Spinning A Web

PHOTO PROMPT © Roger Bultot

My friend Carlos, he was one for tall tales.  Strangely he was probably the most honest person I have known.  His lies were just a subtle misdirection from truth. 

Say a group of us were discussing historical events, celebrity sightings or any mundane conversation and Carlos got involved.  He would take over, spinning a web of tall tales and an extended holiday from truth.

We would listen marvelling at the intricate design as zigzags, circles and patterns would be spun.  His stories were like Pinocchio’s lies, consistently misguided but never malicious. 

Though watching his nose grow long was fascinating indeed.

**

Written for Friday Fictioneers Word Count : 100.

And it is the start of a brand new year.  A very happy new year to everyone out there

To find out what the other writers have been spinning this week click here

Fridays On My Mind

I've gone and put 50 selected Friday Fictioneers stories as a kindle e-book, Fridays On My Mind.   I find the 100 word format enjoyable and challenging and hopefully readers will enjoy this tiny edition of selected stories. 

The Knitting Sutra

Copyright Björn Rudberg

It was the winter of our discontent.  The stage was set earlier in the heat of the summer when we decided that it would be a great idea to relocate to the hills.  After all what could go wrong in the rejuvenating mountain air? If nothing it would give our flagging relationship the boost it needed.

So I ask you this, have you ever stayed inside a one-bedroom cottage with a snowstorm raging outside and cut off from rest of the town, while repairing a relationship?

 Knitting helps avoiding eye contact.  Knit one purl one, snow melts and I’m done.

**

Written for Friday Fictioneers Word Count : 100.

To find out what the other writers have been knitting this week click here

I've gone and put 50 selected Friday Fictioneers stories as a kindle e-book, Fridays On My Mind.    My main reason for doing this was to provide some motivation to me to write longer stories.  Doing Friday Fictioneers over the years has rekindled that spark in me which I thought I had lost.   It made me write and submit short stories to other websites that got accepted and published.  The 100 word format is making me craft my stories better (or so I like to think) and hopefully this might just be the start of the writing journey that I seek.

Moth to a Flame

PHOTO PROMPT © Sandra Crook

My late friend was drawn to a life of crime like a moth to a flame.  It started with money missing from bags in school.  Suspicion fell on a small group from the poorer part of town that were intensely interrogated.  My wealthy friend was never a suspect.

He only came forward after students were suspended.  Whether motivated by an altruistic desire or the chance to be famous, we never knew as he dropped out of school.

He stopped meeting us and hung out in a gang.  He was dead before his twenty-first birthday, shot during an armed bank robbery.

**

Written for Friday Fictioneers Word Count : 100.

To read other stories from this week click here

Sometimes you feel a bit dissatisfied with your submission and today seems to be one of these days.
So as a result I am also attempting a translation of Allama Iqbal's poem "Shama-O-Parwana"

Moth And Lamp

Oh lamp why does the moth love you so?

Why does it sacrifice it's restless life for you?

Like quicksilver it adapts your style.
Have you taught it the etiquettes of love?

It circles around your lustre.

Does it burn in the flash of your sight?

Does it find peace in the throes of death?
Do your embers grant it eternal life?

Had your lustre not been in the world’s house of woe

This tree of grieving heart would not have been green.

Moth sinks before you making its prayer,
Tiny heart beating with passion keen.

It has the passion of desire as in the days of yore
You are the small mountain of fire, the moth the prophet

The moth with it's appreciation of the flame
A tiny worm desiring light!

Ice Maiden

PHOTO PROMPT © Dale Rogerson

My uncle lived in what our family knew as the fickle weather zone.  He could never figure out when the season would change during the course of a day.

It would fluctuate from being warm and friendly one moment to cold and frosty the next.

My aunt was a stunning lady and yet her moods changed in a flash.  My uncle once reminisced that as soon as he felt the change he took immediate precautions when the fragrance of a rose give way to a prickly thorny bush.

He never left her. Weathering all storms with love, trust, and medication.

**

Written for Friday Fictioneers Word Count : 100.

Back home after a month and have to put a story in after missing a few again.  To read other stories from this week click here

Also seeing the coolest 75 year old dude on the planet tonight (In a concert not personally).  So why not end with a song by Paul McCartney

Rain into a paper cup

PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

The house was a mess.  What started out as a fix for the seepage spiralled out into a complete restoration project.   The walls scraped and plaster pounded out.  Water pipes replaced and the home rewired.  Rooms painted, furniture polished and then the cleanup.

Cleaning the dust laden house I came across my mother’s notebooks.  As I opened them her handwriting jumped out of the pages.  Engrossed I read as words raced from one page to another, covering philosophy, religion and literature encompassing poems, essays and translations.  To read her quoting Buddha and Thoreau was like being in her company again.

**

Written for Friday Fictioneers Word Count : 100.

Returning to Fictioneers after supervising an unexpected restoration project.  This indeed was what occurred today. While cleaning up I found my mother's notebooks.  She used these to write on whatever topic was close to her heart at that time.  She wrote at frantic pace putting to paper the many thoughts that were overflowing in her mind, covering page after page till there was no more space left to write.
The words that I found in her notebook came from Atmashatkam mantra

mano buddhi ahankara chittani naaham na cha shrotravjihve na cha ghraana netre na cha vyoma bhumir na tejo na vaayuhu chidananda rupah shivoʼham shivoʼham

I am not the mind, the intellect, the ego or the memory, 

I am not the ears, the skin, the nose or the eyes,
I am not space, not earth, not fire, water or wind,
I am the expression of consciousness and bliss,
I am the eternal Shiva...

The title of my flash this week is a nod to lyrics from Across the Universe (for those of you playing at home).

To go through the closet and find other other stories from this week click here