tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18575701928054514462024-03-13T05:10:40.329-07:00Lost in The BoZone - TooMRMacrumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01414173517957120477noreply@blogger.comBlogger76125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1857570192805451446.post-12636011709751287352022-06-18T02:09:00.005-07:002022-06-18T02:27:09.765-07:00Danger Zone<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirjW_Nz3z3DBKvcZN2bEK8I7bVCVlZQDD7FPJ9_LzFZ7_z8gW6WA08zlTj68LTvz-DVcpsFl3tnWmNcwMpxgkJxP7qAjp34UtdWinFSc5hxewN6xSUJHcznze0Vy0TMZMLshCl_6xHTV_kFL4uCofzCjR_p0-eq_wA67JZ3p9sgYZbDPVILgLwPGA/s612/istockphoto-1370096995-612x612.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="612" data-original-width="408" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirjW_Nz3z3DBKvcZN2bEK8I7bVCVlZQDD7FPJ9_LzFZ7_z8gW6WA08zlTj68LTvz-DVcpsFl3tnWmNcwMpxgkJxP7qAjp34UtdWinFSc5hxewN6xSUJHcznze0Vy0TMZMLshCl_6xHTV_kFL4uCofzCjR_p0-eq_wA67JZ3p9sgYZbDPVILgLwPGA/s320/istockphoto-1370096995-612x612.jpg" width="213" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><a href="https://carrotranch.com/2022/06/13/june-13-story-challenge-in-99-words/" target="_blank">CR99 - for 6/18/2022 -99 words</a><o:p></o:p></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">“We’d made a
promise when we were kids that we would never see each other again. Yet, here
you are on my doorstep and once again asking for help I cannot imagine giving
you.”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">“When I
helped you bury that other friend of yours, I told you that was the last time. I
won’t even loan you a shovel. Now take your sorry ass and ………….”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">“Wait now.
Let’s not get excited. No need to brandish such a large knife. You know what?
Screw that promise we made when we were kids.”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">“How can I
help you old friend?”</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">___________________________</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Since Charli,the author of this challenge, used Kenny loggins' tune,<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=siwpn14IE7E&t=118s" target="_blank"> "Danger Zone"</a> as her prompt, I will follow suit and use it here.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4U8kPYdFGlQxcwi7XuJbyZgiu6WzHB35fR1aRIIB4QFr-O2WCCtz6t9JFSEek28Y6D37NQZ62yrQCXGIMXk2-hMgzsaULtJVs7LjdPgUo3ch_WWClzhuTH62cjTMUk30JzVQb4T-CSQaScDQMhrNYrj70I_aLbN7x10CSFkYJxS5DJH45vVaJ6kM/s220/Loggins_-_Danger_Zone_single_cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="215" data-original-width="220" height="264" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4U8kPYdFGlQxcwi7XuJbyZgiu6WzHB35fR1aRIIB4QFr-O2WCCtz6t9JFSEek28Y6D37NQZ62yrQCXGIMXk2-hMgzsaULtJVs7LjdPgUo3ch_WWClzhuTH62cjTMUk30JzVQb4T-CSQaScDQMhrNYrj70I_aLbN7x10CSFkYJxS5DJH45vVaJ6kM/w270-h264/Loggins_-_Danger_Zone_single_cover.jpg" width="270" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span><p></p>MRMacrumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01414173517957120477noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1857570192805451446.post-24798351160467035212022-06-16T07:26:00.001-07:002022-06-20T07:09:14.273-07:00The Secret of God<p> <b>The Prediction Weekly Writing Challenge</b></p><p><a href="https://predictionfiction.blogspot.com/2022/06/goodwill-to-all-short-lived-as-ice.html" target="_blank">for Thursday June,16, 2022 - midnight GMT </a></p><p>100 word maximum - Three words - Available, Third, Yoke</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh18PdjROgD8BUUaSANRxEuv7UqDjiL0QQOFodk_kOjDLX50cX2kdqiVKOKmnjhp28SVfKRymB-RsJr0JdduLGJzFRFO2L_xwUFObU40ytAEP3qXZ45reH-QLBf5YmcfDs-wXbieYdaEycToN6Yg0ciPXj02YYHqc_FdT0_U6Eq3vPtpsD4gHJXd5w/s1100/image640.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1100" data-original-width="773" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh18PdjROgD8BUUaSANRxEuv7UqDjiL0QQOFodk_kOjDLX50cX2kdqiVKOKmnjhp28SVfKRymB-RsJr0JdduLGJzFRFO2L_xwUFObU40ytAEP3qXZ45reH-QLBf5YmcfDs-wXbieYdaEycToN6Yg0ciPXj02YYHqc_FdT0_U6Eq3vPtpsD4gHJXd5w/s320/image640.jpg" width="225" /></a></div><p><b><span style="font-family: inherit;">The
Secret of God</span></b></p><p>
</p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;">Eons before any other species began to gain
self awareness, our kind learned in their third epoch the most efficient method
for conquering the Universe. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: inherit;">It wasn’t with grand, extravagant, expensive
violence. No. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Cost too many lives.
Instead, we learned unexpected and unseen infiltrations were consistently more
successful at bringing another race or planet under our yoke.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: inherit;">Our asteroid will collide with Planet 13 in
Quadrant 2334 soon. There will be no need to prepare to land. Available DNA
strands safely ensconced deep inside this rock will ensure a successful
conquest.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: inherit;">Patience and time is all that is needed now.</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span> _______________________________</span><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span>So, for this post, I had to include two musical choices :</span></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=buqtdpuZxvk&t=163s" target="_blank">"Galaxy Song"</a> - Monty Python</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">&</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KaOC9danxNo&t=168s" target="_blank">"Space Oddity"</a> - a one off cover by Astronaut Chris Hadfield in 2013</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirwWqcSBhM-4Pe3z1tpz7HPlkbXF8TcUZBFqb79t_tbIrN4LY-RQqZVc1Sc4iM7Ze-pyCgnPrRQMnnbiY1UR8J9WZ05MhorEXANbzr-oMZ8dQTqSRBeGMinIAy6OvrYIKFFxSh5HaFOHbzNsaJIW_j88i9bObVWIjN5l02zUj16SGujvtYoCtsCDw/s300/download.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="168" data-original-width="300" height="168" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirwWqcSBhM-4Pe3z1tpz7HPlkbXF8TcUZBFqb79t_tbIrN4LY-RQqZVc1Sc4iM7Ze-pyCgnPrRQMnnbiY1UR8J9WZ05MhorEXANbzr-oMZ8dQTqSRBeGMinIAy6OvrYIKFFxSh5HaFOHbzNsaJIW_j88i9bObVWIjN5l02zUj16SGujvtYoCtsCDw/s1600/download.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><p></p><p></p>MRMacrumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01414173517957120477noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1857570192805451446.post-78013299861575903012022-05-30T15:35:00.002-07:002022-05-30T15:35:48.247-07:00In a Dream<p> First Line Prompt- Writers Link – FB – 5/27/2022</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVOxiLLyQiD3DltibfkDMnuC3c6XI8po27oqAm5wRq8f6KWdEW5yT2thG81Ux_97exl-7l_gCvDuzErt_ssITNUKX8bAbiZl6jd55clNizHdQAKhFba5ZXc5GbSUhXGxZGJoOdb3BQwltCwsQBdlKymeASR6jNPm9gQ0pQdkZyMMYyy2X4l__-PbU/s500/nowhere-001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="500" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVOxiLLyQiD3DltibfkDMnuC3c6XI8po27oqAm5wRq8f6KWdEW5yT2thG81Ux_97exl-7l_gCvDuzErt_ssITNUKX8bAbiZl6jd55clNizHdQAKhFba5ZXc5GbSUhXGxZGJoOdb3BQwltCwsQBdlKymeASR6jNPm9gQ0pQdkZyMMYyy2X4l__-PbU/s320/nowhere-001.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span><b style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I’ve been here before,
in a dream</span></b></div><p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">But before I was here in a dream<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I had never been here in a dream<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I never dreamed when I was here<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">That here is where I dreamed to be<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Dreams come, Dreams they go<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">But only in dreams when I wasn’t here<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>MRMacrumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01414173517957120477noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1857570192805451446.post-27176459470100865522022-02-11T01:52:00.000-08:002022-02-11T01:52:03.428-08:00Never Show Fear<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg8FH4TotkwSblvCX9VtDy1lCSbkf74iTAUJzvwLWzyrf_qrzrXmejo48uLNV7E3AEEbr6zrEiZsoke_KTuvOonMd3O9_6FednKIVhkztxQPnp9zZ9xdR0K2x8i8RYQAPjRGHq4TFU2x1C5w_0VPmuLkgFQIMIRzW8HG7rGvYbgR8NIRI00Y9QVdXc=s1400" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="1400" height="205" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg8FH4TotkwSblvCX9VtDy1lCSbkf74iTAUJzvwLWzyrf_qrzrXmejo48uLNV7E3AEEbr6zrEiZsoke_KTuvOonMd3O9_6FednKIVhkztxQPnp9zZ9xdR0K2x8i8RYQAPjRGHq4TFU2x1C5w_0VPmuLkgFQIMIRzW8HG7rGvYbgR8NIRI00Y9QVdXc=w479-h205" width="479" /></a></div><br /><b><span style="font-family: inherit;">Should
he tell his mom he heard her on the phone last night?</span></b><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-family: inherit;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span>Should
he tell her he knew someone far away threatened his life?</span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span>Should
he run to her, grab her, hug her; tell her everything is alright?</span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span>Even
at the age of nine, Mark knew the answers.</span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span>His
family always kept their eyes dry above their stiff upper lips.</span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span>Never
show fear.</span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span>So
he held back, restrained himself; quaking and shaking under his blanket until
daylight.</span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span>The
next day Mark was on a plane to Florida to join his father who had just started
a new job.</span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-family: inherit;">__________________________________</span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">This is about a day I will remember as the first Reality butt kick I received as a child. My idyllic life to that point changed dramatically. The next four years in Florida only reinforced that Life was not just TV cartoons and comic books.</span></p>MRMacrumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01414173517957120477noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1857570192805451446.post-87855417703461669632022-01-16T11:53:00.001-08:002022-01-17T05:00:30.404-08:00 Two fingers of Sweet Sour Mash 9.0<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhyuMoTuZFmIA643eBTG7gJPKTdfxPsGEirBtJbujTKgSLVkHke6gPAWcEQVAI5o4aSZuwdTtwFQmSNlcv9Vef7GZK0Wm2wYx16ewoWW1WjUhBHbGHG1Iiemf4-dwEYkU-Foxs_hw5vFZM6F_AEmzgvtoUR_w9V4dGL01GOTPsv_ELTM0BMQvL0M7M=s320" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="205" data-original-width="320" height="259" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhyuMoTuZFmIA643eBTG7gJPKTdfxPsGEirBtJbujTKgSLVkHke6gPAWcEQVAI5o4aSZuwdTtwFQmSNlcv9Vef7GZK0Wm2wYx16ewoWW1WjUhBHbGHG1Iiemf4-dwEYkU-Foxs_hw5vFZM6F_AEmzgvtoUR_w9V4dGL01GOTPsv_ELTM0BMQvL0M7M=w405-h259" width="405" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span><span style="text-align: left;"><span style="text-align: center;">Two </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes; text-align: center;"> </span><span style="text-align: center;">fingers of Sweet Sour Mash</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Two ice cubes in a short glass</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Smokin small tokes from</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">My last chunk of hash</p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Punching up the playlist</p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Punching it up to WOW</p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">In the mood to relive, retell</p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Some blasts from my checkered past</p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">The here and now fades</p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span>A fog rolls in from my earliest edges</span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">My feet begin their tap</p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">My fingers begin to type</p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">I shut my eyes remembering</p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Sleepy eyed LSD memories<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">I hoped would awaken </p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">My mescaline infused soul</p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">“Good times, bad times”</p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">“I never know for sure”</p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Rockin Blues were the tunes</p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"> shuffle your feet, juke joint funkin</p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Superslab shit kicking Cotton Eye Joe</p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Blasting loud and proud from my radio</p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Passing through the where</p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">To nail down the when</p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">I continue to write</p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Hoping my strolls down tired lanes</p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">My moments of misspent youth</p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Will find my deepest darkest truths</p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Not the memories I usually carry</p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Pointing out just rose colored views</p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Two more fingers of that sweet sour mash.</p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Close my eyes and open my mind</p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">My head can’t hold it <span>all</span> </p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">I need some relief, <span>a respite of sorts</span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span>Or more of that <span>tasty </span>sativa green<span style="color: red;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span>Finally, the rushes begin to <span>roll</span></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Traveling finger to finger, nose to toe.</p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span>My hair stands on end, I raise my paws.<span style="color: red;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span>Butt dancin in my chair</span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">The music washes over me</p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">The music humbles me</p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">As my past </p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Comes back to life</p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><br /></p>MRMacrumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01414173517957120477noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1857570192805451446.post-20163057284399476772022-01-14T07:48:00.001-08:002022-01-14T07:48:54.779-08:00Lying Truth Reborn<p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEieXfKVq28mrr-xDbAwAX6E8mHmW2aceSmwRhv4UBVDJ9xxuQS7S70lwvrJThQoMEaRcS6IxPyz7u4w-IGF34zkPMgiNir-ce4Wd33icdEFi5M42ut7BFoKxLq3Wy2_h4qBoQBMfdXNFHVv6dvYq8LbBcJ3vP7hAoEQjYTM5Ih_w9diaqvNZkYuOws=s1200" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="831" data-original-width="1200" height="271" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEieXfKVq28mrr-xDbAwAX6E8mHmW2aceSmwRhv4UBVDJ9xxuQS7S70lwvrJThQoMEaRcS6IxPyz7u4w-IGF34zkPMgiNir-ce4Wd33icdEFi5M42ut7BFoKxLq3Wy2_h4qBoQBMfdXNFHVv6dvYq8LbBcJ3vP7hAoEQjYTM5Ih_w9diaqvNZkYuOws=w391-h271" width="391" /></a></span></div><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>Lying Truth</b></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Facts injected with conjecture and
foregone conclusions,</span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Cast Truth aside in pursuit of knee
jerked solutions.</span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Lost in a sea of deception,</span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Specious goals are massaged by lying
hands,</span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Replacing Honesty with Truth’s ugly
step sister,</span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">The Half Truth.</span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">The Midway Squawkers and Snake Oil
Salesmen</span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Insist and demand the Half Truth
into our lives</span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Hoping their deception lasts long
enough</span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">For them to cash in their nickels and
dimes.</span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Assaulted long enough,</span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">We allow recent lies to become our
New Truth.</span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Delusion casts itself in stone</span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Brain dead populations dance around
it</span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Happy as if they had brains.</span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> ___________________</span></span></p><p>I first wrote this as a Flash fiction 100 word composition quite awhile ago. I have now converted it into a poem with some minor changes. It is no longer 100 words, it is now 99 words.</p><p>I thought given the current political moods clashing and thrashing worse than ever, re-posting it here and now might just impart how I feel regarding the current crop of leaders and their lackeys.</p><p style="text-align: center;">___________________</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">So I had no problem locating an appropriate tune for this post. </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2PTEqZURh4o" target="_blank">"Lyin Eyes" </a>by the Eagles will do just fine.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiIz-KrqG149jG9qbsoyys3CoDLBQT91MvdfyDGqRrmeV_BZ5psprQhL8jV4eP_huoclptr6Dbq1m251hArZgyvzrV2fb7CALXoKqlq4fTQ5YP81XfnwsCCcigGJYL8HG_cyODLTSHmjc6l5--dmVHYDPoeZ5x8SJLNlMKtqTO_HnjjGpI-bFNSVVc=s1600" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1059" data-original-width="1600" height="184" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiIz-KrqG149jG9qbsoyys3CoDLBQT91MvdfyDGqRrmeV_BZ5psprQhL8jV4eP_huoclptr6Dbq1m251hArZgyvzrV2fb7CALXoKqlq4fTQ5YP81XfnwsCCcigGJYL8HG_cyODLTSHmjc6l5--dmVHYDPoeZ5x8SJLNlMKtqTO_HnjjGpI-bFNSVVc=w277-h184" width="277" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">______________________</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">The Image at top is an enhanced photo taken in Stalingrad during World War ll. </div><div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">It is titled " Barmalej " (Children dancing around Crocodile )</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div></div></div>MRMacrumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01414173517957120477noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1857570192805451446.post-50809016150201519012022-01-12T06:50:00.000-08:002022-01-12T06:50:37.426-08:00The Boardwalk<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjl9bDIeiiQp3a4sLzgqA87x04AKvKQkRlj2iBpYLmHwDelAkxpNEXj_xx0cEMuWErTdJb6iOh2H1EIVYB86xlQ1mclKWhiZUKhte7oMh8b1skSkMW8Azbeygwre2_1uw4xJJ2yqTuwaXc9j4uGfDni9RzygS8CcWzxyJ6DPLF-mJJhiMXInsLHmjs=s1600" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjl9bDIeiiQp3a4sLzgqA87x04AKvKQkRlj2iBpYLmHwDelAkxpNEXj_xx0cEMuWErTdJb6iOh2H1EIVYB86xlQ1mclKWhiZUKhte7oMh8b1skSkMW8Azbeygwre2_1uw4xJJ2yqTuwaXc9j4uGfDni9RzygS8CcWzxyJ6DPLF-mJJhiMXInsLHmjs=s320" width="320" /></a></div>The truck slammed into the loading dock behind Thrasher's Fries with a
bang. "Here ya go fellas, <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placetype w:st="on">Ocean</st1:placetype>
<st1:placetype w:st="on">City</st1:placetype></st1:place>." <p></p><p>Porko and Phil grinned. They had really lucked out. One ride
from the DC Beltway all the way to OC was as good as it got. All they had
to do now was help the driver unload 40,000 pounds of potatoes.</p><p>Just over three hours later, Phil finally located the one hundred pound bag
of Idaho's finest they had been looking for. Of course it was the last
one on the truck. Phil muscled that last bag out to the pallet sitting on
the dock. Porko was busy trying to figure how many bags it took to total
40,000 pounds.</p><p>"Let's see.........10 bags is ...uh .... 1000 pounds..... 20 bags
would....................."</p><p>"Jesus Porko, you are such a dumb ass. 400 bags, you
bonehead. And since you are lazy to
boot, that would mean you carried maybe 50. I carried the rest."</p><p>Porko sat on the last skid of potatoes and lit a cigarette. He tipped
his head back and blew a large plume into the air. "Yeah, I'm a lazy
bastard. Good thing I brought you along." He grinned at Phil.</p><p>The driver came through the dock doors with his pallet jack.
"Last one guys." He jacked up the pallet and swung it
around. "Give me a few minutes and I'll be back with fries and some
pop. Thrasher's fries are the best there is you know. You guys did a great job. I'll make it
back to B-more by dark." He yanked hard on the pallet jack and
disappeared through the doors.</p><p>~*~</p><p>"You know the kid working the peeling machine at Thrashers told me he
and his buddy usually get $40 each to help unload. We got $15. What
a rip off."</p><p>Sitting on the boardwalk at Ninth Street with his bare feet in the
sand, Phil looked at Porko and shook his head.</p><p>"The man gave us a ride. He paid us, fed us, and you complain?
You aren’t just lazy, you're an inconsiderate whiner to boot."</p><p>"But $15 each? Slave wages. The sooner I find a rich woman
........."</p><p>"Can it Porko. You are so
full of shit."</p><p>"Yeah well........at least I'm not still a cherry like you."</p><p>"Screwin your sister don't count."</p><p>Porko shoved Phil off the boardwalk onto the soft sand.</p><p>"You take that back. It was her buddy I nailed. You know
that."</p><p>Phil was not smiling. His virginity hung heavy on his
mind. Jeez, he was 17 and still seducing his hand. Phil
stopped thinking about it. He was resigned to the notion of dying at age
80 un-laid and grumpy. </p><p>"You fellows want some weed?"</p><p>Porko jumped. "What the Hell man? Don't sneak up on us like
that."</p><p>Still on the sand and on his back, Phil strained to see over the edge of the
boardwalk. A scruffy hippy wearing blue tinted granny glasses was standing
behind Porko. Phil hopped up on the boardwalk</p><p>"Uh, sure man, we’re always looking for weed. How much and what
kind?" .</p><p>"Hold it Phil. We don't know this guy. He could be a
narc."</p><p>"Porko, shut up. So what if he's a narc. It's just
weed."</p><p>The hippy grimaced. “Man, if I was a
narc, would I be selling weed?</p><p>Porko considered this. “Uh, I guess
not man. Whatja got?”</p><p>“ Nickel bags of Commercial or Sinse.
Mersh is $10, $15 for the Sinse.”</p><p>Phil and Porko huddled. Pockets were
checked. Mumbled words exchanged.</p><p>“Look fellas, I ain’t got all day.
You want some weed or not?”</p><p>Phil turned. “ Two nickels of
Sinse.” He reached in his pocket.</p><p>“Jesus guy, not here. Let’s take it
over there.” The hippy nodded towards a
narrow alley separating a couple of souvenir shops.</p><p>~*~</p><p>“Where the Hell did you get $50?”
Porko studied Phil’s face.</p><p>“The truck driver gave it to me.”</p><p>“He gave you $50? What the Hell man? He gave me….”</p><p>Phil smiled. “Yeah, he gave you $15. Told me you weren’t worth even that
much. But who cares anyway? We have weed, we’re baked and we can still
eat tonight. This trip to OC without the
parents is working out just great.” </p><p>Phil passed the joint to Porko and laid back on the sand. A wave broke over his legs, creating a rush that slowly worked its way up his spine, ending in a full body shiver. Who
cared if school started in a couple of weeks?
Who cared what happened tomorrow?
Tonight he was free and stoned.
Life did not get any better than this.</p><p>Phil turned his head toward Porko. Porko was holding the joint and staring
at it. He was not smoking it.</p><p>“Damn Porko, if you ain’t gonna smoke that doob, don’t Bogart it. Pass it
back over to me asshole."</p><p style="text-align: center;"><b style="font-size: small;">~*~_____________~*~</b></p><p><b><u>The Boardwalk </u></b>– fictionalized memoir from 1969 - @ 800 words</p><p>A tale that is mostly true. Expect "Part 2" at some point. Those 6 days were full of seminal moments.</p><p>______________________________</p><p>Of course I can't forget some music to help set the tone - The Drifters', <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EPEqRMVnZNU" target="_blank">"Under the Boardwalk" </a> will do just fine. Enjoy!</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEibtdiPK3cP-6RsSdxdPE6cnPbDDXIwHWWckUhrdXjHgHTa1kj1dAR-yCN2Bk1QfI-StDH8oQfYhH9DZrJOoV5vlK-DPTX2ECKozbTi7fNkMwJoGRPLWYaEEewYtmYF8zShA8knDoOiwPBATGCe5qWwHiupdzMNqQrWf9hEaXAP1K91aZRIsqQWJG4=s640" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="640" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEibtdiPK3cP-6RsSdxdPE6cnPbDDXIwHWWckUhrdXjHgHTa1kj1dAR-yCN2Bk1QfI-StDH8oQfYhH9DZrJOoV5vlK-DPTX2ECKozbTi7fNkMwJoGRPLWYaEEewYtmYF8zShA8knDoOiwPBATGCe5qWwHiupdzMNqQrWf9hEaXAP1K91aZRIsqQWJG4=s320" width="320" /></a></div><p><br /></p>MRMacrumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01414173517957120477noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1857570192805451446.post-87891001762953030882021-12-06T03:38:00.001-08:002021-12-06T04:13:25.348-08:00The Weight of Command<p><span style="font-size: x-small;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAWos-N4FT_pZpgPmUipgnVlwXwEI60UEEvYBbcTg_bzZHhnGVgwkIdxDQ25pMtoyqgHM28rMZoIsyEQC6w2Wp9aKOqjv_8sTeSV50KSin8cOOUJPgLIa47WsUKn6EFqY9KObXj3PwO8k/s640/ccc160.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="640" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAWos-N4FT_pZpgPmUipgnVlwXwEI60UEEvYBbcTg_bzZHhnGVgwkIdxDQ25pMtoyqgHM28rMZoIsyEQC6w2Wp9aKOqjv_8sTeSV50KSin8cOOUJPgLIa47WsUKn6EFqY9KObXj3PwO8k/s320/ccc160.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><span><b>Crimson's Creative Challenge 160</b></span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: x-small;">Wed, Dec 1, 2021 - Photo Prompt</span></p><p><span style="font-size: x-small;">Respond with something creative - </span></p><p><span style="font-size: x-small;">> it could be anything, but if its flash, keep it 150 words or less.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: x-small;">_____________________________</span></p><p></p><p><span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">Alton peered over the distant field
that after tomorrow would never be the same. Blood would be spilled there. Great
machines of death would destroy each other, creating huge craters into which
the blood and bodies of men would fall. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p><span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">A tear ran down Alton’s cheek. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p><span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">Yes, tomorrow would play out
using the plans he had developed. He enjoyed the strategies and setting the
pieces on the board in the tent behind enemy lines. But as he panned his binoculars
over tomorrow’s killing ground, he became quite sad and despondent. He always
did.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p><span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">General Bishop dropped the
binoculars, gritted his teeth, turned to his aide and pointed northwest of
their position.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p><span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">“Things look ready here lieutenant
. Let’s head over to that hedgerow there.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p><span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">As they made their way back to
the jeep, Alton stumbled into a rickety wooden sign that read “Verson”. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He wondered if Verson would survive tomorrow.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p><span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">_________________________</span></p><p><span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">150 words</span></p><br /><p></p>MRMacrumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01414173517957120477noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1857570192805451446.post-73036909921977676522021-12-04T17:18:00.009-08:002021-12-04T17:40:19.835-08:00More Shock and Awe Value<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAMGJEo_om5u8UE9Igfecr0wWNlcUhFJRrJEcFVGCbgdXKRrrHh9Brfy1BdN_omvLymXznM7lMp51hrEgSOUFaEICsXhiwOGjpVM-uHhRU6p67GJFmZstvpf1EuYz3s5G8l_JXT5O_6BY/s1000/whites-garden-trellises-08430-64_1000.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="1000" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAMGJEo_om5u8UE9Igfecr0wWNlcUhFJRrJEcFVGCbgdXKRrrHh9Brfy1BdN_omvLymXznM7lMp51hrEgSOUFaEICsXhiwOGjpVM-uHhRU6p67GJFmZstvpf1EuYz3s5G8l_JXT5O_6BY/w214-h214/whites-garden-trellises-08430-64_1000.jpg" width="214" /></a></div>Vlad the Impaler watched his son doodling on parchment and felt a twinge of worry and regret. He hoped his son would keep the family tradition and stand tall against those who would destroy the kingdom. Current indications created little confidence that Tad could carry the Dracul torch.<div><br /></div><div>Tad looked up at his father and pointed to his parchment.</div><div><br /></div><div>“Impaling enemies willy nilly like you do is sloppy and makes the kingdom look like a ghetto. My espalier system on an iron framework is neater and has more shock and awe value per linear foot.”</div><div><br /></div><div>Vlad smiled and stopped worrying.</div><div>_____________________________________</div><div><div><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: x-small;">12/3/2021 - Prediction Flash Challenge - 100 words</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Words for the coming week<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 18.4px;">: current, espalier, regret<o:p></o:p></span></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Entries by midnight Thursday 9th December, new words posted Friday 10th </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Espalier – Trained tree to grow next to a wall – usually a fruit tree.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p></div></div>MRMacrumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01414173517957120477noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1857570192805451446.post-52930898316592424192021-12-03T11:26:00.002-08:002021-12-03T11:41:07.502-08:00God's Goat - CR99<p><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAVLW_YgIdas19Bs6kXE65ryUlrE5xtYxldo89yBEGkXBOlqVSPTrCHOHPJ7vhFtLKgb8QObmTXshXmj2yyT0ly-SRu5XGyOd2Zm135uiQCPdG-Bqd4Ng83Dz8JaHfyze2rt3xTWmyBQU/s558/mp%252C504x498%252Cmatte%252Cf8f8f8%252Ct-pad%252C600x600%252Cf8f8f8.u2.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="549" data-original-width="558" height="236" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAVLW_YgIdas19Bs6kXE65ryUlrE5xtYxldo89yBEGkXBOlqVSPTrCHOHPJ7vhFtLKgb8QObmTXshXmj2yyT0ly-SRu5XGyOd2Zm135uiQCPdG-Bqd4Ng83Dz8JaHfyze2rt3xTWmyBQU/w240-h236/mp%252C504x498%252Cmatte%252Cf8f8f8%252Ct-pad%252C600x600%252Cf8f8f8.u2.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><span style="font-family: inherit;">Mary
was not happy. Forty parasangs over two days on the back of an ass was the
last straw. She glared at Joe as he placed fresh hay in a manger for the kid. A
small goat watched and immediately hopped in the manger and pooped.</span><p></p><p><span><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Mary,
the little asshole shit in Jesus’ bed.”</span></span></p><p><span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Busy unpacking the donkey, Mary did not hear Joe.</span></span></p><p><span><span style="font-family: inherit;">“What
Joe? “</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span>Louder
now, “The goat shit in the manger.………</span><span> </span><span>If
the big guy gets wind of this I wouldn’t want to be in that goat’s hooves.”</span><span> </span></span></p><p><span><span style="font-family: inherit;">The
goat looked up at Mary and bleated. </span></span></p><p><span><span style="font-family: inherit;">______________________________</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Carrot Ranch Flash Challenge – 99 Words - Dec., 2nd, 2021<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Prompt - a story about the little white goat found in the Nativity Scene</span><br /></span></p>MRMacrumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01414173517957120477noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1857570192805451446.post-6297467731377437902021-06-11T19:36:00.000-07:002021-06-11T19:36:22.800-07:00My First Trip<br /><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimOeQlOfktod6gd7AHrxMDgQt4GzMK6lMZq8siCvX0OJmNKR52gzbV1kstO9SsLwbI6GFbRMsLwGC9KSO0Bsfictqk5TLAD5_kehfxRUGZo83gZG2jQY3Y5gQ-WlHXYzyO72eMXR6pEwA/s2560/20191216_115711-001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2560" data-original-width="926" height="396" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimOeQlOfktod6gd7AHrxMDgQt4GzMK6lMZq8siCvX0OJmNKR52gzbV1kstO9SsLwbI6GFbRMsLwGC9KSO0Bsfictqk5TLAD5_kehfxRUGZo83gZG2jQY3Y5gQ-WlHXYzyO72eMXR6pEwA/w143-h396/20191216_115711-001.jpg" width="143" /></a></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>My First Trip - <a href="https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2021/06/11/lsd-25-challenge-184/" target="_blank">MMMC #184</a><br /><br /><br />It was a beautiful spring Sunday in 1969. I was in my junior year at Charlotte Hall Military Academy. Newt said he would have some LSD for us to try. He promised to be back early Sunday AM. We would have the whole day to trip.</span><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;">Other than morning mess and church formation, cadets pretty much had Sundays to themselves. Sundays at Charlotte Hall were some of my fondest memories of high school.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;">A popular activity for the cadets still on campus was to take a blanket from their footlocker and spread them at the fringes of the pucker brush behind the New Barracks. Someone would throw up a window and turn their stereo up to wow. Good times. Other than some tight ass Officer of the Day pulling a recon and sneaking up on us from behind to break our balls, we could get away with almost anything.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />Stuck on campus on a Sunday lent itself to all manner of rule breaking. We smoked cigarettes. We blasphemed. We smoked pot. We blasphemed some more. We drank what alcohol was available and blasphemed a lot. We huffed Carbona, a spot remover we bought at the campus PX.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;">Today four of us would experience LSD for the first time.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;">After collecting payment, Newt handed each of us a hit of Strawberry Fields. They were small little red pills. He called them “microdots”. I remember a heated discussion over the size of them. Snake claimed his cousin had Orange Sunshine for cheaper and the pills were much bigger.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;">Newt said nothing except, “Drop the pills boys. You’ll be fine in forty-five.”</span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;">It was all very ritualistic. Each of us lifted the pills like glasses ready to toast. Newt spewed some hippie mumbo jumbo and we each swallowed our pills.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;">Newt was wrong. I was fine in 30 minutes. I remember lying on my back and studying the various cumulous constructions being erected in the brilliantly blue sky over me when I suddenly burst out laughing. I did not stop laughing until I ran out of tears. When I did manage to collect myself, through my spent tears I noticed everything around me was distorted dramatically or moving in very mysterious ways or both. I had gotten off and it was glorious. There was nothing finer in the whole of Existence than LSD. Of that I was sure.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;">That day I watched ants with my head inches off the ground. I scrutinized the crusty, rusty metal dinosaurs from wars long past that were scattered around campus. I was stung by a wasp when I held it near my ear to listen. Damn ear swelled up and hurt for a week. There were other adventures that day and none of them were anything but wonderful.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;">I had a grand time and vowed when I was lying awake in bed two hours after Taps that night; there was no doubt in my mind that I would drop LSD again.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;">I stopped counting 185 trips later.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;">________________________________</span></div>MRMacrumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01414173517957120477noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1857570192805451446.post-39925132408263891932021-06-10T09:42:00.002-07:002021-06-10T10:48:12.646-07:00A Gun in His Ear<div><b><i><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNCUjd7MioB7r8f97J4zOOTcVH5bM8HFlKrrrkNN-PiwR3yJZu2Z4uGXyxDjBZsriDg3boPnXeYZPOOmd7TKYam2cojug4vfLOulR43pFmqOA7TyBp7Gg012Q2kC9MOHxDhpV43rpv4I0/s584/maxresdefault-001.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="584" data-original-width="559" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNCUjd7MioB7r8f97J4zOOTcVH5bM8HFlKrrrkNN-PiwR3yJZu2Z4uGXyxDjBZsriDg3boPnXeYZPOOmd7TKYam2cojug4vfLOulR43pFmqOA7TyBp7Gg012Q2kC9MOHxDhpV43rpv4I0/s320/maxresdefault-001.jpg" /></a></div></i></b></div><div><a href="https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2021/06/06/sunday-writing-prompt-not-my-circus-not-my-monkeys/" target="_blank"><i><b>Sunday Writing Prompt, <br />SWP, MLMM, Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie</b></i>.</a></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><i><br /></i></b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><i>A Gun in His Ear</i></b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;">Final Exams were over. The boys were celebrating. Mike had just sparked a third joint when the three of them heard Bill up on the third floor. If they could hear Bill on the third floor, it meant Bill was probably having self-control issues again.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;">Bob looked at Mike, shrugged and motioned him to pass that joint. Tom sat between them on the couch and snickered. He was always useless when he mixed pot and beer.</span></div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />The boys were not unsympathetic to Bill and his struggles. The guy had just come back from Nam ferchrisakes. They knew he had seen some shit, done some shit and he had night terrors regularly. But tonight was a celebration two extra semesters coming. Two of them finally snagged enough credits to graduate and they wanted to party. Damn Bill and his personal demons. They turned up the stereo.<br /><br />Sometime later, loud banging on their door broke through their drunken fog. Mike was the first to crack an eye. He wiped the spittle off his chin and rubbed his eyes. He stood and found his footing. Barely awake, he staggered to the door and opened it. It was Bill’s girlfriend wide eyed frantic and incoherent.<br /><br />“Bill’s threatening to shoot himself.”<br /><br />Mike leaned into the edge of the door. “What? Bill has a gun? When did he get a gun?” Mike’s return to Reality picked up its pace. He turned and yelled, “Hey assholes, Bill has a gun.”<br /><br />Mike, with girlfriend in tow, began the trek up to Bill’s apartment.<br /><br />“I have never seen him this bad. I only wanted to use your phone …… Please, don’t go.” She continued her warnings right up to the moment Mike pounded on Bill’s door.<br /><br />The door opened. Bill’s six-five, 250 pound body filled the doorway. Mike looked up into his neighbor’s face.<br /><br />“What are you doing Bill?”<br /><br />Bill stuck his .45 in Mike’s ear. “I will blow you away.”<br /><br />Really pissed now, Mike grabbed the gun and pushed it down.<br /><br />“Meet me in the alley asshole. And leave the gun.”<br /><br />Mike turned around. With Bill on his heels, they tromped back down the stairs. Bill’s girlfriend followed, her weeping eyes bulging and wondering which one was the craziest.<br /><br />The drunken warriors passed Mike’s open door. He shouts, “No one sticks a gun in my ear.”<br /><br />In the alley Mike and Bill faced off. Before Bill could focus, Mike knocked him down, rendered him helpless and pushed his face into the gravel. “Never, ever stick a gun in my face again. Got it asshole?”<br /><br />Bill mumbled. Mark lifted Bill’s head and said, “What was that? You give up?”<br /><br />“Yeah”.<br /><br />Just like that the fight was over. The two of them staggered back to their respective apartments and life returned to normal. The next morning Mike’s roommates asked how it was possible he was able to best Bill. The man was a scary monster ferchriskes. Mike took a moment to answer.<br /><br /> “He was drunker than I was.” </span><div><span style="font-family: inherit;">_____________________________________</span></div><div><a href="https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2021/06/06/sunday-writing-prompt-not-my-circus-not-my-monkeys/" target="_blank">Mindovermisery - Sunday writing prompt - "Not My Circus, Not My Monkeys</a> </div><div><span> </span><span> Is sticking one's nose in other people's affairs wise? In this real situation </span></div><div><span><span> </span><span> </span></span>from my college days in th eearly 1970s, I must have thought so.</div><div><br /></div><div>I whittled this story down from 763 words initially to the 500 you see now.</div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span>BTW - As I wrote this I kept wondering if I was mis-remembering some of the details. The big moments happened as I wrote them , but now in retrospect, I did mis-remember some things worthy of note and maybe should have been part of the story. Bill had gone to Nam, but his most recent issues stemmed from his three years as an inmate at a state prison in Jessup, MD. He was on parole when this happened and he was definitely not allowed to own a gun. No one called the cops and Bill was not put back in jail. Not sure if that lasted as we were out of that apartment within the next year.</span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span>Keep it 'tween the ditches ..........................</span></div><div><span>___________________________________</span></div><div><span>Cross posted at the<a href="https://thefilecabinet.blogspot.com/2021/06/a-gun-in-his-ear.html" target="_blank"> BoZone</a></span></div>MRMacrumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01414173517957120477noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1857570192805451446.post-40164820005740209242021-06-08T17:08:00.004-07:002021-12-03T12:21:33.838-08:00Black Eyed Goby<span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-small;"><b><i><a href="https://predictionfiction.blogspot.com/2021/06/rearrangement.html"></a><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://predictionfiction.blogspot.com/2021/06/rearrangement.html"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVrGpZylk1VB_ppIejRuUd7F2jmsHLJoZkMY_bxbk4XLgVS-8LUfnx8F0kU2DUqYq6KUArBx-IL3YeGh1HoGEmdfGqwXdIAuxlrE5JzsM0xjPETMF9NkrGbis__GrJNvz3rwJDM0izbb4/s1096/Coryphopterus_nicholsii.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="792" data-original-width="1096" height="166" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVrGpZylk1VB_ppIejRuUd7F2jmsHLJoZkMY_bxbk4XLgVS-8LUfnx8F0kU2DUqYq6KUArBx-IL3YeGh1HoGEmdfGqwXdIAuxlrE5JzsM0xjPETMF9NkrGbis__GrJNvz3rwJDM0izbb4/w231-h166/Coryphopterus_nicholsii.jpg" width="231" /></a></div><br /><a href="https://predictionfiction.blogspot.com/2021/06/rearrangement.html" target="_blank">The Prediction</a> </i></b>- Weekly Flash Fiction Challenge </span><div><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-small;">Words for the coming week: black-eyed pristine underwater<br />Entries by midnight Thursday 10th June new words posted Friday 11th</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-small;">100 words</span></div><div>__________________________________<br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">“Never be a Black Eyed
Goby.” <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">Jerry looked at his new
deckhand. The kid couldn’t be more than seventeen. But he
chose here and not over in Humbolt picking pot. The kid looked uneasy but kept
his eyes on Jerry.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">“Yes sir. ……… What’s a
Black Eyed Goby?”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">Jerry looked over the dock
edge and motioned the kid to join him.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">“Look down there
underwater. See those fish around the piling.”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">“Yes sir.”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">
</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">“Well, they are
Gobies. Gobies rush around the pristine waters looking busy and
useful. Yet, they are all flash and no cash. Don’t be one of them.”<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span>________________________</span></p></div>MRMacrumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01414173517957120477noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1857570192805451446.post-69051914999429054282021-06-07T19:33:00.003-07:002021-06-23T17:48:24.284-07:00Gate Six<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: 14pt; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtuMLjESwmnzFsMbNrYoewMmsaY0gvtUNRvhmLhL0XJSEBh14shVOgoS6dfdL5Cx0fARHhxJ6gz_oRaD6LeLCsBMmlc9pkHiNLnc7R2XOYE3IbSWOncyKyl-qGVcfi1z9WihceRoMUEL8/s612/IMG_3127-Gate-6-Flash-fiction-prompt-copyright-KS-Brooks.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="408" data-original-width="612" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtuMLjESwmnzFsMbNrYoewMmsaY0gvtUNRvhmLhL0XJSEBh14shVOgoS6dfdL5Cx0fARHhxJ6gz_oRaD6LeLCsBMmlc9pkHiNLnc7R2XOYE3IbSWOncyKyl-qGVcfi1z9WihceRoMUEL8/s320/IMG_3127-Gate-6-Flash-fiction-prompt-copyright-KS-Brooks.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-family: inherit;">Though Mark
was well aware of why he was being sent to Florida prematurely, he asked
anyway.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;">“I was
supposed to go with you in the car next month.
Why now? You know what happens when I fly.”</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;">His mother
stared at him. She smiled and reached
for the handkerchief she always had tucked up her sleeve. Empty moments
followed with no explanation as her spit infused handkerchief sought out and
destroyed any grunge that dared to soil her son’s face. Mark squirmed, but stayed quiet.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;">“You’ll be
fine Mark. ……. Now, I really have to go.
I still have many tasks to finish before I can join you and your father in
Tampa. You understand, don’t you?” She
stroked his cheek and attempted an awkward hug. “Dad will be there to pick you
up or I’ll kill him.”</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;">She handed
him a couple of barf bags, smoothed the hastily composed ID tag pinned to his
suit lapel and rose to leave.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;">Mark was not
convinced. His father was dependably unpredictable
when it came to him. In that moment he wanted to rip that nametag off and run
away as far as he could. He had twenty
dollars. He could go far on twenty
dollars.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;">Instead Mark
sighed and resigned himself to his fate.
He settled on the benches overlooking the tarmac. He still had an hour before the flight. He
would watch all the busy airport workers and make up stories about them until
it was time to board.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;">__________________________</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://indiesunlimited.com/2021/06/05/flash-fiction-writing-prompt-gate-6/" target="_blank">Indies Unlimited</a> - Flash Fiction writing Prompt - June 3, 2021</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;">Due Thur, June 10 - 250 words</span></p>MRMacrumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01414173517957120477noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1857570192805451446.post-4197895842153686142021-06-06T03:56:00.001-07:002021-06-06T06:04:41.670-07:00Reality<p><b></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdPaHXatpI6XqPlaAbLRDooMrTDHAPbWL7Cjf2WYAPDXMokhmMtobMrW9XMKMD7ec3K6uj0jdBYSM8vMuYSHx_WI_qWMNcQhTAaeqynlx4Da6YucHqwA16Mg0KtXoV5BulG7vRQCa82M0/s424/istockphoto-1046630868-612x612.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="424" data-original-width="290" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdPaHXatpI6XqPlaAbLRDooMrTDHAPbWL7Cjf2WYAPDXMokhmMtobMrW9XMKMD7ec3K6uj0jdBYSM8vMuYSHx_WI_qWMNcQhTAaeqynlx4Da6YucHqwA16Mg0KtXoV5BulG7vRQCa82M0/s320/istockphoto-1046630868-612x612.jpg" /></a></b></div><span style="background: white; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><a href="https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2021/06/04/first-line-friday-june-4-2021/"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie, First Line Fridays</span></a> </span><p></p><p><b>Reality</b></p><p>"People see what makes sense to them, reality notwithstanding."</p><div>Bill was staring down into his beer. His mind swirling around possibilities and what might be's, he did not catch the last part of Scott's declaration.</div><div><br /></div><div>"Huh? Reality? What about Reality?"</div><div><br /></div><div>"Geez Bill, pay attention. Reality is something people decide on for themselves."</div><div><br /></div><div>Bill lifted his head and turned to face Scott.</div><div><br /></div><div>"What in the Hell are you talking about and what in the Hell does Reality and its perception have to do with the kid in the alley behind the GAF building? His Reality is he's dead. Our Reality is finding out who, why, and when. Damn, I hate it when you go all Descarte on me."<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"> </span></div><div><br /></div><div>Scott took the umbrella out of his Pina Colada and raised the cocktail to his lips. Draining every drop, he slammed the glass down on the bar, slid off his bar stool and stood tall. Reaching for the ceiling, he casually stretched like he had just climbed out of bed. </div><div><br /></div><div>"Time's a wasting partner. We have a crime to solve."<br /><p> Bill chugged what was left of his beer. Not being one for noisy dramatics, he set the mug down quietly and stood. He took a moment to assess his appearance in the mirror behind the bar. Like a diva just before the curtain raised, he turned his head one way and then the other making sure he was still perfect before facing his public.</p><p>"You know, I just do not understand kids these days."</p><p>"What do you mean?"</p><p>The two of them headed for the door.</p><p>"Well, I think this kid was targeted for the way he looked. You know, what with that new Shrapnel look the punks seem to love now."</p><p>"Targeted for his appearance? Seems like some over the top fashion critique. Killed because he didn't look like the rest of us clowns? Nah, has to be something else."</p><p>Just before Bill pushed the door open, he stopped and looked at Scott. </p><p>"By the way partner, your nose is out of position. Might want to straighten it before we hit daylight."</p><p>_____________________________________</p><p>350 words</p></div>MRMacrumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01414173517957120477noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1857570192805451446.post-84046314948817650562021-06-05T08:52:00.005-07:002021-06-07T16:22:53.253-07:00Stay<p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlzb9QjSNo7tqiVGyZsljQ_9EBtfCDhT6Of-n71p0u3q0VfChY36EJwYOnV3tOJTjA7jNFzQSVwwhgcEzY-ezDewJhOC-7r-e-3iAE569OBvsCiMxZPYm3eSTYj_vzWRI7-GJUzY3rI04/s1690/20190224_112506+%25282%2529-002.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1690" data-original-width="1120" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlzb9QjSNo7tqiVGyZsljQ_9EBtfCDhT6Of-n71p0u3q0VfChY36EJwYOnV3tOJTjA7jNFzQSVwwhgcEzY-ezDewJhOC-7r-e-3iAE569OBvsCiMxZPYm3eSTYj_vzWRI7-GJUzY3rI04/s320/20190224_112506+%25282%2529-002.jpg" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://carrotranch.com/2021/06/03/june-3-flash-fiction-challenge-2/" target="_blank">Carrot Ranch FlashChallenge - June 3, 2021, prompt</a>: In 99 words (no more, no less), write
a story being leashed. Is it literal or metaphorical? Who or what is leashed.
How does it set the tone? Go where the prompt leads!</p><p></p><p><b>"Stay"</b></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">His power
over me has its limits. He thinks I can be manipulated by one word from him. I
will show him who has the last word. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He
is not here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I will do as I wish until
he comes back. Yeah, I will show him.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">But what do
I want to do?</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">So many possibilities, I
cannot pick. Every choice looks like trouble. Better just follow his orders; it’s
the safe thing to do.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">“Alright Maggie, you stayed. Who’s the good dog?</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> .......... </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Here’s a treat.”</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">I remember
now why I listen to him. He is my whole world</span></p><p></p>MRMacrumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01414173517957120477noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1857570192805451446.post-86569849611169578442020-11-18T05:42:00.007-08:002020-11-18T05:56:00.704-08:00Realm of Possibility<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYNriCVJbN0w63QOfxUKA5c8nDg90grQzqVVlLrQGJACzvWeng6gpDWoQcfic_jTg5Jk6Bhr-EuyAr3WNUEZx4RSnd3epwNIkLb0XiOF5sbf_Bx39jE-SyuMX0rBgeXSPtg3qNbKI1gYE/s460/Dalis-Christ-of-St-John-o-002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="276" data-original-width="460" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYNriCVJbN0w63QOfxUKA5c8nDg90grQzqVVlLrQGJACzvWeng6gpDWoQcfic_jTg5Jk6Bhr-EuyAr3WNUEZx4RSnd3epwNIkLb0XiOF5sbf_Bx39jE-SyuMX0rBgeXSPtg3qNbKI1gYE/w361-h216/Dalis-Christ-of-St-John-o-002.jpg" width="361" /></a></div><br />What I came up with when considering what might happen if religious extremists secured the reins of power on a global scale.<p></p>A flash fiction piece written posted - <a href="http://lostinthebozone.blogspot.com/2012/01/realm-of-possibility-f3-cycle-61.html">Jan 2, 2012</a><br />_____________________________<br /><br /><div style="font-family: inherit;">Elder Jacob Bean closed the banned copy of the Scripture. He understood why the second book had been outlawed during the Troubles. Harsh times called for harsh measures. The clearly defined rules found in the first book were perfect in their simplicity and dovetailed well with the brutal measures taken to fulfill the Great Elder’s prophecy of the Final Reformation. He could not understand though why owning such an innocuous collection of harmless fables was still on the list of capital offenses. Would not a good caning suffice?</div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Rules were rules. Shortly Elder Bean forgot about it. He was only as inquisitive as he needed to be to render a verdict. Without new rules, his only choice was to convict. It was a shame they had no females of breeding age. At least they would have been spared. Elder Bean shrugged. The family of three would have to die. </span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Jarrad get in here.”</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">No response. Servo-tech Jarrad was not at his desk. Elder Bean got up and walked out to the anteroom outside his office just as Servo-tech Jarrad came careening down the hall. “Deep Apologies Elder Jacob, …….call of nature.” </span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Elder Jacob Bean’s cold eyes studied his assistant for a moment. “I understand simple Jarrad. Even eunuchs have to urinate.” His eyes softened and what might be construed a hint of a smile whisked across his face and was gone. He handed Jarrad a bulky envelope. “Please forward this to the Council of Elders ASAP. I have rendered my decision.”</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Yes, right away your Holiness.”</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">~*~</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The Final Reformation was in full swing by 2075. The Troubles that had started in earnest around 2024, ripped and tore through Humanity for fifty years.</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"> The planet’s population had at first tried to discuss their differences. Unforeseen political and military alliances were formed. Regional confrontations escalated into planet wide scorched earth campaigns. War, starvation, disease, and mass suicides took their toll. By 2035 less than two billion souls still walked the Earth. Religious zealots took control over two thirds of the planet. The Pan Asians controlled the rest.</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The Age of the Three Kingdoms had begun.</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">~*~</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Scurrying servo-techs connected last minute wiring to the feed going out planet wide. They applied last minute make up to aging Elder faces and fussed over positioning of the altar in the Elder Well. The Two prayer benches upon which the Witnesses sat had been scrubbed and polished. Three stainless steel crosses with braided wire restraints formed a semicircle around the altar in front of a larger Cross upon which hung the current facsimile of what Christ looked like now. He sported a stern face now days and fierce eyes. His arms were spread open as if welcoming all who ventured into the Elder Well, but it was his razor sharp hands that told the truth of what went on here. The Elder Well was designed for one purpose – to instill fear. Fear kept the Elders in power. Only the pious walked out of the Well alive.</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Christ had finally transitioned from being the son of God and was now God’s Avenger. </span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Elder William Graham ll sat and fidgeted in front of his mirror. Tonight would be his first chance at the Bloody Pulpit. He worried every detail with his hair, his robes. He practiced his severe look. He worried that his sweat would show through the heavy makeup. After all, the Witnesses, comprised of the founding Elders would be watching his every move. Sweat would be a sign of weakness in his faith. A servo-tech with a clip board touched his shoulder. “Five minutes Elder William.”</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Are all the sacred devices in place?”</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Yes Your Holiness.”</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Well then, let’s break a leg.”</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The servo-tech counted the last few seconds before the night’s festivities began. “9….8….7….6…..”, and then with his right hand he silently finished at 3 and …………… an off camera tech with a calm mellow, made for prime time voice began,</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Welcome good Christians of the Realm. The night’s Sacrifice is brought to you for the first time from the newly constructed and righteously blessed Harold Camping Studios here in New Holywood. Elder William Graham ll will perform God’s Will as Heaven’s Apprentice and will be witnessed by twelve of our most revered founding Elders.</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Tonight’s unfortunates are a family of three from Oxnard. Caught with a copy of the New Testament, the mother refused to acknowledge her sin and plead for mercy. Their fate was sealed when her husband tried to run with her and their son of six. So tonight for your viewing pleasure, …….tonight we have a three-fer.</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Ladies and gentlemen let the festivities begin……………”</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">~*~</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Mullah Saluman Kaleri sat 6000 miles away watching the feed from the Realm. Others in his mosque considered the monthly sacrifices broadcast over the Net nothing but more foolishness from the Realm of God. He knew better. There was more to their monthly blood letting than just reinforcing the fear of God to maintain control over their heathen majority. They wanted a new crusade. What they did today, tomorrow, next year was all aimed at defeating Islam. The sacrifices were a promise of sorts should the Infidels successfully overrun the Kingdom Of Allah. He knew this because it would be what he would do to them.</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The Mullah watched the various players take their places in the Elder Well. He watched each “lamb” being led or dragged in by two ornately masked assistants who shackled them each to their respective crosses. He watched the Acolyte solemnly lay out the cloth which held the devices of the Sacrament and then stand at attention to the right. “Ah”, he thought. ”Tonight the new guy has chosen blades to purge their sins.” Mullah smiled and settled back to watch.</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The music swelled. The house lights dimmed. The audience grew quiet. Suddenly spots lit up Jesus. Fire and sparks shot out of his eyes. Heaven’s Apprentice began his slow march to the pulpit. Adorned in a simple red and green striped robe tied crudely with a knotted piece of hemp rope he gave the appearance of a god fearing man until he looked at the camera. At once he became a figure to fear. William Graham acting as Heaven’s Apprentice had nailed the look. There was an audible gasp heard as the audience moved forward on their seats. This was a man to fear.</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">What followed was a well rehearsed sermon of the evils of allowing unclean thought to sully the mind of the faithful. Mullah Salumen Kaleri lost interest and turned the sound down. With one eye on the feed, he poured himself some tea and was just raising it to his lips when the first cut was made. Mullah turned the sound back up and settled in. “This guy knows how to do it.” He took a sip of tea.</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">_________________________________</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Originally posted in 'Lost in the BoZone" on 1/2/12</span></div><div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>MRMacrumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01414173517957120477noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1857570192805451446.post-37008151917356074392020-11-14T11:00:00.000-08:002020-11-14T11:00:17.943-08:00Fire in the Hole!<p class="MsoNormal"><u><i>First Line Prompt - FB</i></u></p><p>
</p><p class="MsoNormal"><i> Question Prompt for 11/14/20: How did a disagreement
over pizza toppings lead to an explosion? </i></p><p class="MsoNormal"><i>______________________</i></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXPpkHzCXfJ8pfgVtBK71uEbP0PUuBIY1sIvgnfCyjv_fR00ZbmKlE_D2lISq7DBu6mNiZAYsNV1ptsI870GM2EICiLihK8wJJHcbACc8CPNpwoW3OBRmpOmfRBbuFL4gibfTjjZp-EtE/s468/unnamed.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="464" data-original-width="468" height="244" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXPpkHzCXfJ8pfgVtBK71uEbP0PUuBIY1sIvgnfCyjv_fR00ZbmKlE_D2lISq7DBu6mNiZAYsNV1ptsI870GM2EICiLihK8wJJHcbACc8CPNpwoW3OBRmpOmfRBbuFL4gibfTjjZp-EtE/w246-h244/unnamed.jpg" width="246" /></a></div>Each of the
day’s indignities, screw-ups and disappointments ran through Clayton’s mind in a
never ending “having a bad day” loop from Hell. He fought back his anger and
concentrated on finding #347 Baker.<p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Finding his
professional mode always brought his blood pressure down and eased the chronic
migraines he suffered day in, day out.</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">
</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">#347 was halfway down the block.</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">
</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">He turned into the driveway. The beat Fiesta’s power steering pump
squealed in pain.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">The front
door opened.</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Standing in front of
Clayton was an open bathrobe poorly draped over a very hairy human wearing
nothing but a glare.</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Clayton barely
blinked.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">“Pizza for a
Mr Jones.”</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">A furry arm reached out and snatched the large
ham and pineapple pizza out of Clayton’s grip and opened it. “This isn’t Bacon
and Pineapple. I ordered Bacon and Pineapple.</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">
</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">What the Hell is wrong with you people.”</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">
</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Hairy Man threw the pizza on the porch.</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">
</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">“I don’t want it.”</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Clayton
stood immobile.</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Not a muscle moved.</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">He looked at Hairy Man. “No problem sir. Sorry
about the mix up.”</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Clayton
turned to leave.</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">“Take the
pizza with you.”</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Clayton swiveled back around.</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Hairy Man stood with
his feet apart and his hands on his hips.</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">
</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Clayton could feel his blood pressure rise. </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Instead, he smiled and said.</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">“Of course sir.</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">My bad.”</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">
</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">He picked up the pizza and returned to his car.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Up the block
Clayton stopped.</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">His hands became
knotted veins and tendons strangling the steering wheel.</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Clayton fumed a minute or so. He decided what
he had to do to bring him peace.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">He opened
the trunk and pulled out the grenade launcher he had stashed there for moments
like this.</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Stepping around his car, he
shouldered it and aimed at Hairy Man’s front door.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">“Fire in the
hole!”</span></p><br /><p></p>MRMacrumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01414173517957120477noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1857570192805451446.post-64166743711306662972020-11-08T09:15:00.001-08:002021-03-13T04:16:57.474-08:00Four Eyes<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><a href="https://www.facebook.com/groups/dailyflashwriting/"></a></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7rFMCOiZ72IPz1NA7CecrXd22fAfytGt7Xgt9hrOeHXGMI1X2o47hdxooyMdlbeF3ontalkK_6h0ysjiGrF2JdnOV2wmQ2AXf_cZkgZLSuiyAATQcW-0b4XX2d5t6gchKR-iXkCFvl4w/s330/eyeglass_download.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="153" data-original-width="330" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7rFMCOiZ72IPz1NA7CecrXd22fAfytGt7Xgt9hrOeHXGMI1X2o47hdxooyMdlbeF3ontalkK_6h0ysjiGrF2JdnOV2wmQ2AXf_cZkgZLSuiyAATQcW-0b4XX2d5t6gchKR-iXkCFvl4w/s320/eyeglass_download.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />MemoirPrompt for 11/8/20: Flash! Write a true “flash” (100-300 words) story about a
flash - literal or metaphorical- from your own life.<p></p><p class="MsoNormal">____________________________</p><br /><br /><b>"Four Eyes" - 300 words</b><br /><br />My fourth grade teacher finally figured it out. One day she held up two fingers and asked the class how many was she holding up. She skipped past the know it all, perfectly dressed future homecoming queen and past the up and coming nerd who already sported one of his dad's pencil pocket protectors. She continued to scan the room. One by one all the raised hands were bypassed and I saw her turn towards me.<br /><br />"Michael, how many fingers I am holding up?"<br /><br />I was mortified. Not because I was singled out. I was embarrassed because I had no clue. My confidence stopped at three or less. But a quick answer was needed as I had learned that drawing out awkward silences in class only drove the humiliation deeper.<br /><br />Swiftly I answered, "One big one?<br /><br />Again my routine clownish behavior was rewarded with snickers from my classmates which died immediately as stern teacher eyes behind winged glasses caught them in their cross hairs. She swiveled back to me and gave me her patented grin of pursed red lips whose corners only flirted with the notion of lift off. <br /><br />“So, you don’t know then?” <br /><br />Parents were called, eye appointments were kept and in ten days or so I was in the optometrist’s office picking up my first pair of glasses. As the optometrist fitted them, I watched in the mirror. Yeah, I could see better, but would it be worth all the ridicule that would inevitably follow? I was sure it would not. <br /><br />I was hating Life as we left the doc’s office. Stepping outside, I looked up at the Tampa skyline that surrounded us. In an instant, my world had become a wondrous and beautiful land I never knew existed.<br /><br />I never again worried about being a “Four Eyes”.<p>_________________________</p><p><a href="https://www.facebook.com/groups/dailyflashwriting/">Daily Flash Writing Prompts - Facebook </a></p>MRMacrumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01414173517957120477noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1857570192805451446.post-57046609299135196382020-04-06T08:37:00.000-07:002020-04-07T06:04:44.195-07:00A Cicatrical Reminder ll<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsXB8lB_sARKp-bKTjILaKzrzQmFz39yHWyiVBQOMWTejDcDUkHNU1JAjJtzUeqCdFzA-033JgijSnPMQpiCi1dyWtnzGZSzhPQu6doz-GX1ejLitvrGrZ8XvvQShqdQ778xao_yxRMEw/s1600/QUILS-RULE-318-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1372" data-original-width="1372" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsXB8lB_sARKp-bKTjILaKzrzQmFz39yHWyiVBQOMWTejDcDUkHNU1JAjJtzUeqCdFzA-033JgijSnPMQpiCi1dyWtnzGZSzhPQu6doz-GX1ejLitvrGrZ8XvvQShqdQ778xao_yxRMEw/s200/QUILS-RULE-318-2.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><b><a href="https://predictionfiction.blogspot.com/2020/04/sweet-tooth.html">The Prediction<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> c</span>hallenge</a> – due 4/9/2020 – 100 words</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p> (</o:p></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">3 word prompt – biscuit, quilt, suffice)</span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><u><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">A
Cicatrical Reminder<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>ll</span></u></b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Suffice it to say, creating a quilt is like baking different
biscuits shoulder to shoulder in a pan.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Really?” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Though
not listening. Will knew he should respond.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Will’s acknowledgement sounded hollow to Beatrice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She turned.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Will was totally engrossed in a repeat soccer game from five years ago.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He had tuned out the here and now in the
first half.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Smiling now, Beatrice considered revenge.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her eyes searched the tools in her quilting
basket.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“You know what they say about dialog?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Uh, No dear.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“It takes two people to have one.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The quilting ruler found its mark.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">And Will jumped.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">__________________________________</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">It has been a good while since I participated in Flash of any kind. I decided to use a same title <a href="https://lostinthebozone.blogspot.com/2016/11/a-cicatricial-reminder-100-words.html">I used it on another Prediction piece from 11/08/2016</a>. "Cicatrical" was one of the prompt words then. Drove me wacky working it into the tale.</span></div>
<br />MRMacrumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01414173517957120477noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1857570192805451446.post-47613598583164541942020-04-05T05:59:00.000-07:002020-04-07T06:08:33.237-07:00Corona Dreams<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz3ycItyILIcVndJkQAqRtT5MzquFgBw0YXz8P6LuXSWM820-yZXlsqRp2zS3kv-WS7i5T4HPj6ubNrvRwUEC6b8aiRn_zsy6NN0jsibTRVup8hZAFj_TNesU-6etdQmEqlUDkvtwMIUQ/s1600/ledopizza_web-1500x1124.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1124" data-original-width="1500" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz3ycItyILIcVndJkQAqRtT5MzquFgBw0YXz8P6LuXSWM820-yZXlsqRp2zS3kv-WS7i5T4HPj6ubNrvRwUEC6b8aiRn_zsy6NN0jsibTRVup8hZAFj_TNesU-6etdQmEqlUDkvtwMIUQ/s320/ledopizza_web-1500x1124.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"><a href="https://carrotranch.com/2020/04/03/april-2-flash-fiction-challenge-2/">Carrot Ranch 99 word Challenge</a></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">Story involving pizza</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"><b><u>Corona Dreams</u></b></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">Back in Maryland after being gone ten years, what he missed most was
the food that had comforted him as a child. The friend he had come to see
asked, "So what do you want to do first?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">"I want Ledo's
pizza. I don't want take out. I want to sit in the joint and eat it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">“You got it”, his friend said, “Ledos, here we come”. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">Sipping beer and catching up, his mind was more about the pizza
than the conversation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He saw a waiter
headed their direction……..<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">“Hey, wake up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The kids
want frozen pizza for dinner.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
________________________________MRMacrumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01414173517957120477noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1857570192805451446.post-14876993672324714722019-08-05T11:28:00.000-07:002019-08-16T07:26:09.908-07:00The Portal<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinSsSS2pjlWNTA7Gtv2HN87Es1_F8a3kV4ZaH9ga9sj5sBKs3OWj4pmGXNGpXLpkFDJX45S9Yir7Ghy2CBWPTnYV1xQxx5-0G88PcpTYS9i8vw_pGB7__08bNaNwHlHKAEICwYcboIcp4/s1600/9944ffd6c91dd037ea40205f485251f8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="620" height="206" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinSsSS2pjlWNTA7Gtv2HN87Es1_F8a3kV4ZaH9ga9sj5sBKs3OWj4pmGXNGpXLpkFDJX45S9Yir7Ghy2CBWPTnYV1xQxx5-0G88PcpTYS9i8vw_pGB7__08bNaNwHlHKAEICwYcboIcp4/s320/9944ffd6c91dd037ea40205f485251f8.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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500 Words - written for Facebook Writers Link Group - Due 7/29/19</div>
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Crum and Maggie stepped into the early morning light. Crum decided it would be hot today. Maggie, well, she only wondered why the hold up? “Let’s kick it into gear fercrisakes. There’s fresh scat to find and roll in.” She pulled on the leash.</div>
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Once across Sam Page Road, Crum released Maggie from her bonds and thus any obligation to follow the rules of Man. Tail wagging frantically, she threw herself into the off trail pucker of Mary’s Woods.</div>
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Most mornings Crum was ambivalent at best and often downright hostile to walking of any kind. His old body woke cranky these days, so his mood depended on his sleep the night before. Good mood or bad though, he always felt an obligation to be a contrary old fart in all matters public. Being contrary was a life style choice and he reveled in it.</div>
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The morning Sun flickered erratically through the sway of the tall trees. Moments of light settled here and there causing Crum to notice things he had not before. Today, the light landed on a hole in the old stone wall to his right. He stopped and pondered the wall. Had that hole in the wall always been there? Was it really a break or some kind of new mischief? </div>
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Crum stepped off the trail and headed towards the wall. Maggie ran past him and into the void. She disappeared the second she passed through.</div>
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“Dammit Mag….”, he stopped mid sentence. Not a sound, not even license tags jingling.</div>
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Crum picked up a stick. Holding it bayonet style, he followed it through the break in the wall. The stick began to disappear. A moment of disorientation came and now Crum was staring at a big neon sign. </div>
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The sign read, “STOP! Portal is one way only. Think about this before entering. This is a no whining, no bitching, and no complaining community. Life is perfect here. And BTW – No Dogs! Questions? Push the button to your left and speak up.”</div>
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Looking around, Crum was pretty sure he was no longer in the pucker of Mary’s Woods. Every bush and tree was manicured like “Better Homes and Garden”. The place was immaculate. In the distance a huge smokestack belched smoke in perfect circles. </div>
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Crum reconsidered the sign and pushed the button. He pushed it again. The speaker erupted with an ear drum punishing screech.</div>
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“What? Who’s there? What do you want? Calm down and speak up. I can’t hear you.”</div>
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Crum winced at the volume and impoliteness of the inquiry. He spoke.</div>
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“Uh, So Life is perfect here huh? And you don’t take dogs?”</div>
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The speaker screeched. A voice said, “What does the sign say bub? Can’t you read?”</div>
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“Just wanted to verify. Might like to live in a perfect world.” </div>
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Crum looked at Maggie, scratched her head and continued, “But if I couldn’t bitch about it, what would be the point? Think I’ll pass.”</div>
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Crum leashed Maggie and they walked back through the break in the wall.<br />
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<br />
This is my first piece submitted to the Facebook group - The Writers Link Group. Not sure how I like it, but I did work more than usual on it trying to polish up the 800 plus word turd I started with.<br />
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As always, any comments are welcome. </div>
MRMacrumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01414173517957120477noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1857570192805451446.post-36832053465758186762019-07-27T17:32:00.020-07:002022-08-26T12:14:41.491-07:00Rainbow Night at Club Venus<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ7-YLCHjibq2rFa5gy9zFH2cAdlt_IiCP_fM5xPR7ug0sJiVnBIU2bp6Ckp9fgGriiGheWl7qPOO5vxP7LxV0-kI5r5apKmuCzWlPexdr3S_3XFag1ihwR1mfNy8qAM5ZUVWuF7oLfY4/s1600/8cc9fa07ab5c10f1def910192e257d7a.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="191" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ7-YLCHjibq2rFa5gy9zFH2cAdlt_IiCP_fM5xPR7ug0sJiVnBIU2bp6Ckp9fgGriiGheWl7qPOO5vxP7LxV0-kI5r5apKmuCzWlPexdr3S_3XFag1ihwR1mfNy8qAM5ZUVWuF7oLfY4/s400/8cc9fa07ab5c10f1def910192e257d7a.jpg" width="253" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">James always looked sharp. His
bell-bottoms always wore a sharp crease and his platform shoes never went out in
public sporting scuff marks or cigarette butts stuck to their heels.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 16pt;">One day James convinced me to accompany
him to Club Venus over at Perring Plaza to pick up women who were amenable to
dancing under the big glass ball.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 16pt;">"But”, said James, “we gotta take
you shopping for some new threads.</span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 16pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 16pt;">I
have seen your wardrobe man and frankly it sucks. Might work for those big
Mother Earth, Ms Natural types I see dragging you around, but the women over
to the Venus need you to step up your game. They have some class.</span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 16pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 16pt;">They
actually shave their armpits and use lipstick.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 16pt;">He could tell I was a tad
miffed.</span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 16pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 16pt;">He turned me to face the big
glass doors on the front of the Towson State University library.</span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 16pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 16pt;">“Look at yourself fool.</span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 16pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 16pt;">You’re a schlub, what with all that tye dyed
hippie shit cut off jeans flip flop look you are sporting. Really Bro, time to
pick up your game.</span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 16pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 16pt;">No sulking, we are
hoofing uptown to Hutzler’s. Besides, what are you going to spend that paycheck
on anyway, more weed?”</span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 16pt;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 16pt;">So we began the hike up York
Road.</span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 16pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 16pt;">James strutting in his everyday
best and me flip flopping beside him in my everyday worst.</span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 16pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 16pt;">After a short stop at the bank to cash my
check, we crossed the street and entered the department store.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 16pt;">Forty five minutes or so later we
strode out of Hutzlers looking like twin brothers of different mothers.</span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 16pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 16pt;">I had transformed from an ugly ducking into
an imagined swan. Tucked into a pair of baby blue bell bottoms was the classic
“Fever” shirt with the big collar and puffy sleeves opened of course to show
off the authentic fake gold chain. Toss in those outrageous 3” platform Disco
shoes and Jack, I was ready to kill me some ladies.</span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 16pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 16pt;">Least ways, Jack said I was gonna knock em
dead.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 16pt;">Thursday night came.</span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 16pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 16pt;">James called me.</span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 16pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 16pt;">Something about being jammed up and he would
meet me at Club Venus around eight.</span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 16pt;">
</span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 16pt;">Bummed a ride with some other folks from the dorm and walked in the
club.</span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 16pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 16pt;">A banner over the entrance to the
ball room claimed in three foot letters, that this night was the first annual
“Rainbow Night”.</span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 16pt;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 16pt;">Not placing any special importance to the notion of “Rainbow Night”, I walked onto the massive dance
floor.</span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 16pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 16pt;">Disco Jacks and Disco Jills were
getting their grooves on.</span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 16pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 16pt;">I was maybe
halfway across the floor when it dawned on me that I was seeing mostly bucks dancing with bucks and does dancing with does. ……………</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 16pt;">“That goddamned James, …..I’ll
kill the bastard", I thought.</span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 16pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 16pt;">I smiled instead.</span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 16pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 16pt;">James thought he had been safely
living in the closet.</span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 16pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 16pt;">He had no clue
most of his friends knew he was gay and didn’t care.</span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 16pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 16pt;">…… “But yeah where is that little bastard?”</span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 16pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 16pt;">I finished crossing the dance floor and found
the 50 foot bar.</span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 16pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 16pt;">Ordered a shot and a
beer, I settled onto a bar stool and watched the light in the loafer folks do
their thing.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 16pt;">Into my second shot and second
beer, I noticed a woman heading in my general location.</span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 16pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 16pt;">She was taking disco to an ultimate height,
fashion wise.</span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 16pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 16pt;">She was wearing a one
piece silver hot pants outfit, thigh high silver platform boots, and topped off
with an albino afro, two and a half feet across.</span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 16pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 16pt;">Woah, she wanted everyone’s attention.</span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 16pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 16pt;">She would not be ignored.</span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 16pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 16pt;">She smiled at me and………..</span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 16pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 16pt;">Damned, if it wasn’t James, doing his best tranny act and pulling it off to boot.</span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 16pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 16pt;">He
looked perfect.</span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 16pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 16pt;">But then James always
looked sharp.</span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 16pt;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 16pt;">All I
could do was grin and head out to meet him on the dance floor for his first
coming out dance.</span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 16pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 16pt;">Had a blast that night
with him and all the friends he used to keep in his closet.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 16pt;">________________________________</span></div>
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<o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;">660 words -more or less</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;">First written in Fall of 2018 for a writing class I was in.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Cross Published in the original "Lost in the Bozone"</span></div>
<br />MRMacrumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01414173517957120477noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1857570192805451446.post-86570224893663249452019-07-13T03:55:00.001-07:002019-07-13T03:55:26.436-07:00Last Respects<br />
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The Prediction – Flash due Th – 11th of July</div>
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100 Words - word prompts - crave, plaster, upwind</div>
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He wanted to relive the joy and pay last respects to the old
before he created anything new.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He
craved reliving these moments.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Closing
his eyes and concentrating, it was almost like the first time.</div>
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Unfortunately he approached upwind from his last
creation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Lost in his reverie, he failed
to notice the smell.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was upon the
statue before he knew it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Two men in suits
were holding handkerchiefs over their noses and gazing at his statue.</div>
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They turned and the tall one said, “This your work?”</div>
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He had no answer.</div>
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“Well, if it is, more plaster would have helped.”</div>
<br />MRMacrumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01414173517957120477noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1857570192805451446.post-70104155898184927282018-06-20T09:03:00.005-07:002021-08-03T06:35:38.639-07:00Summer 1963<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx8Oi7aWFNHvEvK7CYopyazp0JYtO5lDqB_2oWbID7UUi5ohcObelROkKy8wSbQajW7r7RszH_0Z7c52EQ8e3OMYmjYZsGiZYSnyLD7vn_rlQYwDo863Ks8IosCqdMOoR37LQebMQqB-U/s1600/pr12416.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="931" data-original-width="600" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx8Oi7aWFNHvEvK7CYopyazp0JYtO5lDqB_2oWbID7UUi5ohcObelROkKy8wSbQajW7r7RszH_0Z7c52EQ8e3OMYmjYZsGiZYSnyLD7vn_rlQYwDo863Ks8IosCqdMOoR37LQebMQqB-U/s400/pr12416.jpg" width="257" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Times Past Challenge – 6/16/18</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Reflect on a big change in my lifetime.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">560 or so words ( originally over 1200 )</span></div>
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Links posted at </div>
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~ <a href="https://irenewaters19.com/2018/06/02/the-biggest-change-times-past/">Reflections and Nightmares</a></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">~ <a href="https://carrotranch.com/2018/06/15/times-past-themes-and-focus/?c=44302#comment-44302">Carrot Ranch</a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><u>Summer 1963</u></b></span></div>
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The State Theater was located on the north side of College
Avenue between Monroe and Adams Streets in Tallahassee, Florida. It
was just four blocks down from the Travelodge motel my father (G1) had taken over after retiring from the US Air Force a couple of years earlier. It was the summer of 1963. I
(Boomer) remember it well.</div>
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Being from a military family who moved at the drop of a hat,
exploration was first on my agenda. Knowing the layout of the land was an
imperative first step in acclimating to new surroundings. Having a movie
theater just down the street seemed a good place to begin. I would
start there. </div>
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The family's military lifestyle did not prepare any of us
for the nastier aspects of the world we would now exist in. My
parents had become used to the protective bubble a military life offered.
I was born on base and knew nothing else. There was no such thing as
segregation in my world up to that time.</div>
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I stepped up to the ticket window and bought a ticket. I
remember the black woman inside the ticket booth asking me not once, but twice
if I was sure I wanted to go into the theater. I was adamant. I was
12. It was Saturday and I was burning daylight while the matinee was well
into its first serial. She handed me a ticket. I went in, bought
some popcorn and a coke and went into the theater. Not long after I had
settled into my seat, I sensed someone big sit down in the seat behind
me. They leaned over the back of the seat next to me and said, "Boy,
are you sure you are in the right theater?" </div>
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I turned and there was a very unfriendly looking black man
staring at me hard. I told him yes, I was in the right theater. I lived
just down the street at the Travelodge and my name was Mike. I ended with
"we just moved here."</div>
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"Son," his voice became friendlier, "you
really are in the wrong theater. .... You need to leave. We don't
want any trouble here."</div>
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I stood up and looked around. It finally dawned on me
there was not one white face there other than mine. And it seemed to me all eyes were focused on me and not the screen.</div>
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I left and walked the four blocks back to the
Travelodge. When I got home, I told my dad I had been kicked out of the
theater by a very scary black guy. He looked at me. He did not ask
what I might have done to deserve getting the boot. He just sighed and
told me to blow it off, we would talk later. I think he knew but had forgotten how the real world worked.</div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">Thus began my exposure to the very real and ugly world of
segregation in the US South in the early 1960's. That summer I witnessed white
people beating on black people while white police leaned on their cruisers and sucked
on toothpicks. I was shamed by a public librarian for drinking out of the
wrong fountain. I was told in no uncertain terms that my kind was not
allowed to sit in the back of the bus. And at a nearby rib joint, I was
refused service again because I was white. It was an eye opening coming of age
summer. One I have never forgotten.</div>
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The years 1962 and 1963 were absolutely crammed with more seminal moments than the rest of my life combined. The above is the one I revisit most often I think.</div>
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To attempt some structure to my memoir here, I decided to try just focusing on one event while offering just enough background to give the reader perspective. I am not sold on my effort, but it is different than some of my other stream of consciousness posts or my based on facts fictional narratives.</div>
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Any criticism, comment or hey der's welcome.</div>
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<a href="https://www.floridamemory.com/items/show/10809">Image from this site</a> - and is not a copyrighted image</div>
MRMacrumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01414173517957120477noreply@blogger.com4