The Dialectics of Lust

PHOTO PROMPT © Magaly Guerrero

So there we are in the Art Gallery.  Not my choice as a meeting place, dare I say it ‘first date’.

“So what do you think?” he asks.

I think it’s crap but I bottle that feeling. Apart from this arty side, there is a lot going on with this fella.  Think conversations beyond monosyllables and an ability to dress well.

I improvise.

“It’s fascinating this portrayal of relationship between postmodern discourse and Jungian archetypes.”

He nods approvingly.

“The viewer is left with an insight into dialectics of lust in our culture.”

He grins sheepishly, “I thought it was crap”.

**

Written for Friday Fictioneers Word Count : 100. 

The silly season is here again with this post.  I am back after a break and what could be another break for a couple of weeks.  If you have been afraid to comment, this is your last chance.  Blogger does not bite I am told.  To visit the other artists this week click here.  

Sail of the Century

PHOTO PROMPT © Fatima Fakier Deria

The boat was ready to sail.  Except I just had too many question to ask of the Captain.  My mates were getting restless and screamed at me to “stop anchoraging the Captain.”

Moi? They had to barge in the conversation to tell me this?  I could keel for this and still be justified. 

I could feel the anchor rising in my eyes. 

The Captain?  He may not have been a pretty buoy but nothing bothered him.  His calmness was oar-inspiring. Pier pressure had no impact on him. 

“I didn’t do it on porpoise,” I screamed back.

I kid you knot.

**

Written for Friday Fictioneers Word Count : 100. 

I took a punt this week and decided to go overboard with the nauty words.  It's in shark contrast to what I normally do.   But schooner or later it was bound to happen.  If you harbour feelings for other writers this week click here.  

Watching Jack

PHOTO PROMPT © Jennifer Pendergast

Long after Jack had gone, the timepiece remained as the pride of the town.

It hadn’t always been like this. The council record’s revealing his neighbour’s complaint.  "Jack has a giant beanstalk and now I cannot access my back side.” 

A perusal of the Council’s records brings up a litany of complaints against the troublesome teen.  “The price of gold is going up because Jack’s hen got laid.  Will the council investigate?”

The Giant’s fall brought forth multiple noise violation complaints.  Informed sources claim only the donation of the timepiece and a dozen golden eggs kept Jack out of trouble.

**

Written for Friday Fictioneers Word Count : 100. 

So many other titles kept running through my mind.  In the end I decided to be polite.   To keep in sync with the other writers this week click here.  

Crickets

Copyright Shaktiki Sharma

It doesn’t take much to set me off.  Cut into my lane when I am driving and I’ll unleash my inner Mad Max. Put your shopping trolley in front of mine before the cash register, I’ll make you pay. 

I have nothing against people, black, white or multicoloured just don’t breathe my air.

That old crone had no right to move past me.  So I stuck a foot out discreetly.  She squealed all the way down the escalator.

I chuckled when she screamed “I know which insect did this.”

If I ever transform back, they are getting crickets from me.

**

Written for Friday Fictioneers Word Count : 100. 

OK  it's not a cricket, so sue me.   To get bugged by the other writers this week click here.  

The Cloud Messenger

PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

The poet gazed at the clouds wistfully.   As the King’s emissary it was his duty to carry a message to the King’s ally.  He wondered if the clouds would travel to the homeland left behind.  He missed his wife dearly and the separation troubled him.

“Imagine”, his mind whispered, “if the cloud could travel all the way home bearing messages.  Messages of love to the lady left behind."

The poet stirred excitedly and said.  “He must be a nature spirit.  

A lean and lovesick Yaksha, newly wed,

Dallied at home avoiding his work.”

The poet’s work had begun.

**

Written for Friday Fictioneers Word Count : 100. 

My story this week is the imagining of the start of the Sanskrit poem Meghadūta.  The lines coming from the start of this classic poem.  I have taken the translation from here.  An English version can be read at sacred-texts.

 To read stories in the cloud by other writers this week click here.  

Special Snowflake

PHOTO PROMPT © Sarah Potter

Every snowflake is different. Yet they are crafted from the same elements:  ice crystals, water vapour and dust.  Ice crystals in hexagonal formations that morph into different shapes and sizes. 

To my family my brother’s birth meant the arrival of a much-awaited male heir.  Though we were crafted from the same cloth I was just a maid in waiting till the day he arrived.  The snowfall blanketing the earth in its white embrace that day added a magical moment to the family folklore.

Every snowflake is different.  In the end it was the addiction to ice that did him in.

Written for Friday Fictioneers Word Count : 100

Wow a Friday Fictioneers post on a Friday, now thats something that doesn't happen all the time. 
 To get snowed in by other writers this week click here.  
Also a thanks in advance to the non-blogspot users who leave a comment.  Much appreciated.  And to those who don't, come on over to the dark side  ;-)

Lunar Tick

PHOTO PROMPT © Liz Young

Hollow brains said the old man and coughed.

He sat there in front of me drooling.  I’ve been chasing him for decades hitting jackpot before my retirement.

If you could cast your mind back sir to the day your partner went missing.  

That day! He spits the words out with venom. 

New evidence has traced your DNA on the bottle found at the site.   We know you did it.

Evidence! She kept going on about the man on the moon.  Dem flags don’t ripple in space.  Gave me a bottle to celebrate and I cracked it open on her head.

Written for Friday Fictioneers Word Count : 100

It's Monday today and my flight is late.  Time to quickly throw in a Friday Fictioneers entry and be the lucky last :-)   To read the timely entries by other writers this week click here.  

Pranked

In his sleep he dreams that he is by the water’s edge.  The cool breeze fans his face and he hears the gentle gurgling sound of the water lapping by the shore.

But why does his head feel so hot and his feet damp?

His eyes open groggily adjusting to the bright light.

He is on a chair strapped by a rope in a python like embrace.  The feet are submerged in water and his shoes soaked.

Distant laughter echoes in his ears.  As his eyes scan the shore he sees them waving.

"Bastards,” he swears, "I’ll get you too".

Written for Friday Fictioneers Word Count : 100

Lately I have been missing the FF's deadline due to travel and work.   So this is a relatively early bird entry for me.   While fictional it does draw from pranks that may have occurred in boarding school and school camps.   I would never do anything like this ;-) To wade in and read the other writers this week click here.