Updates (Fiction)

I’m writing this from my bathtub.

I hate when Android tells me that I need to upgrade my apps. They usually work fine so I wait until the last-minute.

Today I decided to update. The phone warned me that I’d be unable to make or receive calls for an unspecified time. No biggie. I survived three days last year without a phone. Who cares about a few moments?

As I selected “Make Updates”, I saw a menacing guy outside my place. We made eye contact and I thought, “Oh shit. Not now.”

I locked the external doors and made my way to the bathroom. Our community procedures say this is the safest place in the event of a tornado. I figured the same would apply to a psychopath.

My phone kept updating. Why was application #22 taking so long? He breached my external door. I should have listened to my Aunt and selected a higher level.

As application #57 of 60 updated, I heard the bathroom doorknob break and a voice say, “I’m here for you, bitch.”

knots

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Long ropes, short ropes, fat ropes, thin ropes
Dangling, looping, holding, waiting
Each with a purpose, a service
And each tied with a knot
Bowlines, cleat hitches, anchor bends, clove hitches, sheepshanks

Sometimes for fun, sometimes while under the gun
I’ve needed them, learned them, used them
Taut twisting tensile tangles
But not all that fraught
Bowlines, cleat hitches, anchor bends, clove hitches, sheepshanks

Funny names, silly names, sea-faring names
Belying, hiding, masking, tricking
Their worth beyond a berth
In the desert I was taught
Bowlines, cleat hitches, anchor bends, clove hitches, sheepshanks

odds are

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The gods lit the heavens ablaze and dragged their bloody fallen across the sky in retreat.  They had fought.  They had tried.  They had hoped to make a difference, but in the end they had to admit defeat and relinquish the world to the mortals.

They would hide away, mostly forgotten, until the fools who rose to power below ended up sacrificing all of humanity in their pursuits of greed and cowardice.  The gods, those who had survived, had only to wait and eventually the earth would be theirs to shape again.  They would regret those of their own they had sacrificed and those of the mortals who they had tried to save.

Fueled by anger and grief they would forge a better world.  It wasn’t the first time they’d had to start over, and it likely wouldn’t be the last.  Each time the new was better than the old had been, so there was hope one time they would get it right.  They had as much time as they needed, so the odds were in their favor.

………………..

Anyone up for a flash fiction challenge?  Steal this picture and write something of your own to go with it.  No word limits.  No genre demands.  Go where the inspiration takes you.

plant by the window

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They don’t look like snakes, do they?  That’s what it’s called, though: snake plant.  Supposedly they are good at releasing a lot of oxygen and that extra O2 promotes sleep.  So, there’s now one of these plants in the bedroom because sleep is such a powerful need that it trumps everything, including the fear of anything related to snakes.

Hey!  Sleep and snake are both five letter words!  Coincidence?  Yes, definitely.

Anyway…

I snapped this picture as a joke, and then ended up liking it so thought I’d share it here.  What do you think?  Would you bring these snakes into your house?  Do you have any other tricks or trips you’ve found work to promote sleep?

Also, want to take bets on how long before I dream about snakes after writing this?

 

a new story…

I never just stare at a blank page.

I don’t start to write unless I have something to write about.  A picture.  A line.  A thought.  But, that can be problematic because the need to write is often so pervasive that it distracts me from other things.  So, then I sit down with whatever snippet of an idea, or even less than that on occasion, has been paramount in my thoughts and I plunk at the keys to see what comes of it.

Rubbish usually follows, of course.

And I will then delete what I wrote and move on with my day.  On the rare instance that I like what I wrote, I’ll still end up reworking it because the original idea wasn’t related at all to the result.  However that “reworking” process evolves, at some point I will look at the words and tell myself the following:

Write something worthwhile

Write something provocative

Write something memorable

Write something funny

Or

Just write

I want to be good at the first.  I aspire to the second.  I would love to do the third.  I feel like I used to do the fourth sometimes.  These days, however, I just need to write.  Whatever the words end up being, if I write enough of them maybe I’ll find my way back to something that actually means something to somebody, myself included.

That day is not today.  For now I’m in search of inspiration and I would enjoy some help along that path.  I seem to do better at writing projects that involve other people at the moment.  Somehow that keeps me focused in better and able to actually see it all through to some sort of conclusion.  So, in that vein, how about joining me for a game?

The rules are simple.  Create a character and I’ll use all the characters to write a story.  So, I’ll create a character.  You all create characters too.  Either send them to me directly or post about them and link back to here.  Then I’ll write a story that somehow incorporates all of the characters.  I’m not promising it will be more than a short story, or more than a blog post for that matter.  I’m not promising it will be worthwhile or provocative or memorable or even funny.  But, I will write something.

How does that sound?

Good, I’m glad you like the idea too.  I’ll start…

Here’s my character:  We begin with a girl.  Because there’s always a girl.  This one is named Heather.  She has hair that beams golden in sunlight as it cascades below her shoulders.  Her eyes, hazel, crinkle at the edges when she smiles and her laugh is far more playful than she ever intends it to be.  She lives in a small apartment overlooking the beach, though she never actually bothers to gaze out towards the breakers or walk along the edge to let the waves lap at her toes anymore.  She doesn’t even hear the crashing booms of the waves echoing on the otherwise silent nights except on those nights when she needs sleep the most and the noise agitates her rather than sends her to sleep.  She spends her days at an office an hour commute away, where she does work she enjoys but is always left exhausted and feeling like she’s missing something by the end of the week.  She loves movies and books nearly equally, in all genres and styles.  She cries when she’s happy and when she’s sad.  And, she knows she will always be single, but isn’t sure why that it is.  There is some part of her, something buried or forgotten, that she doesn’t fully understand.

And, that is your introduction to Heather.  So, who else is going to go into this story?  Let me know so I can get started on it!