Flash Fiction

Almost Wordless Wednesday – #19

Disclaimer: The opening photo is not the selection for this week’s writing prompt. It’s just a random, placeholder snap meant to get your attention so I get can drag you further into the questionable Bonnywood web. (Although it should be mentioned that the placeholder does have a tenuous connection to the plot of this bit.) The real photo comes later, after I share the background story which will make the image a bit more enjoyable, at least in my unregulated mind.

The Background Story, Sharing Of:

Earlier this year, before the Pandemic jacked it up for everybody, Partner and I were about to embark on another one of our “Let’s go have lunch in Abilene!” larks. Said larks involve us driving three hours to said Abilene, where we meet up with Sister of Partner, who is driving three hours from Odessa. We have a leisurely lunch, catch up on this and that, and then we flee in opposite directions. This seems like a lot of work for not much return, but it’s actually quite fun and you only live once, so screw it and do it.

Tenuous Connection, Explained:

Said lunch takes place at Miguel’s Tex Mex Café, a lovely and delicious eatery with a provocative menu and fascinating, creative artwork displayed hither and yon. The placeholder photo is of a painting in the men’s bathroom. It spoke to me whilst I was speaking to the urinal, so to speak, and I whipped out my phone to record this happenstance duality of the Circle of Life. I only captured part of the painting, as I often find the parts of things to be much more interesting than the whole.

Back to the Background, Sharing Of:

As the trek to Abilene is decidedly time-consuming, especially since lunch is the only thing on the agenda, Partner and I had to rise early so we could shake off the slumber and get our asses on the road. In a snit of whimsy, we had invited our bestie Tiffany to join us on the expedition. (She’s accompanied us on the Abilene Run before and has proven to be an admirable companion, winning several awards.) To make things easier, it was arranged that she would join us the previous evening and spend the night.

This decision almost derailed The Plan. As has been established in the Bonnywood Folklore Archives, all three of us have a penchant for adult beverages. Naturally, said beverages were consumed on said previous evening, with great gusto, and before long we were alternately bellowing Elton John songs and sharing tear-stained episodes from our tumultuous pasts. (You know how it goes.) When we finally tumbled into our respective beds, the Departure Time for yonder morn was a bit in question.

Surprisingly, derailments did not occur. Actually, all three of us leapt out of bed with nary a punching of the snooze button. In a Power Twins moment, Tiffany and I were both buzzing with boundless energy. We managed to shower, dress and pack our essentials for the road trip in roughly 37 seconds, leaving us plenty of discretionary time before The Departure. (Partner was just a tad slower out of the gate, so it was going to be a minute before he was ready.) With plenty of time to kill, I asked Tiffany if we should run to a nearby Starbucks that had just opened.

She squealed. Tiffany worships this chain, and the company worships her, as she is singly responsible for 17% of their annual revenue. I hollered at Partner that we would be right back (he was still in the shower, because he really likes to be clean) and then the Power Twins rushed off on the impromptu Mini Adventure before the Maxi Adventure

It should be noted that it was still dark when we left Bonnywood, so we were unable to fully assess our surroundings. Not that we cared, singly-focused as we were, just setting the scene. Two minutes later, we squealed into the parking lot of Starbucks and clattered inside, wherein Tiffany immediately succumbed to euphoria. (Perhaps I should point out that this location is also a training facility, so it’s huge, and they are always testing out new products and new snacky treats and everyone is super nice because they yearn to become permanent employees.) Tiffany was in the Valhalla of Caffeine.

Still, we had to get back to Bonnywood, as the hot water would eventually run out on Partner. So, I allowed Tiffany to have a respectable amount of Prostration Time Before the Altar, and then I yanked her ass out of there.

We squealed into the much-smaller parking lot of Bonnywood.

We tumbled out of my RAV4, eyeballs buzzing from the unnecessary caffeine, and we stumbled toward the Manor. It should be noted that there was much more daylight than when we had originally departed said Manor, although it was still slightly murky.

Halfway to our portal destination, said buzzing eyeballs spied this, sprawled out on the driveway:

 

What the hell?

There are no children allowed at Bonnywood, mainly because of the drinking, so this wasn’t an abandoned trinket from a random tyke. And I was fairly certain that none of the adults around here owned such a thing, although I couldn’t be completely sure, mainly because of the drinking.

I was a bit perplexed, at that moment. And I’m still wondering, because nobody ever fessed up about anything.

Therefore, dear reader, your mission with this week’s writing prompt is to explain who or what left this gift or warning on one of the Art Deco parking lots at Bonnywood Manor.

I’m sure at least one of you knows the answer, because people talk. And drink.

Cheers.

 

32 replies »

  1. Meanwhile, Little Softie Scottie discovered a weird-looking Santa wannabe, hiding behind his big feet and flat pink nose, and grew suspicious of his intentions. After plying Big Feet with drink, the truth came out. He used to be Trump’s anatomically correct doll, but he had to escape from the overwork. Spies were after him, he confessed. Softie Scottie had a solution. Drop Big Feet at Brian’s Bonnywood and hide him with Cleo. Interesting companions, lots of drinks, and only an occasional cat visit. 😉

    Liked by 3 people

    • And with that paragraph, you have expertly explained the state of American politics for the last four years. High-paid analysts and investigators have struggled to make sense of it all, yet you deftly did so in roughly 37 seconds.

      I think a statue should be erected in your honor.

      Do you prefer bronze or marble? Just let me know and I’ll have my people get with other people who know how to make statues… 😉

      Liked by 1 person

  2. Being new here, I assumed the title of the post meant there would not be many words in the post. But there were a lot. Fortunately they were all good words (arguabley some of the best words) and they were presented in an entertaining order.

    Liked by 3 people

    • The one thing that’s a constant here at Bonnywood? The blog post titles are rarely a solid indication of what you might trip over in the words that follow. This is why we offer free adult beverages in the lobby every afternoon… 😉

      Liked by 1 person

  3. Clearly this was left as a warning from a superior alien race. They’ve been watching the current administration with abject horror and have chosen you (among all humans… go figure) to save the country from our malevolent orange leader. So drop that margarita and get busy!

    Liked by 1 person

    • Dang it, I knew something was up when that spaceship landed in the Serenity Garden the other night. Well, I guess I need to drag my ass out of this deck chair and get to work. But there will be no margarita-dropping. Saving the world is hard enough as it is, so need to keep lubricated…

      Liked by 1 person

  4. My Alcohol Addled Adenoids mumbled something about White Face and Black Lives Matter but I am sure that was the Newfie Screech talking. Perhaps he (I’m sure it’s a he. No she would be caught on her back on the driveway.) Perhaps he is a cousin of the egregious elf that sits on shelves at Christmas. Elves are known pranksters and Santa is taking notes all year long. Would you like to confess now?

    Liked by 2 people

    • Here’s the deal: If I ever start to confess, I will not be able to stop, and entire governments will topple in certain unnamed countries, because I have been involved in a lot of activities that I shouldn’t have been. Most of my actions involved poor decisions at Happy Hours in questionable bars, but still, some things are better left unconfessed, even if Santa knows what I’ve done and I won’t get that villa in Spain for Christmas this year…

      Liked by 1 person

  5. Awww… poor little guy. Obviously he needs to choose better friends. After a night of imbibing small cocktails and Dancing In The Moonlight, he stumbled on his way back to the super secret entrance to homeplace and his “friends” just left him there.

    I hope you made him comfortable.

    Liked by 2 people

    • We did, indeed, comfort him. (After we finished drinking in Abilene, of course.) In fact, as I type this, he’s still nestled on the patio in one of his favorite spots. The stray cats in the neighborhood move him around from time to time, but he manages to keep his happy grin no matter what, a lesson for all of us…

      Liked by 1 person

    • I would never pull your finger. I don’t know where it’s been. But I know where mine has been, and I wouldn’t advise anyone to pull it.

      It seems I might be over-sharing a bit. This should come as no surprise. And really, I don’t know what I’m saying. It’s late and I’m just trying to catch up on the comments. You know how it goes.

      But I did enjoy the giggle-inducing analysis you shared on your own blog, and that’s what really matters…

      Like

  6. I was thinking the same thing as Melanie (wonderful what you wrote!), only mine has a bit different twist.It is definitely a cat’s toy, that has been very much loved and chewed upon. It is also an apport – which is an object that has been transferred from one dimension to another by supernatural means. I think Scotch, from his home across the rainbow bridge, did in fact leave this toy in the driveway of Bonnywood. It’s to let everyone know he is thinking of them with love, and wishing them well on their trip out of town. =^..^= meow ❤

    Liked by 3 people

    • Aww, you got me in the feels. I really thought this was just going to be a fun lark, but then you brought in the “apport” concept and the thoughts of Scotch and what he’s thinking in The Other Place and, well, it’s just a beautiful thing for you to say. I truly appreciate it. And now I’ve got to get a pesky something out of my eyes, because they’re watering a bit…

      Like

  7. Bebito, ergo sum. (I drink, therefore I am.) I can offer no clue about the apparition on your driveway. It says nothing to me nor of me. I wonder, though, why art books always refer to a portion of a painting as a “detail from” said work, even if the so-called “detail” contains ninety-five percent of the original work. Your snapshot at the top of the post would be called a “detail” even if only a little of the original remains uncaptured. Why is that? J.

    Liked by 2 people

    • Preliminary response: But the thing on the driveway is really cute, albeit a bit odd. The cuteness doesn’t speak to you? Hmm.

      Secondary response: I’m completely with you on the misuse of the “detail” term. I’m not an art expert, but if you want to zoom in on a particular element, then zoom in. Don’t show me what is essentially the same image and then expect me to have an epiphany. Perhaps “detail” is just art-speak for “take another look at this and accept the fact that I have an art degree and you don’t”….

      In regards to my own snap, I only captured roughly a third of the painting. The dangling violins spoke to me, and that’s what I wanted to preserve…

      Liked by 1 person

  8. I confess. It was me. I have these little critters called grandchildren (whom I never see) but…what the hell? I thought I would go ahead and start sending things to them for Christmas, (like they would even know who it was from.)
    Anyway, given that the fourth of July just passed, I found a not yet used, discarded rocket firework and thought with all the delays at the post offices, and UPS and FED-EX and Amazon and carrier pigeons…I would go ahead and send that little creature. Stuck it in the rocket and alas…I guess it overshot Florida and landed in your driveway. Don’t worry. It was tested for Covid, and although I’m still waiting on the results, it should be fine…since the heat over there in Texas would surely kill any cooties. (Actually, I lied. I didn’t have it tested. We’ve been told to stop testing, ya know.)
    I did notice that it was missing an important item, though. You might check the trees. If no luck, you will be delighted to know that a custom made, Christmas-themed mask is on its way…if I don’t overshoot Texas and it ends up in Florida.

    Liked by 2 people

    • This is a brilliant comment and backstory. I really wish I could convince you to write more stories more often, as your imagination and heart and humor are so precise and delicious that I feel the world is missing out on more of your musings. I’m not just blowing hot air, although I am guilty of such from time to time. I am so happy that we stumbled our way towards one another.

      But I WILL check the trees. Because we all know they can be shifty in Texas…

      Liked by 1 person

      • Aw…thanks Brian. I’ve been working on a story but…UGH.
        It’s funny. I read your posts and just holler.
        I was telling one of my bloggies that I wish I could write like you. Then she was telling me about looking after a 91 year old woman who has Alzheimer’s and this woman told the funniest stories. I said “write about them!”
        She said, “if I could write like you…I would.”
        Bwahahahahaha!
        P. S, Thanks so much for the encouragement.

        Liked by 1 person

  9. So THAT’S where he went to!
    Full details: Last Tuesday, Merricat and Lady Grey were having a disagreement over who had fuzzy blanket privileges. Merricat won the argument, or at least I thought. Later that evening, I found Lady Grey in the guest room with Merricat’s favorite toy, Sir Eddie Twinkletoes. Behind her was a Priority shipping box. I was about to ask her what she doing, but right then she was licking her anus, so…
    Anyhoo, we’ve not seen Sir Twinkletoes since. As you can imagine, Merricat is bereft. Your visitor is the spitting image, even unto the missing poof ball on cap and his obscene hand gesture.
    Should you care to reunite Merricat with her beloved, please put him on the next plane to Minnesota, okay? Thank you so much!!!

    Liked by 2 people

    • Oh my. We seem to have a quandary here. You know that I would do anything to rescue Merricat from emotional distress. Except cause emotional distress for our own furry children. The stray cats who like to frolic on the Bonnywood grounds? They also like to play with Sir Eddie. I never know where I’m going to find Ed, but it’s often amusing when I do so. (Yesterday, he was unceremoniously shoved between two logs in the pinon wood stack that we have for the chimineas. His little feet were sticking in the air. Too cute!)

      Perhaps we could arrange for some form of joint custody? Have your people get with my people and we’ll work something out…

      Liked by 1 person

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