Another young girl entered the dream. I thought to myself about how the last one turned out. Things went pretty well. I, Noble, would guide this one from the land of sugar to the prince, just like I had the last. Well, at least I would try. They can be so stubborn, and selfish.
"Where am I?" The girl cried. And dutifully, the good witch appeared, gave her the magical gifts and her task. And, as expected, the moment the good witch was gone, she attempted to selfishly run with those magical shoes straight to the prince. If only she could see how silly she looked, running in place.
Coming to a stop, she looked around, as she realized she had not moved an inch. "Aww man, these shoes are BROKEN! Dumb shoes."
My role was next, so I cast my fairy magic, transporting her to a land of sugar. I made my usual appearance.
"Hi, I'm Noble! I'm a sugar fairy, and I have been sent to help you get to the prince!" I said, introducing myself.
"I'm Amy. Do you know where I am?"
"Silly, you're in the land of sugar!" I responded. She knelt down, and tasted the sandy ground. Her face brightened as she scooped more toward her mouth. "Hey! Be careful! If you eat too much, you'll get a stomachache!"
"I'm fine... but I wish I could go home." Amy responded, in a huff. Then, in a surprising turn, she looked at me deviously.
"Wait, Amy. What are you thinking?" I asked, but before I had a chance to react, she jumped atop me, and started biting my arm. "Hey! Stop that, I'm not food!"
"Yes you are! You're sugar!" Amy said, as she bit my head off. My body fell limply to the ground. Well, this was going to be harder than when Maya came through. I melted into the sugary ground and reformed a few feet away, this time with wings so she couldn't reach me.
"Ok, listen, Amy. I'm here to help you, but we need to set some ground rules."
"I HATE RULES! I want to do what I WANT!" Amy whined. Rolling my eyes, I prepared for what was SURE to be a LONG trip.
-------------------------
This blog post is part of a series of stories associated with Practice makes pretense, in which a collection of writing done in response to prompts is compiled. Then, the reader should answer the following two questions: 1) What was your favorite thing about the writing? 2) What did you feel as you read it?
If you would like to view the original, please visit the Practice makes pretense book on Wattpad, and respond to the writer.
Saturday, March 17, 2018
Thursday, March 15, 2018
Smoke, fog, and haze
I did the ironic thing. Despite the fact that I could not see in front of me because of the fog, I lit a cigarette, even knowing that it may make the haze take even longer to clear. I needed it. Cigarettes, I had learned, actually contain a lot of stimulants. But the habits of smoking them always helped me calm down. I felt more clear headed after having one, even though it was probably just the nicotine addiction. Just taking the edge off right before withdrawal kicked in.
"Alright, Bruce. Take it slow, you've got this." I tried to calm myself between puffs. I looked around, still could hardly see past my own hand. The illumination from the cigarette doing nothing to help. The small, handheld flashlight in my free hand, having taken the place of the lighter from a moment ago, did less. It was like shining a light at a wall. I bent down a little.
"Why'd it have to be heights?" I asked myself, noting how there was seemingly no floor on either side of me. Who knew how far down the pit went. "Well, now's a good a time as any to check."
I flicked the butt of the cigarette down the side of the platform, watching the glow as it fell, but a few feet down, and the fog overtook it. Could just be a few feet, could be a mile. I'd rather not find out. Looking back at the path, I knew there was only one direction to walk, and so I steadied myself, and slowly moved through the smoke, fog, and haze. "Wait for me, Margaret. I'll save you."
-------------------------
This blog post is part of a series of stories associated with Practice makes pretense, in which a collection of writing done in response to prompts is compiled. Then, the reader should answer the following two questions: 1) What was your favorite thing about the writing? 2) What did you feel as you read it?
If you would like to view the original, please visit the Practice makes pretense book on Wattpad, and respond to the writer.
"Alright, Bruce. Take it slow, you've got this." I tried to calm myself between puffs. I looked around, still could hardly see past my own hand. The illumination from the cigarette doing nothing to help. The small, handheld flashlight in my free hand, having taken the place of the lighter from a moment ago, did less. It was like shining a light at a wall. I bent down a little.
"Why'd it have to be heights?" I asked myself, noting how there was seemingly no floor on either side of me. Who knew how far down the pit went. "Well, now's a good a time as any to check."
I flicked the butt of the cigarette down the side of the platform, watching the glow as it fell, but a few feet down, and the fog overtook it. Could just be a few feet, could be a mile. I'd rather not find out. Looking back at the path, I knew there was only one direction to walk, and so I steadied myself, and slowly moved through the smoke, fog, and haze. "Wait for me, Margaret. I'll save you."
-------------------------
This blog post is part of a series of stories associated with Practice makes pretense, in which a collection of writing done in response to prompts is compiled. Then, the reader should answer the following two questions: 1) What was your favorite thing about the writing? 2) What did you feel as you read it?
If you would like to view the original, please visit the Practice makes pretense book on Wattpad, and respond to the writer.
Wednesday, March 14, 2018
Foreclosure
"Wait, they're going to foreclose on our planet!?" Jenna yelped. "Who the hell was responsible for making the payments and fell behind?"
"Apparently, it was the president of the committee of space." Gordon replied, as he packed his essential items. You know, the usual things- his automatic hair floofer, his external neuralink transmitter, his 360 holo-outfit adjuster, his trans-dimensional storage cube, and his pet rock.
"Well who put the president of the committee of space in charge of that?" Jenna asked, as she stared at how calmly Gordon was handling the situation. "And why are you so calm! Our planet is about to be destroyed!"
"Now, now, just because the planet is being destroyed doesn't mean we won't have anywhere to live. I heard in just another century they will have repaved this orbit with a brand new planet, which will have exotic living conditions. Also, it wasn't like anyone put the president in charge on purpose, the treasurer of the committee of space got fired after an investigation revealed that he had been smuggling shoopufs from Spira."
"I don't want to have to wait a century for a place to live! Is there anything we can do to keep the planet from going into foreclosure?"
"Well, I suppose if we were able to get someone to volunteer to use the time capsule to go back to the beginning of the universe, and deposit a single penny in the Universal Bank, then by the time it was present day we would have an account with enough money to make this orbit's payment. Of course, you know nobody would volunteer for a one way trip to a time where running water and direct neural broadcasting of sport events weren't available."
"Well I won't stand for this. I'm going to do something." Jenna said. Gordon jumped into the teleportation grid to head to Alpha Centauri, advising her "OK, just be careful. Dinner's at 8!"
-------------------------
This blog post is part of a series of stories associated with Practice makes pretense, in which a collection of writing done in response to prompts is compiled. Then, the reader should answer the following two questions: 1) What was your favorite thing about the writing? 2) What did you feel as you read it?
If you would like to view the original, please visit the Practice makes pretense book on Wattpad, and respond to the writer.
"Apparently, it was the president of the committee of space." Gordon replied, as he packed his essential items. You know, the usual things- his automatic hair floofer, his external neuralink transmitter, his 360 holo-outfit adjuster, his trans-dimensional storage cube, and his pet rock.
"Well who put the president of the committee of space in charge of that?" Jenna asked, as she stared at how calmly Gordon was handling the situation. "And why are you so calm! Our planet is about to be destroyed!"
"Now, now, just because the planet is being destroyed doesn't mean we won't have anywhere to live. I heard in just another century they will have repaved this orbit with a brand new planet, which will have exotic living conditions. Also, it wasn't like anyone put the president in charge on purpose, the treasurer of the committee of space got fired after an investigation revealed that he had been smuggling shoopufs from Spira."
"I don't want to have to wait a century for a place to live! Is there anything we can do to keep the planet from going into foreclosure?"
"Well, I suppose if we were able to get someone to volunteer to use the time capsule to go back to the beginning of the universe, and deposit a single penny in the Universal Bank, then by the time it was present day we would have an account with enough money to make this orbit's payment. Of course, you know nobody would volunteer for a one way trip to a time where running water and direct neural broadcasting of sport events weren't available."
"Well I won't stand for this. I'm going to do something." Jenna said. Gordon jumped into the teleportation grid to head to Alpha Centauri, advising her "OK, just be careful. Dinner's at 8!"
-------------------------
This blog post is part of a series of stories associated with Practice makes pretense, in which a collection of writing done in response to prompts is compiled. Then, the reader should answer the following two questions: 1) What was your favorite thing about the writing? 2) What did you feel as you read it?
If you would like to view the original, please visit the Practice makes pretense book on Wattpad, and respond to the writer.
Tuesday, March 13, 2018
Missed Connections
I've been single for what seems like a long time. To me, I should say, because naturally how we perceive time varies based on our age, our experiences, and other qualia.
Lately, the fact that I am single has been hitting me rather hard. It is not always a big deal (sure it would be nice to not have to deal with it again, but I can generally handle being single because less responsibility). Recently, however, I have been noticing all the missed connections I have with people. Or connections that I maybe haven't missed, but perhaps still haven't addressed yet.
I know how silly it can sound, making a love life so important. But I've seen some people I've been intrigued by lately, but despite my intentions to not miss those connections, I have been prevented from taking action. Mostly by circumstance, not by my unwillingness to talk to people. After all, if you pass a stranger on the street (fyi- just an example, I'm not literally approaching random people on the street, in case you were wondering), and you're into them but say nothing... you may never have a chance to say anything to them again. It's just how things go.
So, I've been a bit disappointed that I've missed some opportunities to get to know more about those intriguing people. Then there are the people who I like, but despite my efforts to get to know them better, it is unusually difficult. I suppose I should give myself a bit of credit, I am putting forth effort, but the connection with those people are also kinda vague. Nebulous, minor connections. I'm still working on them, but I think I may have to face the fact that it may never be a strong connection, regardless of how much time I put into it.
I long for connection with others. I feel I'm missing out on it somehow. And although I want the circumstances to change, I don't want to have to completely change who I am or how I operate just for a chance that something might happen. Maybe it is that very stubbornness to change that has led me to the point where I am. Approaching 30 years old, with less than 6 months of time in 'significant other' relationships under my belt for experience. Not sure what to do. And, for those who are reading, sorry if this isn't my normal fantasy short story type of post, but then again, the prompts do seem to imply occasionally writing real stuff, and this is Fantasy or Reality. So, today I'm being real. I hate missed connections.
-------------------------
This blog post is part of a series of stories associated with Practice makes pretense, in which a collection of writing done in response to prompts is compiled. Then, the reader should answer the following two questions: 1) What was your favorite thing about the writing? 2) What did you feel as you read it?
If you would like to view the original, please visit the Practice makes pretense book on Wattpad, and respond to the writer.
Lately, the fact that I am single has been hitting me rather hard. It is not always a big deal (sure it would be nice to not have to deal with it again, but I can generally handle being single because less responsibility). Recently, however, I have been noticing all the missed connections I have with people. Or connections that I maybe haven't missed, but perhaps still haven't addressed yet.
I know how silly it can sound, making a love life so important. But I've seen some people I've been intrigued by lately, but despite my intentions to not miss those connections, I have been prevented from taking action. Mostly by circumstance, not by my unwillingness to talk to people. After all, if you pass a stranger on the street (fyi- just an example, I'm not literally approaching random people on the street, in case you were wondering), and you're into them but say nothing... you may never have a chance to say anything to them again. It's just how things go.
So, I've been a bit disappointed that I've missed some opportunities to get to know more about those intriguing people. Then there are the people who I like, but despite my efforts to get to know them better, it is unusually difficult. I suppose I should give myself a bit of credit, I am putting forth effort, but the connection with those people are also kinda vague. Nebulous, minor connections. I'm still working on them, but I think I may have to face the fact that it may never be a strong connection, regardless of how much time I put into it.
I long for connection with others. I feel I'm missing out on it somehow. And although I want the circumstances to change, I don't want to have to completely change who I am or how I operate just for a chance that something might happen. Maybe it is that very stubbornness to change that has led me to the point where I am. Approaching 30 years old, with less than 6 months of time in 'significant other' relationships under my belt for experience. Not sure what to do. And, for those who are reading, sorry if this isn't my normal fantasy short story type of post, but then again, the prompts do seem to imply occasionally writing real stuff, and this is Fantasy or Reality. So, today I'm being real. I hate missed connections.
-------------------------
This blog post is part of a series of stories associated with Practice makes pretense, in which a collection of writing done in response to prompts is compiled. Then, the reader should answer the following two questions: 1) What was your favorite thing about the writing? 2) What did you feel as you read it?
If you would like to view the original, please visit the Practice makes pretense book on Wattpad, and respond to the writer.
Monday, March 12, 2018
Great Minds
Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. Albert Einstein. Nikola Tesla. Benjamin Franklin. Galleo Galilei. Blaise Pascal. Gottfried Wilhelm. Leonardo DiVinci.
These were just a few of the great minds that have shaped the course of human history. And now, he was ready to be the next. Filbert Hilbarington, entrepreneur, inventor, philosopher, artist, and scientist. Everyone would remember his name. It would be in history textbooks, biology texts, mathematical proofs would be named after him, as would various elements.
Just one... last... tweak... done! Finally, his time to take his rightful place in the annals of history had come. Filbert Hilbarington climbed into his bed, and turned on the device attached to the headboard. It popped out, and over his face, and he began the launch sequence.
In a matter of moments, his bed was swirling around him. Colors and sounds, flying past, as he made the leap to another universe, one farther back in time... one thing he had forgotten to add to his time machine bed: a way to properly coordinate its position to match the same relative position to the planet, instead of the same absolute position in space.
Nobody ever heard of Filbert Hilbarington again, but several millennia later, an oddity was discovered when what appeared to be a bed was found entering Earth's gravity from space.
-------------------------
This blog post is part of a series of stories associated with Practice makes pretense, in which a collection of writing done in response to prompts is compiled. Then, the reader should answer the following two questions: 1) What was your favorite thing about the writing? 2) What did you feel as you read it?
If you would like to view the original, please visit the Practice makes pretense book on Wattpad, and respond to the writer.
These were just a few of the great minds that have shaped the course of human history. And now, he was ready to be the next. Filbert Hilbarington, entrepreneur, inventor, philosopher, artist, and scientist. Everyone would remember his name. It would be in history textbooks, biology texts, mathematical proofs would be named after him, as would various elements.
Just one... last... tweak... done! Finally, his time to take his rightful place in the annals of history had come. Filbert Hilbarington climbed into his bed, and turned on the device attached to the headboard. It popped out, and over his face, and he began the launch sequence.
In a matter of moments, his bed was swirling around him. Colors and sounds, flying past, as he made the leap to another universe, one farther back in time... one thing he had forgotten to add to his time machine bed: a way to properly coordinate its position to match the same relative position to the planet, instead of the same absolute position in space.
Nobody ever heard of Filbert Hilbarington again, but several millennia later, an oddity was discovered when what appeared to be a bed was found entering Earth's gravity from space.
-------------------------
This blog post is part of a series of stories associated with Practice makes pretense, in which a collection of writing done in response to prompts is compiled. Then, the reader should answer the following two questions: 1) What was your favorite thing about the writing? 2) What did you feel as you read it?
If you would like to view the original, please visit the Practice makes pretense book on Wattpad, and respond to the writer.
Sunday, March 11, 2018
Cleaning
The princess, at seeing how terribly messy the place had been, decided she was going to clean it before they got back from the mines.
Calling out in her most cheerful voice, she began to sing a happy tune. Whistling while she cleaned. Before long, the various animals of the surrounding area overheard her beautiful singing, and came to her side to help clean.
When the dwarves finally returned home, they were horrified by what they saw. The sink was filled with birds, splashing about. The rafters had rats running to and fro. A deer in the corner had eaten their house plant. Squirrels had poached their cabinet of all the nuts they had saved up for pie. And the stench. OH, the stench. It seemed that in every nook and cranny of their hut, there were droppings from the animals.
"That is it! You must go!" They said to the princess, upon realizing she had invited the animals into their home. And they evicted her, without a second thought.
-------------------------
This blog post is part of a series of stories associated with Practice makes pretense, in which a collection of writing done in response to prompts is compiled. Then, the reader should answer the following two questions: 1) What was your favorite thing about the writing? 2) What did you feel as you read it?
If you would like to view the original, please visit the Practice makes pretense book on Wattpad, and respond to the writer.
Calling out in her most cheerful voice, she began to sing a happy tune. Whistling while she cleaned. Before long, the various animals of the surrounding area overheard her beautiful singing, and came to her side to help clean.
When the dwarves finally returned home, they were horrified by what they saw. The sink was filled with birds, splashing about. The rafters had rats running to and fro. A deer in the corner had eaten their house plant. Squirrels had poached their cabinet of all the nuts they had saved up for pie. And the stench. OH, the stench. It seemed that in every nook and cranny of their hut, there were droppings from the animals.
"That is it! You must go!" They said to the princess, upon realizing she had invited the animals into their home. And they evicted her, without a second thought.
-------------------------
This blog post is part of a series of stories associated with Practice makes pretense, in which a collection of writing done in response to prompts is compiled. Then, the reader should answer the following two questions: 1) What was your favorite thing about the writing? 2) What did you feel as you read it?
If you would like to view the original, please visit the Practice makes pretense book on Wattpad, and respond to the writer.
Dictionary Definition
Behindhand - late, tardy; behind in progress, backwards; in debt or arrears
When you are behindhand in getting home by curfew, your behind gets the hand. Specifically, when you're late, you're going to feel it in arrears. When getting a spanking, 'behind in progress'.
That's how I grew up, anyway. I will refrain from commenting whether this is the best method of raising a child, but it is the method by which I was raised.
-------------------------
This blog post is part of a series of stories associated with Practice makes pretense, in which a collection of writing done in response to prompts is compiled. Then, the reader should answer the following two questions: 1) What was your favorite thing about the writing? 2) What did you feel as you read it?
If you would like to view the original, please visit the Practice makes pretense book on Wattpad, and respond to the writer.
When you are behindhand in getting home by curfew, your behind gets the hand. Specifically, when you're late, you're going to feel it in arrears. When getting a spanking, 'behind in progress'.
That's how I grew up, anyway. I will refrain from commenting whether this is the best method of raising a child, but it is the method by which I was raised.
-------------------------
This blog post is part of a series of stories associated with Practice makes pretense, in which a collection of writing done in response to prompts is compiled. Then, the reader should answer the following two questions: 1) What was your favorite thing about the writing? 2) What did you feel as you read it?
If you would like to view the original, please visit the Practice makes pretense book on Wattpad, and respond to the writer.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)