In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “The Kindness of Strangers.”
It had been a stressful and testing day at work. The unbearable heat made it all the more insufferable. By the time I got home that evening, I was ready to flop on the sofa. I flicked mindlessly through the TV channels; I was so tired that I was as indifferent to a news story on a famine as I was to a cartoon.
I looked up to the ceiling, closed my eyes and took a deep breath. When I opened my eyes again I found myself floating upwards through the ceiling, through the roof, above the houses. I could see the streets and lights below getting smaller and smaller until….
I was rising through the clouds. I could see the outlines of continents, the movements of the oceans. Night turned to day and back again. It was clear to me that I wasn’t just floating upwards; it was as if I was being swept by the winds across the world. But I couldn’t feel the winds or the heat of the sun, or the rain or snow.
I was just there.
And soon, I found myself floating through the outer layers of the atmosphere until I was high above Earth in space itself. I could see our planet, suspended like a teardrop in the dark abyss. I looked around, spinning on the spot as if in a gyroscope. Stars and planets and galaxies and black holes and supernovas and nebulas whizzed around at unfathomable speed.
As I slowed I looked at the Earth again. I could see every person as if I was right next to them. I knew their thoughts, felt their breath, understood their hopes and fears. I came to understand why good and evil existed and the importance of hope. I saw there was a solution for everything, no matter how big or small a problem; at the same time, I witnessed how and why people in different corners of the globe make mistakes, but never truly learn.
I learnt a lot, I saw a lot, but then I forgot it all. As I came to, my mind ached, my mouth was bitter and dry. All in a moment I understood how, what, when and why; but, all in a moment, my new found knowledge and wisdom had dissipated into the depths of space.
I flicked off the TV and went to bed. I would wake the next morning only to make the same mistakes as today, not having learnt a thing.
You taught me to see how it could happen
The truth only you did see.
And when we join our hearts and minds together
We know we can be free
But the day-to-day takes over and
We run around in despair.
One step into the beyond, though,
And we know we could be there.
These shackles of responsibility may chain us
To these uncertain times.
Step back, take my hand, move forward –
It’s all going to be just fine.
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Toy Story.”
Ah, Subbuteo, my fantastic, plastic, flick-to-kick hobby. Little plastic men sliding around a cloth soccer pitch after a ball that was bigger than them.
My mates and I had are own street league. I was one of three Manchester United fans, so I had to fall on my back-up plan: Luton Town FC. The night before the start of our summer tournament I would polish the bases of the players to get that extra glide. Cheers Mr Sheen!
During one summer I entered the national UK tournament. My mum pulled the plug on that – I honestly would have been slaughtered – but not before the local newspaper had got word of my entry. I made the left margin of the front page of the newspaper that week. Unfortunately, it didn’t help that the main story’s headline read “Forced to Flee By Psycho Attacker”, as my face beamed out to the local readership.
Like most of my teenage passions – grass hockey, tennis, and topiary* – Subbuteo is now confined to the vaults; it may make a return now and again if it takes mine and my brother’s fancy to play – but that is a rare event.
Has it had an effect on how I am today? Well, I’m quite nostalgic, so it fills me with happiness when I take a trip down memory lane.
* I’ve never been in topiary, really; although, I do think it should be an Olympic Sport.
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Blogger With a Cause.”
I would write. I would finish those half-baked ideas lurking at the back of the drawer. Then I’d send them away to be proofread.
I’d then send them for publishing, but I’d have to learn to make myself bulletproof to cope with rejection.
I’d plan for the lifetime holiday to Japan I’m always dreaming of.
And I visit family and friends and spend proper time with them.
This is off the beaten track for my website, but I’m chuffed with this dodgy joke I made up yesterday:
Arnold Schwarzenegger was walking around my back yard yesterday. He was wearing a police uniform and holding a tablet.
That’s right. He was recording his new film: ‘Kindle Garden Cop’.
I took the weight off my feet as my daughter ran to her friend she spotted in the park. I acknowledged her friend’s parents before taking my phone out of my bag. As the girls played I looked up often from my phone to make sure they were okay.
It was a lovely spring day, the air filled with chattering birds and happy children. But there was a constant menace: seagulls. These winged beasters have been the scourge of a number of holidays down the years. And this Saturday they struck again. As I absent-mindedly munched on a pork pie, one of these cantankerous feathered brats took to invading my personal space. Any tactic I used to shoo it away or ignore it rendered futile, until I had attracted the looks of others.
The seagull began pecking at the pork pie as I became more and more exasperated. I vacated the shady spot I had parked myself in to a seagull free zone, waving to my daughter so she knew where I was. Soon, my daughter waved off her friend and I took her to get an ice cream. As we wondered up to see the botanical garden, I realised I was phoneless. I patted myself all over and turned my back pack inside out three times. I was becoming distraught, but my daughter kept me calm.
We retraced our steps and reported it. Finally, I accepted it was gone. Off we trudged to town where I bought a cheap replacement. That pesky bird had robbed me of something personal, but my daughter had restored my faith.
Thankfully, I had a call today to say that the phone had been handed into the park office.
People 1-0 Seagulls.
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Childhood Revisited.”
I had a good childhood. Mum and dad always did what they could for me and my four siblings, and always gave us love. We are a very close family.
I was taught a hard work ethic from a young age. I was taught to think for myself, but was told never to be afraid to ask for help. Sharing and caring are two values that make the world go round.
Discernment is a valuable trait as well.
If I can go some way to pass these things on to my daughter, then I think that’s a good thing. She is a teacher to me too: she is fearless at embracing everybody with love, she has no ego. My dream is for her to follow her own path, to embrace that which makes her unique; I’ll support her all the way.
Love the world and everything in it. As it was said in one of the Bill and Ted films: “Be excellent to each other”.
I’m a Lefty through and through. I use a capital L because I’m chuffed by this. It’s part of what makes me tick, how I’m hard wired; it’s what makes me – well – me.
I saw a petition online a couple of years ago that said it was time left-handers should be given minority status in the UK. At first, I thought it a bit far-fetched, but when you delve a bit deeper and see how oppressed lefties have been in history you can see a case for the argument: it’s well known in yonder times that if somebody was left-handed then they were considered a witch; there’s stories from Victorian times – and after, I think – about people being forced to write with their right hand.
On that last point, I read on a website that children that were forced to write with their right hand suffered emotional distress as a result, even mental health issues in later life. It appears to be down to the possibility that one part of our brain’s is more dominant than the other, so when somebody is forced to write with their other hand, they are basically – albeit unconsciously – going through a re-wiring process.
It all got me thinking, though: if I could train myself to write with my right hand in a stress free way, could I then bring more balance to myself as a person. This afternoon I started to write anything that came into my head and it’s helped me come up with an idea for a story. Chuffed! Writing with my opposite hand has given me another creative outlet at the very least.
I’ve since thought that if I write with my right hand too often, then it might have some negative effects on my brain – a bit paranoid, maybe? – but now and again can’t do any harm; and, in a worse case scenario, if I broke my left arm, then I would still be able to carry on righting…I mean writing.
Reading back over the above, I think it’s fair to say that there’s a kookie thought pattern to this. But if that kookie-ness comes from the same brain that makes me left-handed, then that’s okay.
It’s just good to know Righty is there in a supporting role.
…or should I call myself a WordPressian!
I feel that my writing exploits have been enriched and encouraged by other citizens of this virtual empire. Connecting with other writers really does give me a buzz for writing all the more.
Sure, I’ve had one or two gaps, but I’ve kept coming back. I wrote a couple of weeks ago that I found it important to break myself back in gently this time around. The Daily Prompts have indeed kept me ticking along. And then today….Ta Dah! I’ve finally edited a story to a level I’m happy with.
I’m going to send this to an author, Jessica Grace Coleman, who has been editing some of my work. I feel that using Jessica’s service has really benefited me as I can compare and contrast the changes made with my pre-edited piece, then incorporate the lessons I’ve learnt into my next piece of work.
(Her Little Forest novels are well worth a read as well!).
Getting into poetry has also been something that has surprised me this year. I’ve put together a little body of work. Sometimes I think my efforts can be a little bit clunky, but writing in different styles and looking at things in different ways has given my story-telling a bit of depth as well.
I love writing. I just want to keep pushing myself. Thinking back, even when I was off the website for about a month I still was writing a lot in other ways; or is that just me trying to justify my absence. Still, it doesn’t matter now because it’s the present where I’m at.
Just a little every day – there’s a lot to be learned from those words.
Cheers Everybody. Enjoy you’re writing.