Sunday Photo Fiction: She Looks Like Gollum


Thanks to Alistair Forbes the gracious host of SPF.

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A Mixed Bag

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“Wow Mom. Can we do this going back the other way?” Tyson pleaded.

“Yeah, Ty of course we can do the gondolas on the way back. How else would we go back down the mountain?” 

“We could walk?” Tyson suggested, shrugging.

” I think we should go to the museum about the mountain and town that used to be here. Then we can walk to a few look-out points, before taking take the gondola down.” Trish said.

She held Tyson’s baby sister in a snuggy. Trish peered down at tiny Dora. 

“Look who’s awake Tyson.” He made a face at Trish, regarding Dora with destain. 

“She’s ugly. I thought girls were supposed to be pretty; she could be Gollum.”

Trish swatted Tyson playfully. “Don’t call your sister Gollum.” He giggled. 

“She’ll grow into herself. You’ll be playing the role of her protective big brother in no time.”

Tyson laughed. “I think I’ll be protecting the boys from her…”

Suddenly, he felt the gondola fall. It haulted, hanging from half the original cable at an angle.

Dora was crying and Tyson was afraid. His arm hurt terribly and was at an odd angle. Tyson’s Mom kept repeating prayers, tears leaking from her eyes.

“I take it back Dora is pretty,” Tyson cried thinking his words had made God mad at him.  That had to be why is Mom was praying so much.

Ten minutes later a helicopter arrived saving Tyson and his family. Tyson was thrilled to be riding in a helicopter, even with a broken arm.

 He patted Dora’s head as she wriggled in the snuggy his Mom still wore.

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©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.

Three Line Tales: Sandboarding and Secrets.


Thank you to Sonya of 100 Words or Less for hosting 3 Line Tales each week based on a photo prompt.

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Fabio Rose

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1. I would like to sandboard  down this deep sand hill, it. reminds of snowboarding but better because it’s not freezing cold outside and you don’t have to dress in winter gear; if you fell I believe it wouldn’t be as tough, sand is more giving then snow, but truthfully; I’m terrible at snowboarding or sandboarding, I should’ve learned when I was a little girl and had less distance to fall to the ground.

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2. The shadow makes me think all the things we hide, of secrets we keep for each other, some which tear us to pieces inside, so should we keep secrets? It’s a valid question, but more so we need to be careful who we gift with what information, especially at first; I believe in honesty, but I know they’re some truths which are so awful, they should never see the light of day.

3. To live in the light, I think it’s a wonderful saying and I want to be forth right and not have to hide my true self from others; I like to say things how they are and not have to keep secrets (as I’ve said); but there are days the shadow wins and hiding secrets is the expected course of action; we need to have people we can trust with our secrets, and hope they trust their secrets to us, but I’m not always sure who you can trust with what types of secret because gossip is all too prevalent with people; secrets always bring confusion and bitterness is often a result.

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©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.

Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner: You’d Have to Pay Me


This is the first time I had ever had to sign for a letter addressed to Occupent.The letter was nothing special, only a neighbour complaining about the billboard this company pays me to have on my lawn. The company mails me a cheque for $500 a month to leave their horrid billboard painting alone. I try not think about it or look at it much. 

If Gary in the Condo next to me doesn’t like it, too bad for him. I put his most recent letter in the garbage. Clever of him to have it sent to me as ‘occupant;’ he knows my name well.

As I am leaving my house for work, I glance at the billboard. The lady on it looks like some nightmarish clown. At least, my niece thought so when she visited with my sister. Sara hated to sleepover because outside the spare bedroom window is the billboard. I love Sara but the billboard stays, it pays part of my mortgage. I don’t mind switching rooms with Sara for the night she comes to visit me once a month.

On my way to the car, I see my neighbour Gary. I wave and run over to my billboard smiling and giving the billboard a thumbs up. Gary, an elderly man in his seventies, scowls at me. I wave to him again and drive off squeeling my tires and honking at Gary who shakes his fist and swears at me loudly as I pass him in my car.

I don’t care. If Gary paid me $500 a month to not have the ugly billboard on my lawn, well that would be the only reason I would be getting rid of the billboard. Until then, the hideous monument remains on my lawn.

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http://www.publicdomainarchive.com

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Thanks to Roger Shipp for hosting FFftPP.

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©Mandibelle16. All Rights Reserved.

Flash Fiction For Aspiring Writers: A Mural for Lola


 George stared up at the ugly green water tower. He was a wiley guy for the age of seventy-six and truth be told, he hated the colour of  the water tower. George rolled his eyes at people who called the water tower festive at Christmas and said: “like hell it’s a festive colour,” to anyone who would listen.

One day George talked with his bestfriend Andy and they decided to paint the water tower. Andy was a gifted artist and George had tenacity. They got the permanents needed from the Mayor’s office. Then they hired some boys to paint the tower with white primer. When it was dry, George and Andy went up and painted the lines in for the mural in black.

Some of the people in town were furious when they saw the design. Elma (who wasn’t much for change) and her half of the town council thought the water tower should be green. What George and Andy were painting was an abomination forcing religion on people. Elma filed a petition to stop the painting.

Meanwhile, Andy found every available artist of all ages who could volunteer and they began to paint the mural with colour. When the day came to reveal the mural the entire town stared in awe at the beautiful Nativity that was painted around their water tower. 

Elma still insisted it be painted over back to green, but her appeal was denied and she passed away the next day a bitter women of sixty-eight. George and Andy were proud of what they had turned the water tower into. 

Late that night, George looked at a picture at his bedside table of a luscious brunette in a bikini in the 1960’s. She had been his wife Lola. It was for her he had undertook the plan of painting the water tower. Lola had loved the Nativity story and Christmas. 
 

Thanks to Priceless Joy for hosting and Sonya of Only 100 Words for providing the prompt picture.

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©Mandibelle16. All Rights Reserved.