So Close – What Pegman Saw

I did not go the expected route.  At all.  Consider this a heads up. 😉  Thank you Karen and Josh for hosting accepting my late submission!

This week Pegman takes us to the highest peak in the world, Mount Everest, also known as Sagarmatha. Thanks to the wonder of Google Maps (and the many intrepid climbers industrious enough to carry the necessary camera equipment to such elevations) we can climb Mount Everest in the comfort our bathrobes and fuzzy slippers.

Your mission is to write up to 150 words inspired by the location. You’ll find both street path view and photospheres to inspire you.

Once your piece is polished, share it with others at the linkup below. Reading and commenting on others’ work is part of the fun.

Wanna play?  Add your link below!

So Close

I can see the peak.  What was but a dream for years is finally becoming a reality and is within my reach.  I know it.  I can almost touch it.  Paradoxically, it also feels unattainable as there is yet much to be done to arrive.  I have made so much progress, less lies ahead than behind.

I can barely breathe; the air is thin and it feels as if my oxygen has been cut off.  The ache in my jaw tells me I have been tense, subconsciously.  I am worried I will not be able to achieve this goal I have set myself.  Tension or excitement?  Both?

Now is not the time to give up, that’s for sure.  Not at this point.  Just dig deep and do what needs to be done.  Suck it up.  You’re scared.  So what?

Once that SOLD sign is affixed, I can rejoice and move on.

****************

OK… This is MY mountain to climb 😉  I am going a tad nuts as my house is officially sold (yay!) but I have some things to fix before everything is official.  Things that ain’t gonna be cheap or done in the blink of an eye – possibly.  I’ll know more in the next few days.  I think this is seriously why my jaw is aching!  I woke up feeling like I’d been punched or something.  Sorry for my blah-blah.  I just felt I needed to explain how I got from Mount Everest to a SOLD sign 😉

Travel Tube – Tell Me a Story Challenge

Di, over at Pensitivity101 decided to tag me in this chain of sorts… Seeing the photo and feeling it was way out of my comfort level, I, of course, could not refuse.  It’s a glutton-for-punishment thing…

Travel Tube

Jules felt the dizzying twist, spin and pull that always accompanied portal tube travel.  She didn’t think she’d ever get completely used to it even though she did notice that with each successive trip the nausea eased somewhat giving her the hope that one day she would actually fly through that ring and come out the other side with her peachy complexion intact rather than this greyish-green tint. She could also do without the burn of bile at the back of her throat just waiting for a moment of weakness.

How she managed to remain upright when she emerged was beyond her!

She could feel her senses return to normal and gingerly patted herself down to make sure all was intact.  Which was utterly ridiculous as she had been told to stop worrying about it.  Still, once satisfied, she surveyed her surroundings.

Dammit!  All that and I’m not even at 5th Avenue and 57th Street?  Gawd, she missed the olden days when you could use the subway…

167 words

So, here’s how it works… I had to

  1. Write a story based on the photo above,
  2. Pick a picture of my own, see below
  3. Tag three bloggers to play along (not easy, because not all like to play these sorts of games…)

So, without further ado, I nominate the following three bloggers, who, I want you to know, are under no obligation to play along at all…

  1. Crispina at Crimsonprose
  2. Lynn at Word Shamble
  3. Merril at Yesterday and Today

And here is my photo:

As mentioned, this is a totally voluntary thing!

Through the Camera Lens – Friday Fictioneers

Good Hump Day my Readers! Yes, it is that time of the week where Rochelle Wisoff-Fields entices us with an image and challenges us to write a 100-word story about what we see. This week she uses her very own intriguing picture. I cannot lie. I wrote something, flushed it; tried again and well. There you have it.

If you want to add your own vision, please do! It’s fun (most times!). Just click on the blue frog below and add your link.

Get the Frog for your Blog

Through the Camera Lens

She loved walking past the old viaduct. Her friends thought it was too dangerous to walk in that area alone but she always felt a sense of peace and calm. People were so paranoid, believing they should fear every little thing.

She always carried her camera, knowing something new would catch her eye. It was her journal of sorts. Observing her surroundings, recording what was new. What secrets lay beneath the stones? How did those plants thrive?

Today, the stones moved. Curious, she leaned in, zooming her camera lens.

They found her camera but the blurred images told them nothing.

A Frank Angle’s “The She/He Challenge”

Frank over at A Frank Angle, has challenged us to play/dance with him.  The rules and regs are here.  For ease of participation, the “She” sentences are here.

 

She’s the one for the next dance.

He is headed right for me and I feel a sense of panic as I can’t dance that well.

She displays a slight smile as I approach.

He must be looking at the girl behind me.

She changes her face into a glow as I extend my hand.

He really does want to dance with me!

She graciously engages my offered frame.

He is such a good dancer that I feel like I’m floating.

She transforms my leads into beautiful motions.

He has somehow made my graceful side appear.

She glides the floor with grace and elegance.

He twirls me around like I’m the belle of the ball.

She makes me feel like the king of the ballroom.

He makes me feel like Cinderella.

She smiles in appreciation as the music ends.

He kisses my hand and bows to me.

She is the one.

He smiles as I curtsey then asks me for the next dance.

Weekend Writing Prompt #79 – Translucent

I seem to prefer the shorter challenges… Could not resist this one.  Thank you, Sammi Cox, for hosting this one.  I love it.

A word prompt to get your creativity flowing this weekend.  How you use the prompt is up to you.  Write a piece of flash fiction, a poem, a chapter for your novel…anything you like.  Or take the challenge below – there are no prizes – it’s not a competition but rather a fun writing exercise.  If you want to share what you come up with, please leave a link to it in the comments.

Word Prompt

Translucent

Challenge

You cannot see it
An invisible barrier
Translucent
No less difficult to break through
Love, trust and patience required
No easy task, this conquest
Have you what it takes?

 

Weekend Writing Prompt #72 – Shell

Could not resist this one.  Shout out to Sammi Cox for hosting this weekly challenge.

A word prompt to get your creativity flowing this weekend.  How you use the prompt is up to you.  Write a piece of flash fiction, a poem, a chapter for your novel…anything you like.  Or take the challenge below – there are no prizes – it’s not a competition but rather a fun writing exercise.  If you want to share what you come up with, please leave a link to it in the comments.

Word Prompt

Shell

Challenge

My shell protects me

And

My heart

Love,

Can crack it open

There’s Nothing Wrong With Me – A Prompt

Karen Craven, over at Table for 1 really loves to send us (Sorryless and me) some crazy things to work with.  Now she’s been a tad busy with her new job and all and is not posting nearly enough – yes, I am complaining – though she did finally share  a few lately.  Anyhow, she overheard this woman on the train the other day and this was part of the one-sided conversation she heard:

“Yes, I really like my box of macaroni.
Give me all my expired things.
I need you to get a job.”

And issued us a challenge to use this.  So, being just the right amount of crazy, we accepted.  Here’s my submission.  Sorryless’ fantabulously wonderful answer to the prompt is here.  Karen’s wonderfully fantabulous submission is here

 

There’s Nothing Wrong With Me

It was a regular Friday commute as folks boarded the 6:02 train towards home.  People jostled, trying to find seats or at least a pole to hang on to while others, as I, just leaned against the back doors or sides.  Books were taken out as well as iPods and cell phones, earbuds firmly in place.  A wall erected by those wanting to remain in their own world, not interested in their surroundings, not inviting exchanges.  I, on the other hand, love to people watch, see what they are reading, guess at what is going on in their lives, create whole scenarios in my mind based on what they are reading.

The students take out their books and papers to try to catch up on homework, business-folk break out the laptops and furiously crunch numbers because the days of doing work at work are over; you are now expected to work on your own time as well to get ahead.  A sad state of affairs, really. Everyone absorbed in their own microcosm.

Suddenly, a cellphone rings with an old-fashioned rotary phone ring.  “Dring, Dring!”  I look around to see who it belongs to and find myself eavesdropping, barely subtly, in fact.  The woman is seated in the single seat facing me, is in her late seventies, maybe early eighties.  She’s slight, her clothes hang on her frail body, two sizes too large and look like they’ve been rescued from a garbage bin.  Her stockings have runs in them and her shoes are laced up and seem the only thing she owns that doesn’t date back twenty years.  Her hands are those of a woman who has worked hard; they are overly large for her wrists with knobby knuckles and jagged nails that haven’t ever seen a manicure. Not that she would ever waste money on such a thing.  Between her legs are a trio of bags, filled with who knows what.  Her purse rests on her lap.

She digs into her purse and pulls out an old Blackberry.  “Hallo? …  “Oh hi, Doris. … Yeah, I’m on the train now.  Should be home by seven-ish.”

“What do you mean, you’re at my house? Why are you at my house?  Who let you in?”

“Right  I forgot you had the key.  Still, I don’t care, nothing is yours to touch.  Those are my things.  I don’t care what the neighbours say.  What smell?  I don’t need you to clean out my stuff.”

“Yes, I know I have lots of cans of beans and boxes of macaroni. They were on special.  And yes, I do need them all.  Yes, I really like my box of macaroni.”

What do you mean I don’t even like the stuff?  Of course I do!  What do you care, anyway?  It’s none of your business.  And no, they don’t go bad.  Don’t you dare throw any of them out. You wait until I get there.  And stay out of my fridge!”

The older woman closed her eyes, a mixture confusion and frustration lining her face.  I couldn’t help but wonder what was really at hand.  There was a feeling that this was not the first time this type of exchange had taken place.

“Just give me all my expired things…they’re still good. Expiration dates are a bunch of hogwash,” she almost whispered.

Voice raised:  “No, it’s not true.  Best Before does not mean no good after!” … “What, three years old?  It’s friggen boxed macaroni, Doris!  How bad can dried macaroni with powdered fluorescent cheese get?  The expiry date is obligatory by the government.  Just stop, already.  Don’t even think of throwing anything out.”

She pulled the phone away from her ear and held it on her purse.  I could hear her daughter’s voice raised in anger, “You are confused, Mother.  I’m worried about you living on you own.  You need to leave your apartment and move into a home for the elderly. I have already found the perfect place for you.  Mother?  Mother?  Can you hear me?”

I couldn’t help but feel for the poor woman and, at the same time, for the daughter.  Experience had taught me that early stages of dementia or Alzheimer’s meant there were very lucid moments but also very confused ones.  I imagined the old woman had become a hoarder of sorts and the daughter had a helluva job ahead of her.

The woman put the phone back to her ear.  “Yes, I hear you. No, I don’t need to move into a home.  I visit people there, I don’t live there!  There is nothing wrong with me!  I need you to get a job.  You obviously have too much time on your hands to find  yourself rummaging through my personal belongings.  Get out of my house!”

She threw her phone into her handbag, rearranged the ones at her feet, patted her hair in that comforting manner women do, and placed her now trembling hands upon her purse.  She stared straight ahead, a mutinous expression on her face.

We arrived at the next station and a large bulk of people disembark.  The seat kitty-corner to the old woman becomes free so I make my way there.

“Good evening, Ma’am.  Mind if I sit here?”

She smiled, “Oh hallo.  No, no, please do.  Do you need more room?  Are my bags in your way?”

“No, not at all and thank you.  I’m fine and have lots of room.  How are you?  Are you okay?”

“Why yes, I’m fine.  There is nothing wrong with me.  Why do you ask?”

“You seemed a tad upset with your phone call just now.  I didn’t mean to eavesdrop…”

She looked at me with confusion, “What phone call?”