Fun run … Running home.

Hi everyone,

Thank you for your loyalty, for staying with my blog.

So myself, and my two little people have decided to undertake twelve weeks run for the homeless. Whom we would be supporting through the charity St. Mungo’s charity.

We decided to do this as they always ask questions about people sleeping rough. They also often want me to give everyone we see some money. So i thought a good way to help them understand the link between money, discipline, resilience and kindness would be the running-to-raise money challenge.

Already one is asking why we choose to do this again? 🤣🤣🤣. It is my hope that similar questions will arise through the 12 weeks. It is also my hope that by the end answers will be clearer.
One of them being, that kind thoughts often mean less without a commensurate kind act.

Our last run should be a week before Christmas. Our hope is to give the charity something to make christmas more special for someone out there.

We will post updates each week . ☺️☺️

Looking forward to your support.

Do click this link to support us through the just giving page.

Training in progress

Photo prompt from Rochelle Wisoff-Feilds.

The voice bellowed through the hall ways, “Lights out! No more talking, smiling, giggly or even blinking.”

“Get into your beds. Lie down flat. Snore if you like or must. “

“BUT! No moving or singing. And if you must pray, don’t let God or me hear any sounds from your bed space.” The voice concluded.

She lay in the bed, quiet as a mouse.Her legs squeezed as tight as possible.

She needed to pee. You either peed before lights out or roughly 30 minutes after.

No one had mentioned bladder training on the school curriculum.


Thank you Rochelle for hosting the writing event Friday fictiooneers. The rule is to write a 100 word piece in response to the provided picture. Please click the link to visit Rochelle’s blog. It will be worth your while. And click this link to read other stories and write ups.

Collision

Photo prompt copyright Alicia Jamtaas

Her anticipation grew.

First came the whistling, as similar to her as her own heartbeat.

Next came the tingling of the bells.

She watched for him.

Today was for shopping. There would be two boxes tied to the back seat of
his bicycle. Full of fresh products for his stall.

But unlike other days, today he killed someone.

The death was swift.

The victim was split, lower limbs from torso; his intestines trailing from
the spinning wheels.

Neither the victim, perpetrator or spectator expected it.

She had giggled, he had finally noticed her, but not Marvin the scarecrow.

He. Died.

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Thank you Rochelle for hosting the writing event Friday fictiooneers. To rule is to write a 100 word piece in response to the provided picture. Please click the link to visit Rochelle’s blog. It will be worth your while. And click this link to read other stories and write ups.

Not planted.

Wild roses. Planted by the wind, nurtured by mother nature’s capricious temperament. Like stubborn weeds they bloom in-spite of admiration or its lack thereof. Seeking connection with something familiar. Surrounded by what looks nothing like it. Struggling within itself, “why am I here?” “Why didn’t I get to No 64’s garden, I mean it is only two doors down?” Refusing to smile, ignorant of the pleasure its’ fragrance brings to a wanderer. Blindfolded to the reality that winter harbours same fate for one and all of them including those at No 64. A wild rose is still a rose. Photo prompt courtsey of Trish Nankeville.
Thank you Rochelle for hosting the writing event Friday fictiooneers. To rule is to write a 100 word piece in response to the provided picture. Please click the link to visit Rochelle’s blog. It will be worth your while. And click this link to read other stories and write ups. Some times we get stuck in difficult places and the stress makes us forget our blessings. We envy those being favoured or nurtured by the system. We begrudge them that blessing of famililarity and comfort that we forget what we also carry within and the blessing it can also be. It is indeed great to have people pour into our lives but sometimes we need to pour into others even when our tanks are slightly low. Keep the faith. Chin up and you will see thin pockets of blessings enriching your life. But you will only see it if you open your eyes.

Sacrifices

Cain had promised not to bring any more trouble to his table again. Abel knew better than to trust those words, but surprisingly enough they had held through for the last nine months. Longer than they had ever held. Abel was starting to believe Cain had really turned a new corner. Until the note.

“God loves a cheerful giver, we love any kind of giver, including dead ones. Pay the debt or your brother becomes an unpleasant sacrifice.”

It was attached to the pulpit like a huge beacon.

This demand would ruin him. It would leave nothing unscorched.

Photo prompt by Lisa Fox.
I am literally almost a week late to the writing challenge. But i thought better late than never. Thanks Rochelle for hosting the writing challenge friday fictiooners. Thank you for visiting my blog today.

Humble abode

“Adam, we cannot continue like this.”

He smiled.

“Do not give me that smile.”

It broadened even more, his eyes twinkling like light orbs against the dark skies.

Eve sighed, whilst rolling her eyes.

“One would think we built this shelter to preserve things that would be destroyed when left open to the elements,” She continued.

“Alas I forethought we built it shelter precious treasures. Like you, my darling Eve.” Adam replied.

“I do not know what to make of those words, dear husband, for it appears you deem a baby turtle as precious as I.”

Photo prompt from David Stewart.

Thank you Rochelle for hosting the writing challenge Friday Fictioneers. Please click the previous link to visit her blog. Take the time to learn about the challenge and click this link to share your story should you decide to join our band of merry writers.

Thanks you for visiting my blog, reading, liking and if possible commenting. Your time is precious so i am grtaeful you decided to share it with me.

Spiced up

A sprinkle of curls, not too tightly wound. A dash of red to spice the cheeks. Add some green drapes to finish it up.

Next, we have long straight strands, the colour of golden straw. Throw in radish pink, for sparkly lips. Then top it all up with some sheets the colour of purple cabbage.

Lobster red strings, this time tightly wound. Emboldened by sea weed green orbs. Layer it with golden sheets. Et voila perfection.

The buffet certainly dimmed in comparism to the beautiful women traipsing across the hall.

Variety was indeed the spice of life.

Photo prompt by Brenda Cox.

Thanks Rochelle for hosting the writing challenge Friday fictioneers. Click the previous link to visit her blog. And click on this link to upload your story.

Healthy pirates; history preserved

Rum, rum,

Tis the chant of a rolling drum.

Run, run,

Beat the feet of a wandering drunk.

Clip-clop, clip -clop,

the thumbing of a pirate’s limp.

Clink, clink,

coins steadily rain into our coffers.

We sail our ship. Chests puffed up; heads held high. No brazen storms or monsters roar will turn our ships or heart ashore. Our anchor holds for golden woods.

Raise your tankards, peel ya oranges. We haven’t conquered demons to die at the feet of an unhealthy diet.

Drink one glass of Zit’s orange juice a day to keep your skin healthy.

Photo prompt courtsey of Rochelle Wisoff-fields

I had no clue where i was going with the story.

Thanks Rochelle for hosting the writing challenge friday fictioneers. Click the link to visit her site and join in. Click the link to read other stories and submit yours.

Words without voices

She giggled … “mommmm, you have to finish the story. What did great-grandpa sayyy….”

“Well, he said, you better leave this place you big for nothing oaf.” She laughed and tickled Sarah.

 “That’s not what you said last time mummy,” Sarah replied trying so hard to be coherent.

“Ohhh? What did I say last time?””

“You said he told the man to leave his Island or he would send his soul to the devil.”

“I told you that?” Oh my God. Marlene thought.

“Yes, you did mum, you change it every time. I wish great-grandpa wrote his stories down.”

PHOTO PROMPT © Roger Bultot

So this is a long short, but the graffiti inspired my story. Thanks Rochelle for hosting the writing challenge Friday Fictioneers. Click the link to visit her blog.

And click on the link to read other stories.

Fractured people

Photo copyright owned by Sandra Crook

“Does this remind you of anything?”

“Does what ‘remind’ me of anything?”

“That,” pointing ahead, he continued “the castle there”.

“Ohh. Hmmm not really. What does it remind you of?”

“You know, the scripture, a city set on a hill cannot be hidden.”

“Oh yeah, that’s right. Unfortunately, this one is broken, and relatively disused.”

“Indeed, it is, a pile of rocks on top a hill”

“A pile that serves as a tourist attraction.”

“True, but, a broken city no matter it’s history or filter applied cannot hide its cracks.”

“Not every crack must be hidden or examined.”  She concluded.


Thanks to Rochelle for hosting the writing challenge Friday fictiooners.

Click the link to read further stories.