This week’s story prompt is wide open, with many possibilities. Where are we going? Where did we come from? Am I wearing the right outfit? Do I have enough money to pay for what’s about to happen? Why are there no other people here? Are we in trouble? What country is this? Is there a wi-fi connection?
The sun appears to be behind us. Are we running from the sun? Is it exploding? Does it smell like Narnia in here? Am I going to regret not finishing the book that’s been languishing on my nightstand for three months? Is this what my psychic was talking about when she said there would be many doors in my future?
But these aren’t really doors, are they? Is this a Druid thing? Oh my God, are we headed to a human sacrifice? Does this lead to a volcano? (But they don’t throw in the non-virgins, right? I haven’t been a virgin since paper was invented.) Wait, paper. Do I need my passport? It’s back at the villa, next to the many sad, empty sangria bottles from that sing-along last night. (Note to self: No more harmonizing in Spain. Just, no.)
Wait, I think I see something just on the other side of the second (alien? Guatemalan? French Resistance?) portal. It looks just like… hell, I better go check this out.
Cheers.
Categories: Flash Fiction
Could it be A for Anne of Green Gables?
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That’s one way to look at it. But it begs the question: Did you want to be Anne? Something tells me you would have been quite happy with that, at least for a little while… 😉
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Maybe for a short while.
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HAHAHA!
You ask way too many questions, B
Chill out baby
💜💜💜💜😉
I have a good question, though:
Why do those bushes look like they have grey plastic feet…I have no smarty pants answer. Genuinely why???
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You know, I came THIS CLOSE to making a comment about the plastic feet. I mean, I was there, and I couldn’t figure out what the hell that mess was all about. Maybe it’s a Spanish thing? No clue…
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It is quite obvious – the bushes ate the fence that these are the feet of.
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I’m late to this but it is a very inspiring photo…I think I feel a poem coming on.
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Wait, I think I’m up to date with your posts, and I don’t remember any poetry concerning this bushy business. Which means I clearly wasn’t paying any attention, or at least not making a connect, so I’d best get back over to your site and see what I missed. Mea culpa…
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no not youa culpa, mea culpa…having issues with wp again and got sidetracked. Will read your post again and re-call up that poem that wanted to be born. …
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«Is there a wi-fi connection?»
Haha!
Genius!
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In the end, it’s all about the quirky twists. Otherwise, life becomes mundane… 😉
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Indeed, Brian!
Have a nice day.
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Here’s me flag fer hoisting iffen ye feels it is worthy. (it’s not). http://sparksfromacombustiblemind.com/2019/09/19/virtually-wordless/
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Here’s me flag fer hoisting iffen ye feels it is worthy. (it’s not). http://sparksfromacombustiblemind.com/2019/09/19/virtually-wordless/
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The hedges represent my sleep. The rows between, the broken moments of time when I wake in the night and cannot easily drift back to sleep. The hedges are identical because I reenter the same dream, if even and hour before my slumber returns. Sometimes I get out of bed and roam the paths, trying not to focus on the portal between waking and sleep. Distracting myself to prevent insomniac anxiety.
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I seem to recall the same dream. And we were briefly voyaging together, fighting the good fight and searching for answers, but then I got distracted by a small rabbit that led me astray and I did not return. I must apologize for my abandonment, especially considering our shared anxieties, but the rabbit had much to share, and I’m still processing the intel…
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Good Lord, that’s profound… when will the companion book be available?
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The companion book will be available soon. More importantly, the audio book, featuring Glenn Close in an exceptional performance, will be released right after that. She’s not aware of this yet, but she will be…
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Brian, you won the bid for a single-night stay at Highclere Castle (of Downton Abbey fame). In answer to your question, no, there is no wi-fi, and you have to leave Cleo home. Trust me, she’ll prefer it. The Earl and Countess of Carnarvon have nine dogs. On the plus side, you will be served by a butler. Need I say more?
For reference: https://www.cnn.com/style/article/highclere-castle-airbnb-downton-abbey-scli-gbr-intl/index.html
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Oh, you tempt me with your wicked wiles. Then again, you always have. Now, I must dash off and do some solicitous clicking on Expedia…
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I love that shade of green. I learned in Psych 101 it is claimed by analysts to be a ‘feel good shade’ and is often used to calm agitated patients. I thought the picture was totally beguiling;; I wondered what was behind “The Green Door” and of course that song began to play in my head, and then I thought of the maze, remembered the Minotaur and this poem asked to be born.
The Green Doors
The green doors call with mighty pull;
no need to knock, they’re open.
They don’t care if you’ve been there before,
They don’t care what you’re looking for.
There might be a monster or…. there might be
a piano … hiding behind each door.
You might find the music; you might find the Minotaur.
The piano might be playing an oldie that you like
or the Minotaur might claim you as a living sacrifice.
Seven males and seven maidens called for
at every ennead, no doubt about it,
their fate is bad. But the green doors are beguiling
and the laughter from behind them mesmerizes.
Suddenly you’re sure that destiny is on your side.
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This is quite delicious. Of course, I’m not surprised, as the poetry on your site is always brimming with goodness…
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