Mid-Week Flash Challenge - Week 306

It's extremely rare these days to not be able to find the origin of a picture, because there's no excuse with so many tracking sites not to be able to credit, but this picture throws up just 5 finds on Google image search, and two on others, with the majority to pinterest all linking to an etsy shop that once had this for sale. The others are just other sites sharing the pic with no credit. It's such a shame. It's a cute picture and the image speaks for itself. And there are loads similar to it on etsy if you want one!

I tried for something a bit different, and it is. Much more timid than I thought. Also a test in writing mainly in dialogue. 

The General Guidelines can be found here.

How to create a clickable link in Blogger comments can be found on lasts week's post here. 

There is also a Facebook group for Mid-Week Flash, if you fancy getting the prompt there.

Underground 

“What are you wearing that thing for anyway?” Liam flicked the pendant on my necklace.

“It’s the antidote, isn’t it, you dummy!” I clasped the little vial not wanting to risk him breaking it.

“Who are you calling dummy? You’re the one believing it will cure you.”

“It will! As long as I take it within five minutes of getting bit – that’s why I’ve got it round my neck.”

“Who gave it you?”

“Uncle Ryan.”

“No way! Then it’s defo bullshit. He babbles about all sorts of flaky bullshit: how we are all going to die if we don’t get above ground again, how the lack of sun will make us weak, how living underground is doing us harm.”

“And he’s right. Look what happened to Maisy; that was due to no sun.”

“Rubbish! She was already sick before she came down here. Being out of the sun is good for you; healthy for your skin, and better for your eyes. That’s what Babs says.”

I tried not to scoff too hard. “Babs?! You have to be kidding, you’re not listening to her, are you? No wonder you’re believing all that clap-trap.”

“It’s true. If I go out there I’ll burn up before I get bit.” Liam look convinced, I tried to stifle my laughter.

“Why don’t you try it then?”

“What go up there? Don’t be daft.”

“Why, cuz you think you’ll get burnt?” I giggled again and Liam looked angry.

“You’re the one who thinks you’ll be cured taking that silly thing, even if you get bit. Why don’t YOU go and try it?”

“Cuz I’m not as stupid as you.”

Liam kicked the step I was sitting on. I ignored him.

“Dennis reckons they’re all dead up there anyway by now; we’ve been down here almost a year,” he said in a sulky tone.

“He going up there to check, is he?”

Liam gave me a black look and I gave him a fake grin.

“I’m sick of being down here,” he said as he slumped down next to me.

“Yeah, me too. But it’s never going to be like it was even if we do manage to one day go back up there. There’s not enough people left.”

“Do you think there’s anyone else out there, you know, like us, living in hiding?”

“Maybe, but I doubt as big as our group though.”

“Remember that show on TV, The Walking Dead, about a zombie apocalypse?”

“Yeah, everyone at school used to go on about it. But it turned out to be completely unrealistic.”

“TV shows always were. That’s why people watched them. They needed to believe they’d be able to survive alongside them.”

“Fat chance! And all that killing each other and stuff, no one has been doing any of that.”

“We don’t know that, we’ve been down here.”

“There’s no way they’d survive long enough to do all that to each other. Real zombie’s aren’t that stupid. But Dennis might be right; they might eventually kill themselves and die out.”

“Sasha said it would take longer than a year.”

“Yeah, she’s probably right.”

I stood up and dusted off the seat of my trousers.

“Come on, let’s go see if we can scrounge something to eat.”

Liam pulled a face. “It’ll just be more of that pappy shit.”

“True, but at least it’s something.”

“What I wouldn’t give for a chicken sandwich!”

“Oh me too! Or tuna!” I pulled him up.

“Ugh, I hated fish. Although at this point it’d be better than that sloppy stuff.”

“Definitely. Come on.”

I pulled his arm and we ran off to see if my Uncle Ryan had any going spare. The only upside to life underground was that there was always someone around to scrounge off.

 

Review: Spare, by Prince Harry & J.R. Moehringer

Spare by Prince Harry
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

A review or a rant? You choose.

I hadn’t paid much attention to Prince Harry until recent years, until all the tabloid started screaming their racist stance about his wife, and picking her apart. It reminded me of his mother, Princess Diana who I did love, and was devastated to see she was murdered by the very press that made money off her back. And even though everyone knew that, everyone ignored it too.

I was born and raised in the UK, and even before I left in my 30s, I knew the dire state it was in was due to the British newspaper media and how it manipulated the pubic and their views. And now more than ever the current state of the country is due to what they have wrought – and what the people choose to believe.

I was raised a royalist; I was raised to see the monarchy as people who did a job, a bloody hard job, one that requires them to open their lives and be critiqued on a daily basis. People are under some strange delusion that they are making a ton of money and rubbing their hands in glee and pretending they’re above others, but the truth is that every day since birth their lives have been given over to meeting and engaging with people they have no choice about. I watched a documentary about Prince Charles’s life some time back in the early 90s, which detailed the one day a year where his entire year is mapped out for him: what engagements he had to attend, what trips he had to make, and the people he had to entertain. There were no choices. He asked a couple of times if it was his turn to do this or that engagement, but unfortunately it was dictated to him. And the recent fiction series, The Crown, which bases its storylines in truth, depicts the same: employees of the monarchy, including the government, are the ones that hold all the rules and regulations and they are puppets who are there to serve a particular role.

Anyone who thinks otherwise has been coloured by the national newspapers of the UK. There is no where else such bias can be founded, unless you knew them personally and actually had a proper insight into their lives. They are real people, with real lives, despite how they got there.

Yes, they live a particular kind of life, at a much higher level than most of the citizens of the country, but so do the owners of those newspapers that have tainted and manipulated the views of the nation. The difference is the royal family live in a 'gilded cage' as Prince Harry calls it. Everything they do is restricted.

This particular book, I felt, was written as a plea to Prince Harry’s father and brother. I have no idea if they have read it, or if their view of it has also been coloured by those that want to discredit it - one of them sitting on the throne next to the King, someone who from the very beginning was not to be trusted, one who managed to use the press to reimagine themselves to get the public onside, and who is a huge part behind why this situation has happened.

Anyone who reads this book and picks at the things Prince Harry talks about doesn’t see what he is actually saying, i.e. the British media are in the wrong here and have literally been terrorising him, his wife and his children. And those people are the very public the British tabloid press has manipulated to believe that Harry mentioning how many people he killed in a war is more relevant than the press having a vendetta against them. And don’t think they don’t – they very much have a vendetta against anyone who speaks against them or doesn't tolerate their free rein to lie about them. And anyone who also believes that the details of Prince Harry's part in the war wasn’t vetted and checked by the army clearly doesn’t understand what it takes to publish such writing. But of course the public don’t know that, and the British tabloids aren’t about to tell them when it serves their ‘anti’ discourse.

I was hugely moved by this book. Having watched Prince Harry’s interviews about this book, I could hear his voice in the wording, even though I knew that much of it was guided by a ghost writer (I’ve read articles by them about the writing of it too). I still can’t believe that anyone thinks that what this couple have been put through is okay, or that in publishing this book they were being hypocritical by using the thing that was tormenting them. Why not use the very thing that is persecuting your life to try at least put the truth out there and be heard? And if you don’t believe this is his truth, then you must think he is just like the newspaper editors/owners: liars and manipulators.

I don’t know when we as a society got to the point where stalking someone, invading and trespassing on their properties and lives was ‘freedom of speech’ or that it was ‘in the public’s interest’. Nothing the British tabloid press have ever written about these two has been ‘in the public’s interest’, unless it has been about their charities, work and engagements they fulfil for the country. The British public’s continued support of this kind of behaviour by the press – and I see it here in many of the reviews – is not okay.

I may only be one individual, but I hear you Prince Harry, and I am so ashamed that you have been treated this way. Thank you for being open and vulnerable and risking yet further damnation at the hands of the British press.

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Interview with Victoria Pearson about Kill The Goblins

My good friend, Victoria Pearson, who has her own channel on YouTube and does mini daily gratitude shorts every morning, where you can take a breath with her, interviewed me about my new book, Kill The Goblins, How to get the negative voices in your head to shut up. She has been instrumental in me writing and publishing this book, having helped me with the content, layout and also promotion. I am eternally grateful to her for giving me a platform to speak on.

Here's the video: 

Mid-Week Flash Challenge - Week 305

This week's picture prompt is one of my own. And if this looks familiar in some way, it's because it is at Lacock Abbey in Wiltshire (and I'm told by my family that live close by it's pron: lay-cock), where they filmed some of the Harry Potter movies. This room was from the scene about the Mirror of Erised - where Harry speaks to Dumbledore. I thought it would make a nice prompt. 

A Tricky snippet, which I may or may not use. It worked perfectly for where I am at. The last time I wrote a Tricky piece for Mid-Week Flash was Week 302. 

The General Guidelines can be found here.

How to create a clickable link in Blogger comments can be found on lasts week's post here. 

There is also a Facebook group for Mid-Week Flash, if you fancy getting the prompt there.

Suspicions

Tricky waited nervously. She had no idea what was going to happen next and to put it mildly was terrified. No one seemed to know anything about what others might know and whether their knowing influenced another knowing, and if no one knew who knew, then what? A tangled web that Adric had spun, and had his father caught up in, though she knew The Baron could get himself out of it easily enough. Oh how she hated all this.

She paced the empty ancient room, which had once been furnished by the impossibly rich, the overlords of the time before the shift. Just this bare shell showed their opulence: the stonework on the floor, the arches on the walls, even the vaulted ceiling. But now it was just an anti-chamber to a larger system of rooms that made up this mangled palace. No one quite understood how the different building and landmasses had been thrown together, and why ones like these survived and remained intact, while others had fallen and crumbled. No one knew anymore, too much had been lost, they could only shore up what they had and maintain it.

Tricky looked out of the windows, which had glass intact though cracked in places – a luxury that didn’t exist anymore. She watched the river water flowing just a few feet below. How it hadn’t infected this place with its dampness she didn’t know. They had all sorts of tricks to stop it back then and clearly someone still knew how otherwise this room would be covered in mould. She’d seen it in multiple buildings on the outskirts. It depended if people valued a particular building, whether they would save it.

Tricky wanted to sniff at those living here, how they were the new overlords, but she couldn’t quite. They were trying to manage so many different aspects all running simultaneously, while trying to keep people safe, especially from the likes of the network.

Tricky shuddered. She thought the time of political and powerful threats were over for the people. The shift had seen the end of it, but here they were again, worrying what someone might be capable of, or might do just to gain … what? Control over others? Control of a landmass? What did they think it offered them? Did they see the work that went into trying to keep it going and safe? But they didn’t care about working and safe, they only cared about having possessions, about gorging themselves on objects and things that didn’t belong to them. She hated them. She felt the rage and frustration of being caught up in their road of destruction. She wanted no part of it, but they had decided she was the crux of it; they wanted to claim her knowledge and her inherited possessions for their cause. The rancid, corrupt minds of inflated egos and ugly intentions. She wanted to see them dead.

She heard footsteps outside – hard not to on the echoey stone floors that ran through this place – and took a deep breath. Who would be coming through that door, friend or foe? And would she know the difference? 

Mid-Week Flash Challenge - Week 304

This week's picture prompt was created by hungarian born, Sarolta Ban. She doesn't give this a name, but it is located in the alterego category.  It's not the first time I've used one of her images. I used one on Week 28, and Week 24 . She has some exceptional images, worth checking out. 

Took a while but then this story arrived sometimes you have to follow your beliefs. Just say no to caged birds. 

The General Guidelines can be found here.

How to create a clickable link in Blogger comments can be found on lasts week's post here. 

There is also a Facebook group for Mid-Week Flash, if you fancy getting the prompt there.

Delight

I heard the car pull up. We’d been driving for a while, and I had no idea where they were taking me. The box wasn’t very comfortable but it beat the cage. I heard shuffling and a car door open, then the box was jostled as they picked it up. I heard them walk on crunchy ground for a while. Then the box was put on the ground. I heard strange zipping sounds, and then more footsteps until the sound of them faded. I heard a car engine in the distance, then nothing. Silence.

I pushed up on the cardboard above me, not expecting it to give, but it did. I opened the flaps with the tip of my wing, and pushed up, opening them out to their full wingspan. I hadn’t been able to do that in years.

The air was thick with fog, or was that smoke? I couldn’t be sure. I had little recollection of what fresh air smelt like. I stepped out of the box and flexed my wings a few times. I hadn’t flown in at least a decade.

Cage life was torture for anyone with wings, but humans like to have you there to coo at you. They also expected you to be grateful to have been caught in the first place and kept alone, trapped, and living with the indignity of shitting where you eat. Some days they were lazy and let it get really smelly. All I could do when that happened was hide in the corner and cover my face with my wing in shame. I would hear them talk about me as though I was some tiny toy. But mostly I was just an ornament.

They had clearly had enough of me, which is why they had dumped me here. The novelty had finally worn off, and as I hadn’t died in the cage, they were now going to abandon me and force me to fend for myself in a hostile land.

I beat my wings a few times and hopped over to a rock. I needed to get above whatever was causing this fogginess and feel the sun on my body.

I beat them again, expecting to feel tired, but instead I was exhilarated, my energy rising high. And with another hard beat I rose using that energy, climbing higher and higher until the clouds around me began to brighten.

I broke through and got my first glimpse of sunshine and sky in … I no longer knew how long, but since I was a baby. It was magical. I caught a thermal and glided out above the dense cloud, until I came across a gap that showed me the ground.

It was indeed smoke. I could see patches of the ground consumed by flame and others black from where it had passed.

I stayed high, it was easy up here, the warm thermals keeping me buoyant, and not requiring too much wing strength. Then I spotted a flock ahead of me, and made my way towards them. They were white-winged like me.

I joined the tail end of their formation. The wind drag lessened and I felt I had found my place.

I soaked in the view of the sun glistening on the smoky clouds and imagined water, large expanses of it. And somewhere in my mind I knew that was where we were going, and I could see the route. I hoped my wings would hold me up that long.

But soon the light was fading and the formation was descending, fortunately to an unburnt patch of land. I tried for an elegant landing but I stumbled a little. Folding my wings hurt after such a long time expanded but it was a relief too. I joined them pecking at the ground, and followed them towards a small stream. I placed my feet in the water and squawked with delight. They joined in. And then I saw the movement in the water and caught up the little fish in my mouth. I’d never experienced anything so blissful.

Then as the light left the ground, we huddled together, and I spotted the rings on their legs, too. I wasn’t the only one who had found freedom as the world burned.

Mid-Week Flash Challenge - Week 303

This week's picture prompt is a photograph taken by Nathan Dumlao over on Unsplash. I thought it was a very thought provoking capture. 

I had to think hard about how to generate this idea, but I think it worked. I do like me a dark tale.

The General Guidelines can be found here.

How to create a clickable link in Blogger comments can be found on lasts week's post here. 

There is also a Facebook group for Mid-Week Flash, if you fancy getting the prompt there.

Party

Trisha couldn’t bare looking at the bright yellow smiley-face balloon anymore. It was deflated and shrivelled, just like her. She opened the window of the chauffeur driven car and let it go, watching it rise up into the city streets, before being caught by a rush of air from passing traffic and thrown to the ground.

Maybe a child would find it and get a few moments of joy. She’d bought it for that reason, but now it represented something more sinister.

She hadn’t wanted to go to the party, but Hal had insisted, and he was hard to resist. She knew they enjoyed their hedonistic weekends and revel in their rich white privilege, dragging her along as the token minority, but they were far too debauched and triggered unhealthy events. She didn’t mind a few drinks, but when they started hitting the hard stuff – the pills – it made it a bit more difficult to control. And this time it had gotten out of hand.

Trish was only thankful she had been so out of it she didn’t remember much. She didn’t want to; the few snapshots that kept coming to mind were enough.

Trisha’s phone rang and she glanced at it: Hal. Yeah, he’d want to know how it had happened; he’d want all the gruesome details – and they were indeed gruesome. She wasn’t sure she wanted to put words to those images.

“Hey Hal.”

“Trish, where are you? What happened?”

“I’m back in the city, on my way home.”

“But you just left … you didn’t say a word.”

“Did I need to?”

“Well … yeah! Patrick is freaking out.”

“I knew he would, but it’s not my fault. I told you both it wasn’t a good idea.”

“Not a good idea, and why it wasn’t a good idea are two different things. You should have told us.”

“How, Hal? How exactly would that go?”

“But you’ve partied with us before and it’s never gone down like that! Is it a time-of-the-month thing?”

“You think that’s PMS rage?”

“No, I mean celestial, Trish.”

“It wasn’t full moon, Hal, you know that.”

“So then, what the fuck happened?”

“I don’t know. Could have been the chemical combination, it could have been the people.”

“Well those people won’t be a problem anymore.”

Trish felt sick. “I didn’t plan for this to happen, Hal!”

“I know that Trish.”

“It’s why I got the hell out of there.”

“I gather that.”

“So what do you want me to do?”

“I want you to tell me what triggered the change, and how exactly it all went down, just so we have all the bases covered.”

Trish thought as much.

“I’m not telling you while I’m in the car – or over the phone for that matter.”

“Then we’ll come over … tonight?”

“Okay. But no drink, no drugs, no pushing me to perform tricks!”

“Oh my god, Trish, we’re not looking for a repeat, we’re looking to get the details so we can get our stories straight. It takes a bit to get this all smoothed over you know.”

“ I know, white privilege and all that.”

“Yeah, and thank god for that! If we weren’t monied rich guys we’d all be in jail after that display.”

“You guys didn’t have to join in.”

“Of course we did ... though I think you still have a lot to teach us.”

Trish could hear him smile, and allowed herself to smile too, the knot in her stomach loosening a little.

“You’d better come over, then, so we can talk about it.”

“Okay good. We’ll see you tonight.”

“Alright. Later.”

Trish hung up, feeling a little less like the balloon she’d set free. An image of that balloon dancing around the ceiling as the three of them had let rip came to mind. If it had deflated too soon, it would have been incinerated like rest of the bloodied contents of that room. She thought about how she was going to explain turning to them, but suspected they might alright know.

Trish sat up a little in the car thinking about what she was going to say. It was going to be an interesting night. It had been a long time since she’d talked about it to anyone.

Review: Rollie: A fictionalised biography by Michael Wombat

Rollie: A fictionalised biography by Michael Wombat
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

What an incredible read. I was quietly weeping and sniffling towards the end.

Michael Wombat has taken the remnants of someone's short time on this earth, a box full of letters, a diary and some photos and certificates, and brought it to life. Filling in some blanks with a few fictional pieces of dialogue and events. It brought alive the world of what young airforce pilots in the second world world experienced while training.

Michael Wombat spent years reading and researching other accounts from people who went through the same training during that time and knew all about the organisations, and the terminology and used it to fill in the pencil drawing of Rollie's life. I was gained a sense of who this young man was, and how he interacted with friends and family. And it was extremely touching, and I'm really glad I read it.

Even if, like me, you aren't particularly into war stories or accounts, this book gives you a glimpse into someone's life and explains all the nuances and terminology from that time. I definitely recommend it. Well done Michael Wombat for enabling us to remember Rollie and all those like him.


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