Merbear over at Knocked Over by a Feather is having a competition! Thanks for the timely reminder about that today, Mer!
Merbear is a huge Beatles fan, and her challenge is to do a post based on one of several snippets of Beatles lyrics she has supplied. I have chosen this one, from “Across the Universe”. This song has now been stuck in my head all day!
Words are flowing out like
Endless rain into a paper cup
They slither wildly as they slip away across the universe.
Pools of sorrow waves of joy
Are drifting through my opened mind
Possessing and caressing me
I thought I’d take you back in time, back to 1960s Liverpool to watch two of the Fab Four at work as they come up with these lyrics. Imagine Flower Power. Imagine free love, the Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament and whacked out hippies. Let’s drop in on John and (not yet Sir) Paul and see what’s going on, shall we?
(Cue spooky music and swirly effect so we all know we’re going back in time…)
“I can’t think of a new song. The words keep slipping away from me, like all the way across the universe, man.”
“Hey, that’ll do for a title. ‘Across the Universe’. Profound. Take a toke on this and see if it helps.”
“So what do you see?”
“Wow. Colours. Lights. Rain falling into a paper cup.”
“Yeah! And there’s words too. Slithering around the place.”
“We can work with that. What else?”
“There’s sorrow and joy in pools and waves, man.”
“My mind’s all, like, open, and it’s caressing me and all sorts…”
“Yes, yes, very sensual, I like it.”
“And then it’s all like ‘goo goo g’joob’.”
“Always with the walrus. What’s the matter with you?”
(Cue swirly effect again…)
And thus, “Across the Universe” was born. Thank you for your time.
I’m still in a weird mood but here’s a bit of odd dialogue for you. I had a whole run of comedies and then recently it’s all gone a bit sombre. Hey ho.
For this week’s other stories, click on the little blue froggy. Here he is!
“The horn player’s out of tune.”
“He is a bit. You’re right.”
“That used to be me, you know. Before my lungs began to fail.”
“I know. You were good.”
“I was. I was good. Not like that fellow.”
“I’m sure he’ll improve with time. You weren’t always good, were you?”
“I suppose not. Will there be a brass band where I’m going?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why don’t you know? You’re an angel.”
“‘Facilitator’. I told you. I help you move on. That’s all. Where you go is a mystery to me. But I’m sure you’ll find your brass band.”
Here’s a cynical look at humanity to thrill and depress you for this week’s Mondays Finish the Story, a weekly 150 word photo/opening sentence challenge hosted by Barbara Beacham. The opening sentence, in bold in my story, doesn’t count towards our word count.
Click on the blue froggy to read this week’s other stories.
When the team heard the dam explode, they knew they had limited time to make it to safety.
Barry glanced behind at the raging wall of water as they desperately tried to steer towards the shore. He saw figures on the river bank.
“Help!” he screamed.
The figures were holding up phones. Were they calling for help? He could hear snatches of their excited shouts.
“Awesome… stats through the roof… YouTube sensation…”
A wave struck and he fell from the boat, smashing his head on a rock. Nigel was next, flying into the torrent, water filling his lungs.
There were more figures on the bank now, all holding up phones. Sebastian was thrown from the front of the boat, impaled and twitching on a tree branch.
Whoops of excitement issued from the bank. Finally the boat capsized to cries of “awesome!” and “mega!”
The onlookers didn’t see the final wall of water as it smashed their bodies to pulp. Fortunately, their final footage was already uploading to the cloud for the guilty pleasure of the masses.
It’s Friday Fictioneers time again, the weekly 100-ish word flash fiction photo challenge hosted by Rochelle. This week the photo was contributed by Rachel Bjerke. I’d love to know where this is, it looks lovely!
I’m not sure what genre to place my story in. I’ll go for “boring” as nothing actually happens. I’m sure there’s a proper literary word for it. I chose a rather pretentious title to spruce it up a bit, though :-).
To read this week’s other stories, click on the blue froggy.
Gronedd gazed around the ruins, admiring the damp moss glistening as the sun reflected from early morning dew. At the sight, memories from centuries past rose in his mind.
Gwyneth having her first child. Haffard placing logs on the huge fire. Dafvidd taking his first, faltering steps. Such memories this place brought him; though he had seen billions of years these had been his happiest.
Bound as an Observer to this world since its birth, Gronedd would remain until its end. Seeing wars, disease, hunger, pollution, all around him… he knew his final sleep at last approached. He would spend his final days here.
This is my contribution to this week’s Mondays Finish the Story, hosted by Barbara Beacham.
Something about this photo of a big house away from the general populace combined with the word “Brigadier” made me think of that proud 19th Century British tradition of believing that the whole world should belong to Britain and that everyone else was somehow “in the way”.
The supplied sentence is in bold in my story and you can read this week’s other contributions by clicking on the blue froggy.
A body suddenly crashed through a plate glass window at the Brigadier’s house.
“I say,” exclaimed the Brigadier. “This won’t do at all!”
“Frightfully sorry about that, Sir,” said the Lieutenant calmly as he took a sip of Port and shot the interloper in the head.
“Oh, Lieutenant!” said the Brigadier indignantly, looking at the brains leaking onto the carpet. “My favourite throw rug!”
“My apologies, Brigadier,” continued the Lieutenant, swiftly dispatching two more attackers.
“What-ho! Watch the wallpaper! I had it shipped in ‘specially from Messers Smythe and Clarke of Dinkledum Street, you know.”
Before the Lieutenant had a chance to respond, one of the attacking natives pierced his heart with a long knife.
“I don’t understand,” barked the Brigadier as natives closed on him, knives gleaming. “We’ve brought you education, technology… all we ask is that you follow our rules!”
While the Brigadier’s soldiers, fighting for pay, cowered behind the furniture, the natives, fighting for their home, ignored the bullets and reclaimed their land.