Miranda Kate's Blog, page 35
March 18, 2020
Mid-Week Flash Challenge - Week 149
This week's photo is by photographer Juuso Hämäläinen. He took this in one of my dream location to visit, The Raja Ampat Islands (off New Guinea). I love the contrast in this photo. He takes some stunning photos and you can buy prints of his work here.
An emotional tale this week, sort of a little bit about how to cope with the outside world, especially at the moment, as well as how to find your own inner calm. It's what the image made me think of straight away.
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.
Self Reflection
She had a dream that one day she would go to a tropical island and stay there forever. She imagined the warm sun, the white sand beaches and the palm trees swaying in the breeze. She imagined feeling free and unencumbered, not responsible for anyone but herself, able to go where she wanted, when she wanted, without having an obligation to fulfil, or someone to look after.
But when she finally cut all ties and arrived there, the sun wasn’t shining, there was a gale blowing across the island, driving rain; it was storm season. Everything was washed out and bleak, just like her reflection. It felt desolate, joyless, and empty, but that was nothing new for her, so she did as she had always done: she made the best of it.
Being the tropics it was still hot, and the sea was warm, so every day she donned her snorkel and swam out into the ocean. Under the surface all was calm, all was collected, and all was quiet. And the deeper she dived the more it permeated; the harmonious underwater life going on as though nothing was awry. The fish knew that the storm would pass, and although it might increase a few currents for a time, and some areas were best avoided, all was tranquil.
This newfound tranquillity was infectious, and she meditated on it as she swam out further and further to see more of what lay beneath – and not just beneath the water, but beneath her own surface, inside herself, inside her soul.
Soon the sun began to break through from time to time, lighting up the ocean floor and exposing its true glory and rainbow of colours and life. And then the winds died down and the rain stopped. The sand dried out, and she was able to lie on the beach and revel in the sun. But she was no longer dependent on it to brighten her up, her weeks of snorkelling had kindled her own inner light; by the time all was bright outside, she was shining within. She knew now that no matter what was going on externally, nothing could shake her calm within.
An emotional tale this week, sort of a little bit about how to cope with the outside world, especially at the moment, as well as how to find your own inner calm. It's what the image made me think of straight away.
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.
Self Reflection
She had a dream that one day she would go to a tropical island and stay there forever. She imagined the warm sun, the white sand beaches and the palm trees swaying in the breeze. She imagined feeling free and unencumbered, not responsible for anyone but herself, able to go where she wanted, when she wanted, without having an obligation to fulfil, or someone to look after.
But when she finally cut all ties and arrived there, the sun wasn’t shining, there was a gale blowing across the island, driving rain; it was storm season. Everything was washed out and bleak, just like her reflection. It felt desolate, joyless, and empty, but that was nothing new for her, so she did as she had always done: she made the best of it.
Being the tropics it was still hot, and the sea was warm, so every day she donned her snorkel and swam out into the ocean. Under the surface all was calm, all was collected, and all was quiet. And the deeper she dived the more it permeated; the harmonious underwater life going on as though nothing was awry. The fish knew that the storm would pass, and although it might increase a few currents for a time, and some areas were best avoided, all was tranquil.
This newfound tranquillity was infectious, and she meditated on it as she swam out further and further to see more of what lay beneath – and not just beneath the water, but beneath her own surface, inside herself, inside her soul.
Soon the sun began to break through from time to time, lighting up the ocean floor and exposing its true glory and rainbow of colours and life. And then the winds died down and the rain stopped. The sand dried out, and she was able to lie on the beach and revel in the sun. But she was no longer dependent on it to brighten her up, her weeks of snorkelling had kindled her own inner light; by the time all was bright outside, she was shining within. She knew now that no matter what was going on externally, nothing could shake her calm within.
March 11, 2020
Mid-Week Flash Challenge - Week 148
This week's photo is from Christopher Marr, a Scottish photographer. He shared this on twitter on 21st of September 2019 and said "I have so many questions ... I found this bench in the middle of some woods I was visiting for the first time. No paths or walkways, literally stumbled across it perfect".
It is indeed. I wonder what story might be behind it ...
Again, Tricky is talking in my ear and this is one of her tales. And with each short piece, the larger picture appears. There'll be a book coming soon.
(and for my own reference, here's a link through to the previous ones - linked on Week 138 - and the last one which was Week 146)
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.
Unearthed
It took a while for her to locate it, but she knew it was there – had been for centuries. And she was right, the forest had absorbed it. The trees saw the bench as one of their own; they might not be able to bring it back to life, but they could spread life over it.
The moss had done its magic and covered it in a velvet green blanket, making it more elusive. On closer inspection, Tricky was pleased to find the species of moss she was hoping for. This particular kind had carnivorous tendencies, which meant the bench had seen more than just backsides over the years, it had seen blood. And she was confident it was the blood of the man she had disposed of on John Thatcher’s behalf a decade ago. She needed his blood because she needed answers.
Tricky had hit a dead-end. She knew Carter had been in possession of the item she wanted – he’d taken it from her after all, even though he had feigned ignorance when he’d been alive. And although she had thought it sold on, she had come up empty handed when she had tracked its movements. Someone had double backed somewhere and she needed to know who. And she planned for him to tell her.
She got down on her knees in front of the bench and started scraping at the thicker spots of moss. They liked to hoard round the bigger blood spots. As she tipped them into the pot a pattern emerged on the wood, a sprayed effect and then a large area as though something had landed. If a limb had landed on here there had to be more remnants, maybe even a bone. Oh she’d be a lucky Tricky to find a whole bone. She’d be able to do the ceremony much more quickly and efficiently.
She scrabbled about in the earth under and around the bench and came up with many bones, but none of them human. She paused for a moment and listened. The trees knew and they were trying to tell her. She felt green energy rise in her body and tingle.
She stood, her eyes scanning the area as she let energy pour out of her. It accumulated round the base of a tree behind the bench. She stepped over to it; there was a small mound next to the trunk. She knelt down and pushed at it; it shifted easily enough and came away in her hand. She scraped away the mud and forest debris and let out a rasping laugh.
‘Oh my pretty, I’ve found you.’
She’d hoped for a piece of bone from one of the extremities, or maybe a rib, but with the forest on her side she’d hit the jackpot: this was a skull – Carter’s skull, she could feel it. And it was ready to talk.
She stuffed it into the hessian bag she’d brought and got back onto her feet. She laughed again as she spun in a circle, pouring out her deepest, highest golden energy as thanks to the trees, making everything glow around her. And then she was off. She didn’t have time to waste. The sooner she got him talking again, the sooner she would get the answers and be back on the trail of her beloved stolen treasure.
It is indeed. I wonder what story might be behind it ...
Again, Tricky is talking in my ear and this is one of her tales. And with each short piece, the larger picture appears. There'll be a book coming soon.
(and for my own reference, here's a link through to the previous ones - linked on Week 138 - and the last one which was Week 146)
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.
Unearthed
It took a while for her to locate it, but she knew it was there – had been for centuries. And she was right, the forest had absorbed it. The trees saw the bench as one of their own; they might not be able to bring it back to life, but they could spread life over it.
The moss had done its magic and covered it in a velvet green blanket, making it more elusive. On closer inspection, Tricky was pleased to find the species of moss she was hoping for. This particular kind had carnivorous tendencies, which meant the bench had seen more than just backsides over the years, it had seen blood. And she was confident it was the blood of the man she had disposed of on John Thatcher’s behalf a decade ago. She needed his blood because she needed answers.
Tricky had hit a dead-end. She knew Carter had been in possession of the item she wanted – he’d taken it from her after all, even though he had feigned ignorance when he’d been alive. And although she had thought it sold on, she had come up empty handed when she had tracked its movements. Someone had double backed somewhere and she needed to know who. And she planned for him to tell her.
She got down on her knees in front of the bench and started scraping at the thicker spots of moss. They liked to hoard round the bigger blood spots. As she tipped them into the pot a pattern emerged on the wood, a sprayed effect and then a large area as though something had landed. If a limb had landed on here there had to be more remnants, maybe even a bone. Oh she’d be a lucky Tricky to find a whole bone. She’d be able to do the ceremony much more quickly and efficiently.
She scrabbled about in the earth under and around the bench and came up with many bones, but none of them human. She paused for a moment and listened. The trees knew and they were trying to tell her. She felt green energy rise in her body and tingle.
She stood, her eyes scanning the area as she let energy pour out of her. It accumulated round the base of a tree behind the bench. She stepped over to it; there was a small mound next to the trunk. She knelt down and pushed at it; it shifted easily enough and came away in her hand. She scraped away the mud and forest debris and let out a rasping laugh.
‘Oh my pretty, I’ve found you.’
She’d hoped for a piece of bone from one of the extremities, or maybe a rib, but with the forest on her side she’d hit the jackpot: this was a skull – Carter’s skull, she could feel it. And it was ready to talk.
She stuffed it into the hessian bag she’d brought and got back onto her feet. She laughed again as she spun in a circle, pouring out her deepest, highest golden energy as thanks to the trees, making everything glow around her. And then she was off. She didn’t have time to waste. The sooner she got him talking again, the sooner she would get the answers and be back on the trail of her beloved stolen treasure.
March 9, 2020
Review: In Pieces, by Sally Field
In Pieces by Sally FieldMy rating: 5 of 5 stars
I've loved Sally Field ever since I saw the film Sybil, about someone with DID (Dissociative Identify Disorder), which was an intense film. And I still remember the expression on her face and noise she would make when the character changed personalities. I also adored her portrayal of a Manic Depressive mother in ER and then the head of the family in Brothers and Sister. When I saw she had a memoir out I snatched it up and I wasn't disappointed.
Like many of her characters, it conveyed someone who was tangled and complicated, but was expressed with such depth and emotion that the reader is swept away. I found myself living vicariously through her words, feeling and imagining her life as she grew up in a less than glamorous showbiz world, constantly moving, constantly changing, constantly experiencing harsh (abusive) realities of life.
Sally goes into detail about her acting career depicting the true world behind the scenes of Hollywood TV shows and films. I adored the glimpse into the Actor's Studio, and how they worked with each other having watched the series and myself having studied drama. It was like revisiting a piece of my own life - and heart - and I got lost in the description of what it was like to take on another character and the practise involved, although in a far more professional sense and setting.
I also loved her openness about her relationships, both good and bad, and wasn't really surprised about Burt Reynolds. I was sad that her second marriage was skipped over, but understood that really the book was an ode to her mother and in fact motherhood, as it traversed her own as well the progression of herself as a person, while juggling so many things in her life.
I felt the memoir really gave me a sense of who Sally Field is, and I was grateful for her candid openness.
If you enjoy her as an actress I would definitely recommend this book.
View all my reviews
March 3, 2020
Mid-Week Flash Challenge - Week 147
This week's picture prompt is by Andrew Ferez, a Russian artist illustrator. He calls this one Violinist. You can check out more of his art on his Deviant Art page where he is 25karitnok.
This week's tale is a small and abstract, less story more dream, but it's what I see when I look at the picture.
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.
Joining an orchestra
She was going to play to her own tune. She didn’t care what others thought, she could make her own beautiful music.
It was this decision that made her step away, and break off from the rest of society – a society that had already started to disconnect and separate itself from each other with the advent of technology.
With the wind in her skirt and a pack on her back, she stepped away from the busy world and sought out the empty places; places she could hear and listen to her soul to know what she truly wanted and needed. On the journey she met others that had made similar choices to her and together they wove their own network, a community of sorts, but spanning more than just one place as they travelled around.
Before she knew it she was up on cloud nine riding high, feeling more connected than she had ever done: feeling her existence, her life, her body and most of all love. Not romantic but the shared kind that came from being around people who were kindred spirits and understood you on a deep level; the kind of people you could talk to on any subject with no judgement and who listened with their hearts not their minds. It made her heart open and it’s how she wanted to stay forever.
And forever it became as she created a keystone: buying land and building a retreat. It became the centre of their web (a physical one rather than an electronically produced one), somewhere for people to come and rejuvenate and connect again with what was true for their soul.
She might have started out with the intention of disconnecting, but it led to a more profound connection to herself and others, and enabled her to create an opportunity for others to experience the same. Her sole violin joined an orchestra of others.
This week's tale is a small and abstract, less story more dream, but it's what I see when I look at the picture.
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.
Joining an orchestra
She was going to play to her own tune. She didn’t care what others thought, she could make her own beautiful music.
It was this decision that made her step away, and break off from the rest of society – a society that had already started to disconnect and separate itself from each other with the advent of technology.
With the wind in her skirt and a pack on her back, she stepped away from the busy world and sought out the empty places; places she could hear and listen to her soul to know what she truly wanted and needed. On the journey she met others that had made similar choices to her and together they wove their own network, a community of sorts, but spanning more than just one place as they travelled around.
Before she knew it she was up on cloud nine riding high, feeling more connected than she had ever done: feeling her existence, her life, her body and most of all love. Not romantic but the shared kind that came from being around people who were kindred spirits and understood you on a deep level; the kind of people you could talk to on any subject with no judgement and who listened with their hearts not their minds. It made her heart open and it’s how she wanted to stay forever.
And forever it became as she created a keystone: buying land and building a retreat. It became the centre of their web (a physical one rather than an electronically produced one), somewhere for people to come and rejuvenate and connect again with what was true for their soul.
She might have started out with the intention of disconnecting, but it led to a more profound connection to herself and others, and enabled her to create an opportunity for others to experience the same. Her sole violin joined an orchestra of others.
February 26, 2020
Mid-Week Flash Challenge - Week 146
This weeks prompt photo was created by Hermin Abramovitch, an artist from Israel - known as ahermin over on their page on Deviant Art. He calls this Picture of a City. He creates all sorts of surreal things.
Okay, inadvertently I ended up with another tale from Tricky, but every day I am getting more clarity about what her story will be telling me.
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.
Jumping Through Time
Bollox! That would teach her to muck about with things she shouldn’t. She could see him coming in the distance and needed to work fast.
The mirrors worked, she knew that, but she couldn’t be sure she’d set them to the right frequency; if it was wrong whoever was coming would be in for a nasty shock.
She could see his red shorts and those luminescent funny-shaped shoes they wear with the laces off centre; she’d seen them last time she’d travelled through that particular mirror. It had been a strange place, full of buildings all crowded together and machines that spewed nasty toxins into the air – and all these people running.
She’d tried to work out what they were running from or to, but couldn’t. And they wore different clothes from people who weren’t running. She even saw huge posters up on walls displaying those shoes and people running in the background. Maybe it was some kind of fashion, thankfully lost in the annals of time, never to return – at least not to her time.
She shuffled the other mirror round on the wet sand, trying to put them where they’d meet in the right place. It should only feel like he tripped on something and almost fell when he came through. The water surrounding them reflected the sky so he should only experience a bit of disorientation for a few seconds before (hopefully) rejoining the road on the other side.
She could hear him breathing now as he ran. Was she right? He was just one of those running people, wasn’t he? She really hoped nothing was chasing him; she wasn’t prepared for two of them to jump through, that would create a problem. She hadn’t calculated for two; the rift wouldn’t hold.
She could hear the footfalls now, thumping on the wet sand. She held the mirror steady as it shook with his arrival. She put a hand on the other mirror making sure they remained lined up. His breathing was in her ear and she heard a grunt as he broke through, with a sort of yell that turned into a yip as he almost somersaulted through into the other mirror. She heard his feet land heavily in the other mirror, and a few stumbles, then he was running again.
But he glanced over his shoulder for a second and caught her eye. She was sure he had looked straight at her and seen her.
She shuddered. No, it was just a trick of the light. He couldn’t have known she was there. Surely not, unless … unless he wasn’t just one of those running people, someone for her to experiment on; what if he was an agent sent by Carter? What if he was clued up on what she was doing?
Arse! Damn her tricky mind and its whisperings.
She put the mirrors together and shoved them back into her carpetbag. She stumbled in her rush to stand, her knees stiff from being in the residue water the tide had left behind. She needed to get back and think about this, and needed to do it in a safe place – her home being the only one. He couldn’t reach her there.
Okay, inadvertently I ended up with another tale from Tricky, but every day I am getting more clarity about what her story will be telling me.
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.
Jumping Through Time
Bollox! That would teach her to muck about with things she shouldn’t. She could see him coming in the distance and needed to work fast.
The mirrors worked, she knew that, but she couldn’t be sure she’d set them to the right frequency; if it was wrong whoever was coming would be in for a nasty shock.
She could see his red shorts and those luminescent funny-shaped shoes they wear with the laces off centre; she’d seen them last time she’d travelled through that particular mirror. It had been a strange place, full of buildings all crowded together and machines that spewed nasty toxins into the air – and all these people running.
She’d tried to work out what they were running from or to, but couldn’t. And they wore different clothes from people who weren’t running. She even saw huge posters up on walls displaying those shoes and people running in the background. Maybe it was some kind of fashion, thankfully lost in the annals of time, never to return – at least not to her time.
She shuffled the other mirror round on the wet sand, trying to put them where they’d meet in the right place. It should only feel like he tripped on something and almost fell when he came through. The water surrounding them reflected the sky so he should only experience a bit of disorientation for a few seconds before (hopefully) rejoining the road on the other side.
She could hear him breathing now as he ran. Was she right? He was just one of those running people, wasn’t he? She really hoped nothing was chasing him; she wasn’t prepared for two of them to jump through, that would create a problem. She hadn’t calculated for two; the rift wouldn’t hold.
She could hear the footfalls now, thumping on the wet sand. She held the mirror steady as it shook with his arrival. She put a hand on the other mirror making sure they remained lined up. His breathing was in her ear and she heard a grunt as he broke through, with a sort of yell that turned into a yip as he almost somersaulted through into the other mirror. She heard his feet land heavily in the other mirror, and a few stumbles, then he was running again.
But he glanced over his shoulder for a second and caught her eye. She was sure he had looked straight at her and seen her.
She shuddered. No, it was just a trick of the light. He couldn’t have known she was there. Surely not, unless … unless he wasn’t just one of those running people, someone for her to experiment on; what if he was an agent sent by Carter? What if he was clued up on what she was doing?
Arse! Damn her tricky mind and its whisperings.
She put the mirrors together and shoved them back into her carpetbag. She stumbled in her rush to stand, her knees stiff from being in the residue water the tide had left behind. She needed to get back and think about this, and needed to do it in a safe place – her home being the only one. He couldn’t reach her there.
February 19, 2020
Mid-Week Flash Challenge - Week 145
This week's prompt is a photo of an object made by Daan Botlek, a Dutch artist. He calls these Obscure objects. He creates some interesting things, worth checking out.
I had to cut this heavily to fit the word count ... I maybe be over slightly too! Eep! Enjoy.
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.
Ninja Monks
When they brought him into the room, Kenta knew. It was the last piece of evidence he needed – well, ‘needed, he hadn’t questioned coming here, or speculated what they did here, that had been his father. He’d always wanted to be a part of what the kids called the ‘Ninja Monks’.
He’d dreamt about climbing the mountain and being accepted into the rambling castle-like monastery at the top. He’d imagined training with the monks and being revered by his friends on the Sacred Day when they would come into town to join the festivities and show off their skills.
And until the last month it had been a dream come true: Kenta had converted to the required beliefs and been ordained into the order; he’d passed the first three levels of skills required to train as a master, and proven his devotion to their way of life without putting a foot wrong.
Then after his acceptance ceremony into the skilled group it had started, subtly so as not to startle him. Kenta tolerated the washing of your peers as a cleansing ritual, and he appreciated that any touch could cause a reaction, but each week it had become more intimate to a point where Kenta realised he was being groomed. And then during the sparring sessions ‘resistance techniques’ had been introduced, each day increasing in intensity, sometimes in the form of an object and other times as an illegal hit employed to force him into submission. No-one questioned it, so he didn’t either. He realised they considered it a rite of passage.
And now in this room, a dojo stripped bare, Kenta was faced with what looked like a practising wheel, but the items on it would damage his body. They didn’t just want him to submit today, they wanted to break him. And the fact the two monks hadn’t left the room was also telling: this wouldn’t be optional. This place was a cult.
In that moment Kenta knew he had to leave – now.
The upside to being here was that he had accumulated skills, and not just physical skills, his mind was as nimble as his body. He knew that challenging these two wouldn’t get him far – they were master ninjas after all. He had to outsmart them. This meant lulling them into a false sense of security. He let them run the wheel and took on the challenge wholeheartedly; he didn’t hesitate or show any signs of trepidation; he knew it was the only way to get out of this room.
By the first break he only had two tears in his torso; his forearms had taken the worst of it. They took him to the bathing room to rinse them. This was his chance.
The toilets faced east, the steepest side of the mountain so they wouldn’t suspect anything and be off guard, allowing him to close the door. Climbing out of the tiny window was a circus act, but Kenta made it through and was over the outer wall before the alarm bells rang – and ring they did. He hadn’t expected that – just as he hadn’t expected the lines of cable on the mountain side.
He’d never looked over the edge before, he’d never needed to, but now he would see that he hadn’t been the first to try to escape: a net had been set up across the entire escarpment, and there was no way down without being caught in it.
His hesitation cost him as a shroud was thrown over him causing him to tumble forward and fall over the side. However, the covering also benefitted him by literally saving his skin; when the net was activated it stopped most of the electrification getting through. And it meant he rolled over the net without stopping. He wondered if a friend had thrown it … until he was ejected out over a sheer drop into free fall.
Even though death was mildly better than being broken and submitting to their twisted ways, it hadn’t been Kenta’s plan; he wasn’t ready to give up. As he fell he pulled the cloth off and was just in time to grab a tree growing out of a crevice. The sudden stop almost jolted his arm out of its socket, but he used the momentum to swing himself up and hold on with both arms and a leg. The tree took his weight.
He took a moment to catch his breath and look around. Had he stranded himself? He could see other vegetation coming out of the cliff face giving him a chance to climb down, and if he could get low enough he’d enter a forest. It would take time, but he’d plot the downfall of this barbaric citadel on the way; people needed to know the truth.
I had to cut this heavily to fit the word count ... I maybe be over slightly too! Eep! Enjoy.
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.
Ninja Monks
When they brought him into the room, Kenta knew. It was the last piece of evidence he needed – well, ‘needed, he hadn’t questioned coming here, or speculated what they did here, that had been his father. He’d always wanted to be a part of what the kids called the ‘Ninja Monks’.
He’d dreamt about climbing the mountain and being accepted into the rambling castle-like monastery at the top. He’d imagined training with the monks and being revered by his friends on the Sacred Day when they would come into town to join the festivities and show off their skills.
And until the last month it had been a dream come true: Kenta had converted to the required beliefs and been ordained into the order; he’d passed the first three levels of skills required to train as a master, and proven his devotion to their way of life without putting a foot wrong.
Then after his acceptance ceremony into the skilled group it had started, subtly so as not to startle him. Kenta tolerated the washing of your peers as a cleansing ritual, and he appreciated that any touch could cause a reaction, but each week it had become more intimate to a point where Kenta realised he was being groomed. And then during the sparring sessions ‘resistance techniques’ had been introduced, each day increasing in intensity, sometimes in the form of an object and other times as an illegal hit employed to force him into submission. No-one questioned it, so he didn’t either. He realised they considered it a rite of passage.
And now in this room, a dojo stripped bare, Kenta was faced with what looked like a practising wheel, but the items on it would damage his body. They didn’t just want him to submit today, they wanted to break him. And the fact the two monks hadn’t left the room was also telling: this wouldn’t be optional. This place was a cult.
In that moment Kenta knew he had to leave – now.
The upside to being here was that he had accumulated skills, and not just physical skills, his mind was as nimble as his body. He knew that challenging these two wouldn’t get him far – they were master ninjas after all. He had to outsmart them. This meant lulling them into a false sense of security. He let them run the wheel and took on the challenge wholeheartedly; he didn’t hesitate or show any signs of trepidation; he knew it was the only way to get out of this room.
By the first break he only had two tears in his torso; his forearms had taken the worst of it. They took him to the bathing room to rinse them. This was his chance.
The toilets faced east, the steepest side of the mountain so they wouldn’t suspect anything and be off guard, allowing him to close the door. Climbing out of the tiny window was a circus act, but Kenta made it through and was over the outer wall before the alarm bells rang – and ring they did. He hadn’t expected that – just as he hadn’t expected the lines of cable on the mountain side.
He’d never looked over the edge before, he’d never needed to, but now he would see that he hadn’t been the first to try to escape: a net had been set up across the entire escarpment, and there was no way down without being caught in it.
His hesitation cost him as a shroud was thrown over him causing him to tumble forward and fall over the side. However, the covering also benefitted him by literally saving his skin; when the net was activated it stopped most of the electrification getting through. And it meant he rolled over the net without stopping. He wondered if a friend had thrown it … until he was ejected out over a sheer drop into free fall.
Even though death was mildly better than being broken and submitting to their twisted ways, it hadn’t been Kenta’s plan; he wasn’t ready to give up. As he fell he pulled the cloth off and was just in time to grab a tree growing out of a crevice. The sudden stop almost jolted his arm out of its socket, but he used the momentum to swing himself up and hold on with both arms and a leg. The tree took his weight.
He took a moment to catch his breath and look around. Had he stranded himself? He could see other vegetation coming out of the cliff face giving him a chance to climb down, and if he could get low enough he’d enter a forest. It would take time, but he’d plot the downfall of this barbaric citadel on the way; people needed to know the truth.
February 12, 2020
Mid-Week Flash Challenge - Week 144
This week's photo was taken by Alfonso Leon, a photographer from Bogata, Colombia. He calls this Surreal. He takes loads of interesting urban shots.
This one was one of my favourite sorts of stories. I always have to go there when I see this kind of prompt.
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.
Reflected Reality
He didn’t feel right when he came off the plane, and it only got worse when he reached the check-in desk at the hotel. They couldn’t find the name he gave, Randy Mertland, but they could find someone called Ross Mortel who had the same credit card details.
He pulled out his drivers’ license but they still called the police. It got even weirder when the cops looked up Ross Mortel’s drivers’ licence and it was the same photo. But they decided there had to be an error somewhere so they let him check in and use his credit card. He wondered if someone had attempted to steal his ID.
He tried to relax and follow the itinerary he had planned but he was confused when the second museum gave dates for things that just couldn’t be possible. He’d thought it was just him the first time – ancient Egypt wasn’t his forte after all, but he knew his recent wars, and there was no way the First World War had started in November of 1914, it had definitely been July. Most of the other details were right, but not those dates. He didn’t get it.
Then the final rabbit hole grew bigger when he arrived at Trafalgar square.
Randy was sure he would have heard about a replica of the Paris Louvre museum being built here, after all he lived in Paris, plus he’d only been to London six months ago. The glass domes reflected the cloudy sky around. He was so fascinated he bought a ticket and went in.
The literature about the museum said it had been there for over twenty years. It was insane. Many of the exhibits were the same as the Paris ones, but there was always something slightly off: a name spelled differently, dates not right, or wrong location. What was going on?
When he came out it was raining hard and had been for some time. He wondered if it was just him. Maybe there was something wrong with him; maybe someone had slipped something into his drink when he’d slept on the plane. He really didn’t know.
As he stood at the traffic lights waiting for the lights to turn, he stared at his reflection in a gutter puddle wondering, until he realised the sky was clear in the reflection. Huh? He looked up, it was still raining. How could that be? The buildings in the puddle were different too. What was going on?
He squatted down to take a closer look, ignoring the light change. No one took any notice of him as they moved past, and then someone bumped him.
He put out a hand to stop himself falling but it went straight through the puddle, and he fell, tumbling through, until he hit something hard and blacked out.
When Randy came round he was lying on the pavement, and someone was crouched over him asking him if he was okay. He felt a bump on his head but otherwise he was fine. But it was sunny here, the sky was blue and the buildings around him weren’t the same as the ones before he’d fallen.
He got up and thanked the person for their help. He knew where he was; he was just on a different street. He walked back and turned the corner into Trafalgar square.
His sudden stop caused the people behind him to tut and sigh as they passed.
The Lourve replica was gone. The lions were there, Nelson’s column, the fountains, but no glass pyramid, no long queue of people waiting to go into the underground museum.
This was crazy – or was it? Was he back in his reality? Had he had some kind of delusion or dream? He didn’t want to entertain the wacko idea that he had slipped through time some how.
To be sure, he went back to the museums and found all the dates were as they should be. And when he returned to the hotel, the receptionist at the desk gave him a strange look when he asked if all was fine with the mix up with his name.
‘I’m sorry, Sir, you must have spoken to someone else, I don’t know anything about that.’
This one was one of my favourite sorts of stories. I always have to go there when I see this kind of prompt.
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.
Reflected Reality
He didn’t feel right when he came off the plane, and it only got worse when he reached the check-in desk at the hotel. They couldn’t find the name he gave, Randy Mertland, but they could find someone called Ross Mortel who had the same credit card details.
He pulled out his drivers’ license but they still called the police. It got even weirder when the cops looked up Ross Mortel’s drivers’ licence and it was the same photo. But they decided there had to be an error somewhere so they let him check in and use his credit card. He wondered if someone had attempted to steal his ID.
He tried to relax and follow the itinerary he had planned but he was confused when the second museum gave dates for things that just couldn’t be possible. He’d thought it was just him the first time – ancient Egypt wasn’t his forte after all, but he knew his recent wars, and there was no way the First World War had started in November of 1914, it had definitely been July. Most of the other details were right, but not those dates. He didn’t get it.
Then the final rabbit hole grew bigger when he arrived at Trafalgar square.
Randy was sure he would have heard about a replica of the Paris Louvre museum being built here, after all he lived in Paris, plus he’d only been to London six months ago. The glass domes reflected the cloudy sky around. He was so fascinated he bought a ticket and went in.
The literature about the museum said it had been there for over twenty years. It was insane. Many of the exhibits were the same as the Paris ones, but there was always something slightly off: a name spelled differently, dates not right, or wrong location. What was going on?
When he came out it was raining hard and had been for some time. He wondered if it was just him. Maybe there was something wrong with him; maybe someone had slipped something into his drink when he’d slept on the plane. He really didn’t know.
As he stood at the traffic lights waiting for the lights to turn, he stared at his reflection in a gutter puddle wondering, until he realised the sky was clear in the reflection. Huh? He looked up, it was still raining. How could that be? The buildings in the puddle were different too. What was going on?
He squatted down to take a closer look, ignoring the light change. No one took any notice of him as they moved past, and then someone bumped him.
He put out a hand to stop himself falling but it went straight through the puddle, and he fell, tumbling through, until he hit something hard and blacked out.
When Randy came round he was lying on the pavement, and someone was crouched over him asking him if he was okay. He felt a bump on his head but otherwise he was fine. But it was sunny here, the sky was blue and the buildings around him weren’t the same as the ones before he’d fallen.
He got up and thanked the person for their help. He knew where he was; he was just on a different street. He walked back and turned the corner into Trafalgar square.
His sudden stop caused the people behind him to tut and sigh as they passed.
The Lourve replica was gone. The lions were there, Nelson’s column, the fountains, but no glass pyramid, no long queue of people waiting to go into the underground museum.
This was crazy – or was it? Was he back in his reality? Had he had some kind of delusion or dream? He didn’t want to entertain the wacko idea that he had slipped through time some how.
To be sure, he went back to the museums and found all the dates were as they should be. And when he returned to the hotel, the receptionist at the desk gave him a strange look when he asked if all was fine with the mix up with his name.
‘I’m sorry, Sir, you must have spoken to someone else, I don’t know anything about that.’
February 10, 2020
Love Bites - Flash Fiction Competition - with Prizes!!
In the build up to Valentine's Day, #FabFive (myself, Cara Michaels, Siobhan Muir, Katheryn Avila and Ever Addams) are here again with another Flash Fiction challenge for your delight - Love Bites!
This time's Valentine's is the theme, with tales of love won, lost and kicked to the curb - any instance where Love doesn't quite go as planned. Open to all genres.
And yes, there are prizes!
This time's Valentine's is the theme, with tales of love won, lost and kicked to the curb - any instance where Love doesn't quite go as planned. Open to all genres.
And yes, there are prizes!
February 5, 2020
Mid-Week Flash Challenge - Week 143
This week's photo prompt is of an art installation by German artist Cornelia Konrads which she did for the Centre d'Arts ete de Nature, in Domaine de Chaumont-sur-Loire, (France). I am not sure who actually took this photo though as I can't find it on her site and have been unable to trace it further.
I had no idea where this story was going, but then the ending arrived and I liked it. It worked.
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.
Doorway
He could see it, but had the others? As they came to a halt along the pathway in the woods and observed the ‘green door’, as Marjory referred to it, they thought it was just a pretty piece of artwork, but Travis noticed something more. There were loose branches suspended in the air around it. They could be set up with wires, but he didn’t believe this – mostly because he could feel the power radiating from it.
He also found it curious that Steve had brought them to a stop. Up until now, whenever he asked to stop they wouldn’t, as it hadn’t been long enough since the last stop. They’d only been walking for 20 minutes; usually they walked for at least an hour before taking a break. Had they sensed the power too, but weren’t conscious of it?
He considered mentioning it, but he was considered the goofball of their group, a science geek who had a particular interest in unknown phenomena that couldn’t be explained by human theories of physics or chemistry. He believed humans had basic calculations wrong, but despite years spent trying to prove it, no-one took him seriously.
This brought him back to the doorway. This could be a piece of evidence. He walked up to the door.Jackie called to him, “Where’re you going, Travis? Aren’t you thirsty?”
He half-smiled as he glanced over his shoulder at her; she was trying to stop him without realising why. The sixth-sense of human intuition, maybe? Another thing science couldn’t provide evidence for.
“I’m just checking it out, Jackie, I’ll come and get a drink in a minute.”
“Okay.”
He walked up to the door and scrutinised the twigs and branches around it. They were rigid and unmoving, and when he leaned in he could hear an electrical crackle. There was energy flowing through them, attracting them like a magnet to the shape of the doorway. It was not a built structure; it was formed by the collection of material drawn to it.
He stood in the opening and looked through. The path continued, looking no different to what they had just walked through. In fact, he turned round, it looked identical to the path they’d just taken, except ... he turned round to look, yes it was a perfect mirror reflection, yet their group wasn’t in it.It might have been a trick of the eye if it weren’t for the collection of birch trees off at the back right. They’d passed an identical number on their left a few moments ago. And the placement of marks on the bark were identical, and then the rest of the matching plants and trees became apparent.
“What are you looking at?” Steve looked at the path behind them and back at Travis, having noticed him looking back and forth.
“I’m not sure about this doorway. I think it’s more than just a piece of artwork. I think it’s some kind of mirror.”
It was the simplest way to explain it to them, although it might not be accurate, but saying it was some kind of reflective orb of power would only result in laughter. Plus, maybe it WAS a mirror. Was it solid? He reached out his hand, taking his time, feeling the throb of power in his fingers as they moved closer. They went past the edge of the doorway, and kept on going until his entire hand was through, there was no resistance at all.
But then a strange thing occurred: He saw his fingers wobble, almost shimmer, and when he tried to pull his hand back it wouldn’t move. He was pulling from the shoulder, but there was no give. His hand was trapped.
The others had been watching him, and Steve jumped up. “What’s going on?”
“I don’t know.” Travis tried to keep his voice calm, but panic was rising. “I can’t get my hand back, it won’t budge.”
Steve joined him and took hold of his arm, pulling on it, but it still wouldn’t move.
Then Travis felt a yank on the other side and his entire arm went through. “Help me!” he cried.
Steve grabbed Travis by the waist, pulling him back as hard as he could. For a moment there was a sort of tug of war, but then they both fell back as Travis was released. They lay there for a moment, relieved, but it was short lived as the girls started screaming and he realised his hand was missing.
January 29, 2020
Mid-Week Flash Challenge - Week 142
This week's photo is of a sculpture by Rook Floro. He calls it 'Shadow.' If click on the link you will see a variety of angels it is taken at.
This week it just poured out onto the page, which was a good thing as I am late with it!!
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.
Shadow
She wanted to be so much more. She wanted to exist fully and to an extent that she was seen and heard and visible to the rest of the world, but no matter how hard she tried, she just couldn’t seem to achieve it.
She went out of her way to help people; she offered her skills, her assistance, her time, her loyalty. And some of them took it, readily enough, but it was never reciprocated. She was the stormy weather friend: there for all of them through the hard times, but never through the happy times – and never there for her through either times.
Inside she knew she was more, knew she could be more, wanted to be so much more, but could never seem to bring it out. Everyone said you had to support yourself, be independent, be self-sufficient, and she did that, she did all that. But it changed nothing externally.
They said she was surrounding herself with the wrong people, the wrong energy, in the wrong place and the wrong time. She changed all that. Then they said it was her who was wrong, full of the wrong energy, emitting the wrong vibes, that people didn’t want to know her.
No matter which way she turned she couldn’t seem to get it right. And it drained her, it frazzled her, it sucked her dry. And so she stopped. She stopped stepping forward. She stopped speaking up. She stopped trying to engage. Instead she withdrew and isolated herself.
She stopped offering her help, stopped being the first to make contact and she waited. And as she has suspected all along: nothing.
Not from anyone: not those that called themselves friends, and especially not from those that called themselves family. Her fears were confirmed. Her paranoia wasn’t in her head, it was tangible and evident.
She could say she felt lost, but she wasn’t, she was just alone – emotionally and physically.
She still wanted to be so much more, still dreamt of being so much more, felt it stir inside her, but now she wasn’t who she was anymore, she was just a shadow of her former self, trying desperately to find her true self again – her whole self.
This week it just poured out onto the page, which was a good thing as I am late with it!!
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.
Shadow
She wanted to be so much more. She wanted to exist fully and to an extent that she was seen and heard and visible to the rest of the world, but no matter how hard she tried, she just couldn’t seem to achieve it.
She went out of her way to help people; she offered her skills, her assistance, her time, her loyalty. And some of them took it, readily enough, but it was never reciprocated. She was the stormy weather friend: there for all of them through the hard times, but never through the happy times – and never there for her through either times.
Inside she knew she was more, knew she could be more, wanted to be so much more, but could never seem to bring it out. Everyone said you had to support yourself, be independent, be self-sufficient, and she did that, she did all that. But it changed nothing externally.
They said she was surrounding herself with the wrong people, the wrong energy, in the wrong place and the wrong time. She changed all that. Then they said it was her who was wrong, full of the wrong energy, emitting the wrong vibes, that people didn’t want to know her.
No matter which way she turned she couldn’t seem to get it right. And it drained her, it frazzled her, it sucked her dry. And so she stopped. She stopped stepping forward. She stopped speaking up. She stopped trying to engage. Instead she withdrew and isolated herself.
She stopped offering her help, stopped being the first to make contact and she waited. And as she has suspected all along: nothing.
Not from anyone: not those that called themselves friends, and especially not from those that called themselves family. Her fears were confirmed. Her paranoia wasn’t in her head, it was tangible and evident.
She could say she felt lost, but she wasn’t, she was just alone – emotionally and physically.
She still wanted to be so much more, still dreamt of being so much more, felt it stir inside her, but now she wasn’t who she was anymore, she was just a shadow of her former self, trying desperately to find her true self again – her whole self.
