,

Because beneath – nil.

—–

Deception,

It hides handsome grins,

Manipulate,

Barter lives,

Pirate at heart hiding guise,

Suit, Cologne, slick hair.

—-

Slick like you —

Secrets you’re keeping,

Putting up —

Your own front.

Hiding genuine you; tired —

Of being plastic.

—–

©Mandibelle16. All Rights Reserved.

Story Continuation Prompt: Fiction – ” Uncle Jerry’s Photograph” 


Thanks to Wandering Soul who hosts this challenge. You are supposed to write one or two more sentences to make a three line story with the prompt sentence. I tend to get inspired and end up with an entire story, jammed into two too long sentences. So I’m linking to her blog with my story inspired by the sentence: ” The picture on the wall was crooked; a lot like the person in it.”

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http://www.denofgeeks.com

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The picture on the wall was crooked; a lot like the person in it. I knew the photo was of my Grandpa’s brother Jerry, who had shot himself in the foot to get out of WWII. He had only been in France a week and spent most of his active duty attempting to make himself throw-up daily, so he didn’t have to fight but could remain in the infirmary. But Jerry’s Captain realized what Jerry was up to and put him back with his company to kill German soldiers.

Sadly, it wasn’t beyond Jerry’s cowardice to hide behind other soldiers in his squadron,  or use them as shields. I doubt Jerry’s company minded when he showed them  a German soldier had shot him in the foot; even though his squadron knew Jerry had shot himself to get out of fighting in the War. It wasn’t as if many soldiers hadn’t thought of shooting their own foot to escape War’s reality, but most of them knew their country needed them and took their duty as a soldier with pride.

Jerry’s fellow soldiers were glad to see ‘useless’  Jerry gone. He hadn’t made any friends and most men knew being Jerry’s friend meant he would desert you when you needed help; infact, life expectancy for members in Jerry’s old company went up when Jerry was sent home with a permanent limp.

Jerry told absurd and utterly fake stories about being a War hero when he returned to his family’s house in London. Jerry had even stolen a poor dead man’s medals to make it appear as if he had been recognized by England, Primeminister Churchill, and the Queen, for defending his country. 

But Jerry’s family didn’t believe his stories and doubted he had sacrificed himself to earn such high honours. Jerry’s family knew his personality, the cowardliness and cunning that always lurked behind Jerry’s every action. 

War was awful and terrifying, but Jerry’s father who had fought in WWI and Jerry’s permanently wounded brother Clancy, who fought in WWII, believed Jerry should be doing his duty back in France. Soldiers were being shipped to the beaches of Normandy and neither Jerry’s father or Clancy thought the slight limp that Jerry most likely gave himself, should stop a soldier from doing his duty.

 Jerry eventually left home during the War, wandering the roads in different towns, lost and afraid that death would catch up with him because he had avoided it in France. In the shadow of a pale moon, a bomb flew from the sky one night, and Jerry met his end in England, near his family’s home. 

Both Jerry’s father and brother Clancy, at last we’re proud of him. The bomb from a German airplane had hit Jerry and not another person or a building full of civilians. Jerry hadn’t intended on being the bombs target, but his family felt they could remember the cowardly man with a bit of pride now.

 Jerry’s photo, Grandpa Clancy said, should remind us Grandchildren to be brave and not use others because we are afraid, as Uncle Jerry had done in his life. Grandpa Clancy’s Grandchildren knew what true sacrifice was when their Grandfather showed them the stump that was once his left leg. 

Clancy had never bothered with a prosthetic limb. His leg stump spoke volumes to a generation who did not realize what a sacrifice so many men had made so their children and Grandchildren could be free from men such as Hitler and his Nazis.

Clancy had loved his brother. The part of Jerry who was a scheming coward, Clancy had never been able to understand. Scared or not, a man has to do what a man had to do, especially during a War. Clancy was cheered that in death, his brother Jerry may have been brave.

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©Mandibelle16.(2016) All Rights Reserved.

19. How Was Last Night For You: Talise’s Cave and John’s Nightmare


Please read Chapter 18 here.

Chapter 19: Talise’s Cave and John’s Nightmare.

John had borrowed a motor boat from his brother Jordan, who enjoyed taking the boat out fishing. He had considered asking Jordan to come with him, but he hadn’t wanted to risk his younger brother’s life. John had his sailing boat but it wasn’t inconspicuous enough for him to take out to Tia’s hallowed cave.

An immense moon hung in the night sky, as if it were a giant orb of white gold. John recalled the full moon when he had first meant Nina. He thought about Nina always, without meaning to think of her.

It had only been a week since John had last seen Nina, at his parents house,  and he missed Nina exceptionally. During her time healing from her concussion, John and Nina had been inseparable. John felt a sickening in his stomach when he recalled how he had left Nina, crying and begging him not to end their relationship.

But stronger than the misery John felt missing Nina, was the fear he perceived for Nina’s life. John had snapped when Nina was almost mowed down by a giant red pickup truck, surely Tia’s doing. He had taken the only action he could think of without exploding in rage, frustration, and  animosity concerning Tia; John left Nina hurting.

John had realized the best way for him to keep Nina safe from Tia, was for him to keep his distance from her. Especially since Tia was after Nina, and wanted her heart. Maybe now, Tia would take John’s heart. It wasn’t as if John had much of a heart left after being cursed to have horrific events occur around him for ten-years, and after letting Nina go.

On the way home from parents house,  John experienced a ‘feeling’ he hadn’t sensed it a while. A horrific event was about to occur. Two vehicles behind John’s Mercedes collided and were in a serious car accident. John had called 911 immediately and the Adare Fire Department had had to bring in the ‘jaws of life’ to cut a critically injured man out of his smashed white Corolla. John had given a witness statement and stopped to assist at the wreckage. He knew that he was the one whose curse was responsible for the severely injured people and their destroyed vehicles.

John’s curse had returned and the fact further enraged John, who was already in a dangerous  mood due to Nina’s near accident. He had gone home and worked the hell out of a punching bag and pulled out his favourite luxury vodka.

Nina was the most precious person to John, he loved her. He hadn’t admitted it to her but it was true. He knew it inside. John had asked Rianne and his family to keep on eye on Nina after his fight. Even if having his family in Nina’s life was weird when Nina and John weren’t speaking. Rianne was at Nina’s condo tonight while John was out, searching for Tia’s soul or the dagger that she carried.

Jordan’s motor boat puttered along the Sirene Lake, it wasn’t exceedingly noisy, so John had some stealth approaching Tia’s cave. The night was clear and the moonlight lit John’s path. He was guiding the boat along some stone edifices when he came to the hidden piece of white beach and cave, Tia’s sanctuary.

Tia and John had come here years ago, to make love and enjoy each other’s company. Tia had insisted John and her come here to relax and be together. Presently, in the chilly night air, the former haven of white sand seemed forbidding. John brought the motor boat as close to the beach as he could. He dropped anchor, stepping out into the freezing water, grazing his thighs. No matter, John had worn a black wetsuit for his mission.

John carried a flashlight with him, but he didn’t turn the flashlight on. He was waiting to see if Tia might be here. In the past, John knew, Tia slept in her cave. She didn’t seem to feel the cold as human’s did. She came to her secret place when she was angry or hurt, so there was a substantial chance, Tia was here.

He should stop calling her Tia, John thought. The young girl John knew as Tia no longer existed. Talise was the name of the seawitch, the horrible bitch who tried have Nina run down and had given Nina a serious concussion.

Warily, John tiptoed through the white sand in his bare feet, heading for Talise’s cave with the fantastic crystal mirror, Tia’s looking glass she called it. As he crept, John recalled the dreams he had been having of Talise lately. In these dreams he felt as if he was stuck in quicksand. He could not make his own body move. He had no control, as Talise dragged Nina out into the deepest part of the Sirene Lake where Nina was murdered.


 

” John, help me!” Nina screamed to John in his nightmare.” Why won’t you move? Talise is trying to drown me and I can’t get free. Talise’s magic has made her strong.”

In his nightmare, Talise would laugh maniacally at John, while forcing Nina into more treacherous depths.

” You can do nothing, John,” Talise would say, her voice gravely and low. “Nina your heart is mine! No one will find you in the middle of the Sirene Lake, no one can save you from my cursed dagger. Going through your heart, the dagger will be sharp and painful Nina. I will kill you slowly, to take your soul. The ritual requires me to do so. And I don’t mind at all . . .” Talise raged.

“It’s your fault Nina. You should’ve stayed far away from John. I warned you he was not for you. John’s mine. I merely wanted him to suffer before I came back to him. We are meant to be… but you changed fate. Now John loves you and I’ve been forced to bewitch him. John can only do what I order him to do — he has no free will. He’s going to watch from the shallow water, while I kill you and steal your soul.” In the nightmare, Talise was evil. She had become a depraved shadow of her former self.

John would try with all his might to move his body, to stop Talise. But always, the same event occurred in his dream. John regarded Talise in abhorrence and loathing as she stabbed his beloved through her heart. Talise took her time, drawing out Nina’s suffering. Tears flowed down John’s cheeks as Nina languished in agony, begging for Talise to kill her faster.

Then, the life would perceptibly flicker out of Nina’s pale blue eyes. John could always see this detail well. John would feel as if he was holding Nina as he cried witnessing deep red blood, Nina’s life force, seeping out of her body into the Sirene Lake.

Talise would chant an ancient language, while John wept with fury, experiencing a sharp pain in his own chest, at Nina’s death. Then a luminous glowing  orb would float above Nina’s body. Nina’s soul would arise and come to rest in a special container Talise held in her hand. John was traumatized. He could see the details of the container well. It was a clear, round, sphere, materialized of magic.

Talise would laugh maniacally watching John grieve. John remembered in his nightmare, the feeling of himself dying inside as Nina’s corpse, white and stiff , floated by Talise in the Sirene. John didn’t understand why his his nightmare felt so life-like.

Inside John experienced immense sorrow and rage against Talise. But he had no control over his free will. When Talise called for him to join her deeper in the Sirene Lake’s water, John obediently swam out to her. Talise gave John Nina’s soul, brilliant in the magic orb. In his nightmare he recalled thinking, it was his last piece of Nina. Talise smirked as John grasped the sphere and hid it in his pocket sadly.

John tred water in the Sirene Lake, while Talise appeared to float effortlessly. When Talise tried to kiss him, more tears leaked out of John’s eyes. He was crying for Nina and could not stop. But John didn’t make a sound as Talise demanded he kiss her. He did so with ardor, even though it wasn’t ardor he felt for Talise, only disgust and loathing.

John had woken every night that past week, since Nina was nearly hit by the red truck, sweating profusely with tears running down his stubbled cheeks. The nightmare drained John and he had a feeling, this dream could become reality if he did not stop Talise. Nina could die and John would be doomed to live a life, a slave to Talise’s desires. John involuntarily shivered.

Please Read Chapter 20 here.


 

©Mandibelle16.(2016) All Rights Reserved.

 

Flash Fiction For Aspiring Writers – The “Orange” Painting


” This is not quite what we are looking for Jane,” Mrs. Hammerstein said to me. ” It’s a bit abstract for my tastes.”

” It’s a wonderful painting,” declared, Mrs. Hammerstein’s son Bobby ” those drops of water are so clear and they jump right out at you and out of the orange background. Well it could be anything: it could be a sky, an orange sunset; it could be a view of nature that the sunset colors. . .”

“Oh, I agree” I said to Bobby smiling ” it’s a beautiful mish mash of orange. And those rain drops, it’s as if you are looking through a window at such glory, they are the best part of the painting.” Bobby smiled back at me. Mr. Winehouser was going to be so impressed with me when I sold the “orange” painting from the art gallery.

The same day it sold to Mrs. Hammerstein, the painting was stolen. I felt I must have really sold the picture, for someone to steal it. To bad for them, it was just a fake. The real one hangs over my bed at home.

Word Count: 181 words

Thanks to Priceless Joy for hosting. Please feel free to join us.

Writing 101 – Say Something


I was young. It was 10 years ago now. How was I to know that the chemistry I felt between us was nothing more than physical. How was I to know that you and me would never be anything, that you would follow me in the back of my mind for the next 10 years. I wonder if you understand how insignificant you made me feel. I wonder if you knew I didn’t want to be part of all the other girls who followed you around and sat beside you. I wanted to be different from them. For years I thought it was my fault that we never worked out. I thought because I was shy and felt great anxiety around you that I was the reason you never made an effort to talk to me. I believed that because what I felt for you was greater than anything I’d felt before and that the chemistry (to this day) was more than I had ever felt, that I should have done more, said more.

This story is not about a conversation that was significant; this story is about one hundred little conversations that never existed. It’s about one hundred little waves of the hand that we shared and that’s where the connection stopped. But I never understood how for years I thought of you, when I saw another guy. I compared the feeling I got around you to the feeling I got around him. I put you and guys like you on some pedestal, until one day after so much had happened to me I learned how to look guys like you in the eye. I learned how to flirt. I learned to look for other guys not like you — to ignore that huge sense of attraction — because guys like you were fake, thought they could have any girl. Guys like you got off on attention from pretty girls, they didn’t know how to treat pretty girls. Guys like you didn’t know how to be with a girl and make her feel fantastic. Guys like you were users. I hope today your still not like this.

Still, for years, I wanted the guy I thought you were. I never found him. I found another guy who loved me and took care of me and talked with me. But the chemistry is not like it was, the excitement isn’t there. I don’t know if I have just grown up or if I’m settling. I love him, but a part of me doesn’t, a part of me belongs with you. I think you stole it the last time I saw you walking down the temporary pathway to the university library. Your thickly lashed blue eyes looked at me and became huge and then we said “Hey” to one another.  It was the last of one hundred conversations we never really had. My first step towards freedom.

Say Something – A Great Big World

Writing 101 – Both Saw 2 Different Things


Two gentlemen looking, saw very different things,
One saw a girl with laughter in her smile and sunshine on her face.
One saw a girl serious and cold, she sat in the shade and hid her plane face.
The other saw beauty breath taking delight, rosy cheeks, and butterfly kisses.
The other saw skin deathly pale, and ugliness that had crept in with the promise of death.
And those two individuals they saw what they saw, one caught up in grace and in an ethereal light.
The other saw darkness and more to the point, the blackness which invades the soul and can not be vanquished but with the sun.
And they saw two dissimilar faces as that girl walked before them, one touching his view point with the brightest of smiles, one pressing his point with the darkness of frowns.
The girl wore a dress delicate and refined, the whitest of whites that shone in the dawn.
The second one saw that the dress was tattered, fading in places, ripped in some, bleached until it was a white that could be destroyed and torn.
The first man thought her hair was golden blond, glossy and brilliant and floating round her head, the veil of an angel as she danced down the street with vitality.
His partner saw hair fake and discoloured, no one had hair as shiny and blond as that, so he called her an imposter and judged her appearance, said she was vermin, and that he knew it.
And the girl flitted down the street disappearing, while one man called her nimble the other called her rude.
But it’s the strangest of things what two different people will see.
One will see good things, the other only misery.
As a fairy tale might mention, one man was a prince, the other a beast.