CCC10 – Prisoner of the Password

Every Wednesday Crispina, over at Crimsonprose posts a photo (this week it’s that one below.)

We are to respond with something CREATIVE.  It’s pretty open and there are many forms this can take, as you can see if you click here. Whatever form we do take, must keep it at 150 words or less.  I kinda had forgotten that part so I snipped here and clipped there and hope it still comes across half-assed decently.

PRISONER OF THE PASSWORD

 

“ENTER PASSWORD TO MOVE FORWARD TOWARDS THE LIGHT!” the voice bellowed.I enter my password.

“INCORRECT!” The branches closed in a little.

Right, I had changed the password recently. I enter the new password.

“INCORRECT!” More closing in.

Shit. I send a request for a new password, hoping I’ll get the email in time…

Yesss! Thank goodness! I receive it and follow the instructions…. and get … ‘Password cannot be the same as previous one.’

Seriously? Are you kidding me?

I feel the cold creeping into my bones. Shivering, I reset, hoping this one will work and allow me to go towards the opening and heat offered by the sun.

“ENTER. MIGHT I SUGGEST YOU WRITE YOUR PASSWORDS IN A SAFE PLACE?”

This forest had quite the sense of humour. I shake my head as I move closer to the clearing, entering my new password in a note on my phone.

 

Ugly Before the Beauty – Friday Fictioneers

Good Wednesday morning, my peeps!  I was so hoping this day would bring us blue skies.  Nope.  Apparently we can’t have mild(ish) and blue at the same time.  Oh well.  Might as well take this time to write, eh?  Thank you, dear Rochelle, for keeping us coming back week after week.  And what’s this?  Where did you get your hands on this picture, eh?

To join in on our little party, click on the blue frog below to add your link.  Unsure of how this works?  Click here for the how-to’s!   I’m telling you, it’s a great challenge!


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Ugly Before the Beauty

 

“Oh my God!  What the hell has he done?”  Carla leaned closer, trying to see beyond the tape.

“Don’t worry so much.  It doesn’t look that bad,” assured Lucia, her head cocked to one side as if a different angle would give a better perspective.

“How the hell am I supposed to see beyond this?  Just look at it!  It’s a total disaster!” Carla wailed.

“I told you it wasn’t ready yet.”

“He said he would fix it.  He said not to worry.  He said it wouldn’t show. This is awful!”

“That’s how plastic surgery works.  Ugly before the beauty.”

 

 

No Water, Please! – Friday Fictioneers

Good Thursday evening, my peeps!  Spent a few days away up in the Laurentians, taking in the fresh air, enjoying the snow and cottage life.  Back to reality…

I canna lie… looked at this hear picture for two days and finally asked my son what he saw.  A silly story was born.  Thank you, Rochelle and Priya for stumping me this week!

If you think you can play along with something original, please do!  Click on Rochelle’s name for the how-to’s and add your link by clicking on ze bleu frogue below…

©Priya Bajpal

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No Water, Please!

“That’s a pretty jar.  Quite colourful.  What are they, love notes?”

“Nope.  Not love notes.  Not even paper.  They’re magical, though.”

“Really?  Why are some on the table?”

“I’m not sure they’ll fit.”

“Whatchu talkin’ about!  There’s lots of room.”

“Don’t be fooled.  One drop of water and the whole thing blows.”

“Hah!  What?  Do they turn nasty like in Gremlins?”

“Something like that…”

“Wait. What? You mean if I pour some of my water on these things—

“NO!  Don’t!”

Too late to stop him, I watched in horror as the pieces on the table grew into giant foam dinosaurs.

It’s Subjective – Friday Fictioneers

Had me a little free time during my little getaway, so I figured I’d try to write a little quickie FF…  Thanks always to the lovely Rochelle for being the magnet to our metal and pulling us in every Wednesday.  This week Rochelle usurped acquired legally, J.S. Brand‘s lovely photo.

To play along, why don’t you click on the blue frog below and add your 100-word story with beginning, middle and end.  You’ll see, it is a good challenge, it’s fun and it’s quite addictive.  G’head, you know you wanna…

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It’s Subjective

That’s some kinda erotica you’ve got going there.

What?  No!  This is a piece of art.

Art, eh? Erotic art.  Pretty Picasso-ish, you ask me.  I mean lookit that.  You’ve got a pastie on one boob, and some kinda bandage on the other.  The belly-button is exposed and I do not know what the heck is up with the “nether regions”.  Some kinda fancy venus mons?

Get your mind out of the gutter, will ya?  Those are eyes, one with a patch!  That’s a hat, can’t you tell?

I guess it’s not what you look at, it’s what you see…

 

Things That Kids Do – Friday Fictioneers

Good Wednesday morning, my readers.  Today’s Friday Fictioneers, always brought to you by Rochelle Wisoff (no E)-Fields was brought to you by much head-scratching, soul-searching and utter despair.  OK, OK, I exaggerate just a tad.  Trying to come up with something quasi-intelligent for Jilly Funnell‘s peculiar pic was not gonna happen.  So I had some fun instead.  Do try to come up with something better by clicking on the blue frog below and adding your two cents’ worth.  Thank you, ladies, for causing me grief this week!

©Jilly Funnell

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Things That Kids Do

“Last one up is a rotten egg!” Johnny yelled as he took off running.

“Hey!  Not fair!  You cheated!” Jimmy hollered as he ran, quickly catching up.

“I have to.  Your legs are longer’n mine.  Gotta take any advantage I can!”

“Guess it didn’t work, loser!” Jimmy laughed as he reached the top step.  “I beat you!”

“Nah ah, you didn’t.  We ain’t at the top yet.”

“What do you mean?  We’re at the top.”

“Nope,” Johnny pointed to the peak of the structure.  “We have to climb to the top of that.”

Jimmy squinted, looking up.  “Are you crazy?”

 

 

While She Waited – Friday Fictioneers

Good Wednesday evening, my peeps!  First off, to my Friday Ficioneer Friends, I apologise for not getting to all of you last week.  Was one of those weeks.  I shall strive to do much better this week, I promise!

Our Fabulous Fictioneer Facilitator, Rochelle, has chosen one of my photos.  Hmm… wonder where she “snagged” that one from?  All good.  I did give her the A-OK, of course!

Should this cute decor inspire you to write your own 100- word story, please do and add your link by clicking on the blue frog below.  It’s a fun challenge and really teaches you to cut the fluff!

©Dale Rogerson

 

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While She Waited

They had arranged to meet at a bar/restaurant on the happening street of town. For most, it might seem weird to meet close to midnight but when you worked late shifts, this is what you did. No biggie, they were both night owls.

She got there early and waited by the entrance. She’d never noticed the umbrellas before. How cool! She snapped a few pics, shared them on Instagram and waited.

Over half-hour late. Starting to feel uncomfortable, and getting certain looks designed for a “working woman”, she chose to wait in her car.

Her cell pinged: “Where are you?”

 

Scenes From the Beauty Parlour

Ever since her bout with cancer, my hairdresser only works three days per week (can’t say I blame her, quite frankly) – usually on Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays.  Occasionally, she’ll switch her Saturday for a Friday.  More often than not, I get an appointment on Tuesdays (nice and quiet), sometimes on Thursdays (a bit more action); I avoid Saturdays because, frankly, I just do.

Last week, I called Françoise to see if she had any openings and she could only give me the next Friday morning at 9:00 am.  I accepted (gawd that is early!) since I usually have Fridays off and if I don’t, I probably won’t start until 4:00 pm which just so happened to end up being the case.  I know for most people 9:00 am is no big whup but when you work the night before until 11:00 pm or later, you just don’t really want to have to put the alarm clock on…

There was just Françoise, waiting for me, and one of her colleagues, let’s call her Yolande, because I have no clue what her name is, and she is taking care of one client whilst another waits in one of her chairs.  Yolande talks loud.  No, I mean LOUD.  And she sounds like a dock worker.  I asked my sister if she knew what her name was and her response was:  “The one with the potty mouth?  No clue.”  😉  So. Yolande it is.

Another customer comes in –  Yolande’s.  The noise level has gone up more than a decibel.  Not long after, in comes Pierre-Luc, owner of the shop and requisite gay coiffeur – walk and talk as one has come to imagine as well as the expressive hands.  What can I say? Stereotypes were not born of the air.

Pierre-Luc’s customer comes in.

During all this coming and going, at the other end of the salon, Françoise and I exchange looks and smiles, with the occasional laugh at the conversation behind us, while she does my own roots in a shade of exactly my natural colour (coz I’m wild like that) and if she wants to speak to me, bends down close to my ear otherwise must shout above the din.  She is not the shouting kind.

Dye applied, she leaves me to read for my 45 minutes as her customer comes in.  Or rather, attempt to read.  I go through comments on my last post, chat with a friend on messenger, and then try to get into my book.  I, at first, keep my back turned to the circus behind me in said attempt.   Finally, unable to concentrate, I give up and turn around to enjoy the show fully.

One woman, who is trying really, REALLY hard to “keep it young” is sitting in the third chair.  Her flaming red hair is standing up in chunks all over her head, while her roots are being refurbished with the appropriate shade of “You Can’t Miss Me”, giving one the impression said chunks are pulling her face up though we know it’s the result of one visit too many with Dr. Nip and Tuck.  Her face is painted to match her hair, clothes appropriately loud – ’nuff said.  Trying hard to look sophisticated and worldly until she opens her mouth and the trash talk that emits is enough to make one take a step back.  She is Yolande’s customer.

The door opens and a man pops his head in, letting Ms Flashy-Red know he saw her car and knew she must be close by and hoped to see her.  Then leaves.  Well THAT starts a whole rush of “What was that?” and she admits the man seems a tad smitten with her and basically follows her around.  The comments of “Did you call the police?” are mingled with the “Look at you with your admirer!”  One can’t help but laugh.  The man is in his early 70’s or well-used late 60’s…

Just as my timer pings, Mr. Loverboy pops his head in to check on his “sweetie”, well hidden behind Yolande, who is just finishing up one of her ladies – you know the type who comes for her weekly wash and set, now properly pouffed and spray-netted and sent out the door..  He says: “I get to see you in your pre-beauty stage!” and leaves.

Ms Flashy-Red says, “Oh my God, he won’t leave me alone and he can’t see me!”

To which I retort:  “If you want to get rid of him, maybe you should let him see you like this!”  Everyone cracks up.

By now, I have had my hair washed and have moved to Françoise’s chair for my cut.  In the mirror I can see Pierre-Luc teasing (they still tease?) the hair of one of his weekly-wash-and-set ladies and find myself wondering if all of this should end up in a post.  Of course it must as here I am.

The conversations are one one top of the other; a true cacophony.  The customers know each other; the hairdressers (we are not in the “stylist” business here) interjecting their two cents’ worth…  I feel I’m in the middle of a mix of “Coming To America” and “Steel Magnolias”.  Everybody knows everybody and their business and I’m just sitting here enjoying the show

Oh… and, before you ask… end result (once I re-wet it and removed all the gunk…)