YOU HAVE TO BE READY… in 33 Words
His life had reached the end of its tether.
He decided it was time.
One final sip of Crown Royal,
Loft the bottle high into the air.
Watch it break.
Reclaim his life.
Hopefully this is the first in a long string of stories. It’s been a while. This has been a busy Summer and I’ve missed writing and the blogging community of writers at Trifecta and Friday Fictioneers.
This is the instruction the Trifecta writers were given for this weeks Trifextra:
“This weekend we’re asking for 30 of your own words plus the three following words for a total of 33 words.”
Tether ~ Loft ~ Crown
To learn more about Trifecta and read the Trifextra stories, click on the Trike!
Somewhere on a small island in the Great Pacific Northwest… just freed from prison…
I breath in a deep lungful of fresh air, a relief from the scent of dainty perfumes that have hung so heavy in my cape. I detect a hint of ocean air, and I long for the sea again. My eyes encounter a dazzling array of color from every corner imaginable, in this seeming rural landscape.
I find that my iron prison is high from the ground, held high aloft on a post. I will have to descend with care, as my strength has been weakened by exposure to excessive amounts of polyurethane. It will be some time before my belt, Megingjörd, is able to regain full power. I espy a soft landing spot and jump!
I make it without harm and look for sanctuary while I garner the lay of the land. This is the first time I have been on my own, and not brought back into the world to the sight of leering eyes and painted lips bending over me. Impossible to escape their grasp until they tire of playing with me, and eventually ship me off to another one.
I immediately encounter a threat from a giant creature that I have to ward off with a blow from The Mighty Hammer… I am the God of Thunder! She goes back to sleep.
This place seems to be some kind of farm, as there are egg layers sequestered nearby, and I am hungry. I enter the enclosure with as much stealth as I can muster… but a “Cock-a-Doodle-Do” soon gives me away and I am beset with feather bearing monsters. I barely escape with my life, thanks to my Mighty Hammer!
Leaving the foul fowl behind, I enter a wood shop in search of a clue to my whereabouts. Jumping on a workbench I accidentally activate a switch putting me in harm’s way. I am saved once again, thanks to Mjölnir (TMH). Must make a note to send a check to Mr. DeWalt for the damage.
I come to a body of water and decide to go across. A nearby boat seems the answer, but a family named Noah is busy loading it with animals and say I am welcome to join them, but they are waiting for the flood and it might take some time to float their boat.
Not to be deterred, I take matters into my own hands and float across… no Princess Cruise, that’s for sure, but maybe that’s a good thing.
THOR!!! Someone calls my name. A handsome gentleman tells he is my host and welcomes me to his island. I tell him I am ‘The God of Thunder’, he says he knows that and invites me inside, to a table groaning under the weight of a sumptuous feast of garlic sausages, grilled chicken, ranch style beans and corn on the cob. Breads of all description and fresh fruits and beverages are a welcome sight. He is anxious to hear about my tour, but first has some distressing news… The Pink Haired Princess now has blue hair. Oh, My Magical Mistress… what hast thou done? ’There must be a Witch involved’, is my first thought, then I remember she is a writer… and you know how they are. I ask when I can see her, as my heart is blue, and he says he will see what he can do, but I must finish the tour first before finally joining her. He invites me to go to a special island tomorrow full of artists and gentle people of the earth. I am hopeful to learn more about this place. I ask how we will get there, as I have not had much luck with water transportation of late. He assures me there is no problem, as we will be ensconced in a fine Swedish automobile and catching something called a red-eye ferry. ’What new monster awaits’, I think to myself.
To be continued…
Previously… The Arrival
To learn more about Thor’s World Tour, and see where he’s been… THE GOD OF THUNDER IS TOURING THE WORLD
Somewhere on a small island in the Great Pacific Northwest….
What have I done to deserve such a fate? How have I offended thee, O mighty Odin? I have been sent on a seemingly endless tour of giant horny housewives, fawning over me and subjecting me to the most degrading acts, dragging me around their villages to show off to their friends, and taking photo after photo with something called a phone. Thank the Gods for their children, they are nice and lots of fun to play with, they seem to understand me. But, those things they call ‘pets’ are everywhere, and to be avoided at all costs. I have seen a lot of interesting places though, and am amassing quite the postcard collection. If I ever get back home, I won’t be sharing with Loki, since I’m sure this trip through purgatory is his doing. The one bright spot of this whole affair, is that everywhere I am sent, the girl child’s seem to have an endless supply of beautiful princesses, just the perfect size. The curious thing, they all share the same name… Barbie. They are quite tiring, as they all want to play with my hammer, and sometimes there are 10 to 20 of them.
I was perfectly happy with my pink-locked mistress, waiting for a call to once again save the world. One day I found myself being wrapped into a strange substance. Quite soft and smelling faintly of toluene diisocyanate. A cardboard coffin awaited next, and as she shut the lid, I detected a rivulet of tears on the cheek of my beautiful maiden. A jostling trip ensued, and you can imagine my surprise, when released from my confinement I found myself in the possession of another giant female, also quite cute. She was very excited to see me.
I found this routine was to be repeated, seemingly endlessly… even to a place called Canada.
So, here I am, once again, bubble wrapped in another cardboard coffin. This time, not so tightly bound, I am able to swing my mighty hammer and break loose. I find myself in a semicircular shaped metal building. A large door is before me. Light streams in around the opening, which appears to be hinged at the bottom. With a blow from my mighty hammer it surrenders and falls open. Beautiful sunlight bursts inside, my eyes are treated to a wondrous sight… Have I found Paradise?
To be continued…
To meet the ‘pink-locked maiden’ and see what in the hell this is all about… Debra Kristi and Thor’s World Tour
“Ethel, there isn’t room to swing a cat!”
“I like my Smart Car. It fits me just fine. But, I’m not the one who could stand to lose a few.”
“Well, I never!”
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That’s what the Trifectas asked us to use this time. Here, I’ll let them tell it:
“This weekend we’re asking for exactly 33 words including an idiom somewhere within. Examples of idioms include – add fuel to the fire or wear your heart on your sleeve. You can find more examples and a definition of idiom here. Good luck! ”
To see some Idiom Driven Stories… click the trike.
IN A JIFFY… a story in 333 words
Jeff’s sneakers slapped the vinyl floor as he raced for the Jewel’s exit, clerks in hot pursuit.
“I tell you, I was almost killed!” “Ethel, don’t be so damn dramatic. You weren’t ‘almost killed’, what happened?”
They were gaining on him as he pushed through the door and collided with the woman.
“Listen to me, Cheryl. I don’t know why you have to be so negative all the time.” Cheryl sipped her tea, waiting. “I was going into the Jewel, you know how I don’t like the Jewel, but I just needed some cornbread mix. Now don’t you go rolling your eyes like that. You know I like to bake!” Cheryl stopped rolling her eyes and tried to stifle herself. Ethel didn’t bake. In fact, Ethel didn’t cook, she ate out or got take-in. The only thing Ethel ever made was Jiffy Cornbread or Jiffy Popcorn… Ethel liked everything jiffy, the woman had no patience.
Ninety pounds of blond had laid him flat on his back. The beer he’d been trying to steal went flying as angry hands yanked him to his feet. The woman had fire in her eyes, and took over.
“So, there I was, on the ground with beer bottles everywhere. People lifting me up and thanking me for stopping the thief. A crowd had gathered, you know how I don’t like to be the center of attention.” Cheryl held her eyes still.
The manager had called the police. The woman Jeff bumped into was familiar. She was the one always complaining about something. It had been suggested she shop elsewhere. Now he would have to be nice to her, as she started in on him.
“Well, I tell you, the ingratitude of some people. They didn’t even offer me a reward.” The phone rang. Cheryl answered and thanked the caller for letting them know.
Jeff had slipped away during the ensuing ruckus.
“It’s your lucky day, Ethel. They want to give you the Jiffy you left on the counter.”
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The prompt this time is the third definition (as always) of the word LUCKY (adjective). To read more “Lucky” stories of 33 to 333 words, click on the trike.
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Everything you will need to cook like Ethel…
The Scriptorium had been an easy mark. At the subway, the sack broke, sending words cascading down the stairs to the platform. People helped. A tiny girl brought three over, in cupped hands… Remember, Rain, Rebellion.
KEEP ON PUSHING!… another 100 word story
It was hard dirty work. He thought, when reaching this stage of his life, he could just rest. But, it hadn’t worked that way. Not only was he in a dark and confined space, but just a few days ago they put in a new guy next door, he was making a lot of noise every time he pushed. It bothered him, affected what little sleep they were allowed.
“Hey there! Stop groaning, you’re waking the dead!”
“Sorry, can’t help it. I’d heard they said we did this, but these Lilies are heavy.
“It’s supposed to be Daisies, you idiot!”
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HER HEARTS… A 33 word story
I got a call. “I need your help making something.” “Okay, what?”
“A stone heart for Sammie.” “Sammie’s a dog.”
“I know, I want to honor him.” “Okay, then let’s do Buddy too.”
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A dear friend in Sacramento had two miniature poodles. They were brothers, and had been show dogs… Sammy had died. She wanted to make memorial stones to place in her garden. She had studied how to make stepping-stones, so we went to the hardware store and got a bag of cement. Buddy was still with her, so we got him to ‘autograph’ his stone… he was not pleased about that. Susan was so happy with them (and we had a lot of cement left over), that we ended up making some more for past and present dogs. Later, a friend who saw them, asked us to make one for her sister who had loved Betty Boop. It’s a nice idea, I think… Garden Art with a Meaning.
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He paused, sweaty in his efforts pushing the old car. ‘Damn thing! Oh well, that’s what you get when you own a classic! Classic piece of shit right now.’ At least it was small, thank God for that. He resumed pushing. The car glided down the street, only the squeak of the wire wheels breaking the stillness.
A passerby. “What are you doing?”
“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m pushing a car!”
“Do you want some help?”
“I’m sorry, that was rude. I can’t leave my car on the street, it would be gone. I’d love some help.”
Here is the photo prompt for this week’s Friday Fictioneers stories, by Beth Carter… a writer high in the Ozark hills. Wait a minute… did that sound right? Anyway, it is quite a photo, and it won Beth the blue ribbon in the Ozarks Writers League photo contest in February.
As soon as I saw the wire wheel in the corner, I knew what I would write. The photo up top is the only picture I have of my first car… a 1955 MG TF-1500. That is my sister Marja showing off the cars for a car show. It appeared in the Sacramento Union in 1977. My car is the little one. I could not tell you how many times I pushed that car.