THE METHODOLOGY OF ASSASSINATION

This is simply brilliant.
Makes me think of bond and his lady’s.

- MIKE STEEDEN -

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First a sip of champagne, then a rare girlish tilt of the head and in an instant, her naked iris, roseate eyes ambushed mine. Detained them for the duration. Not too long, yet likely just long enough. Was it contemplation as to my purpose of being? Mental telepathy? Thought transference? I never could translate the language of those conspicuous, yet most agreeable eyes.

A little earlier, not long after we had sat at our corner table and the waiter had taken our drinks order, she had insisted the candle be snuffed. “My photophobia demands it” her courteous reasoning.  I obliged, killing the flame twixt wetted finger and thumb. She had me light her cigarette. I was keen to ask of her why she had chosen to wear a white silk cocktail gown upon her snowy frame, yet thought better of it. Felt it improper to delve.  Notwithstanding, it was charmingly…

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Out cold

“Morning darling,”

“Morning gorgeous, off to work already?”

“You bet I am, no rest for the wicked and what not.”

Her phone rumbled with his laughter.

“Did you get any snow over there?”

“Nope! Not a speck of snow or frost in sight. Mr sunshine is basking in warmth.”

“You lucky devil.”

“Well I brought hell with me baby and your missing it.”

She smiled.

“Can you open the door for me?”

“The door …”

“Surprise!”

His smile looped into a convex shape.

“You’re in room 546 right? Come on my feet hurt.”

Hell was getting an icy makeover.

PHOTO PROMPT © Roger Bultot


Sorry I have been missing for a while now, my mind was overtaken by life.

Written for Friday fictioneers a writing challenge hosted by Rochelle. The picture was provided by the lovely Roger Bultot the task is to write a 100 words story inspired by it. Thanks Rochelle for hosting the challenge. Thank you for stopping by… do click on the link to read other stories.

Institutionalised victims

My sister snatched my doll from me in a not too friendly manner. I watched in growing anger and horror as she proceeded to pull her little chubby legs out of her sockets. Not one to be out done by her antics, I immediately reached for her drawings on the table rendering them master pieces of a vengeful heart. At this point we were both screaming in pitches that would make Celine Dion jealous; mum intervened but it didn’t end well for me as I had hoped. We each got a good measure of home-made discipline served olden days style – a good smacking. We also memorized a lesson for the day – retaliation isn’t the best response from a victim – or words to that effect.

I watched the inauguration of America’s new president with some reserve, as reports of disagreement between Trump supporters and protesters flooded in, my mood turned sour. It ‘s amazing how a difference in opinions can quickly escalates to a free for all fight wrestling match. The aftermath leaving everyone in pain including people who are indifferent to the situation or have no stake in the issue. Now I sit here wondering who the victim is, who really is the victim?

My friend had a rubbish week at work and from the looks of things the issues that rubbed her sore were likely to change any time soon. She was tired of being treated like an outsider, slowly losing patience with her colleagues ability to play corporate ‘hide and seek’ when difficult situations arose. Basically the prolonged hazing period was starting to grate on her nerves, turning work days into a feat of positive energy exercise – an empowering process in short solemn moments, but a mentally draining one when infused with physically challenging circumstances. Again I ask who is the victim, her, her colleagues or the client?

As they say in my native language – ‘okwu na ebute okwu’ (one story often leads to another) my friend and I moved from her infuriating work colleagues to the numerous ‘claim’ adverts on telly. You might know these ads; the ones that end with the famous last words – if you’ve been a victim of blah, blahblah – it got us wondering if these ads weren’t slowly indoctrinating the mindset of victims into us all. These ads like magnifying lens enlarge the other persons actions or inaction, taking our minds off our contribution to the situation. Like individuals institutionalised by physical structures most of the population have become institutionalised by the ‘campaigning victim squad’. And so once more I ask who is a victim?

a) the one who speaks first?

b) the one who shouts the most?

c) the one who has someone to back them up?

d) the one who suffers the most?

There are victims everywhere in the world; you’re a victim, I am a victim. Each one of us can become victims of circumstances man made and other wise, someone’s actions or inaction gives birth to new victims every second, our actions or inaction opens us up to being victimized. However, we must endeavour not to wake up each morning as victims, it’s a status that turns a view of the world skewed and it often gives rise to more victims. This taking mentality has a colossal effect on society as it makes people focus on how not to become a victim of another persons circumstances rather than maximizing life to the limit which often involves taking the odd risk, being willing to adapt to accommodate another person. Simply put we go about covering our backs rather than ensuring the outfit we have on is appropriate, this lets the dodgiest of characters escape under the dotted lines.

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#STAYINGSTRONGSTAYINGTRUE

Welcome ….

Happy new year everyone!

I can’t say much about the new year as I only got my gift card from the heavenly express at 00.00am on the 31st of December. It’s apparently still very new with all it’s tags and labels in place. At the moment I am trying it on for size and I have roughly twenty-seven days to return it to store if it doesn’t fit, but something tells me it will. So fingers crossed, I hope I like what I see when I look in the mirror.

Mind you, I had this same experience when I got the card for 2016, except then I was terribly nervous and super excited. It wasn’t a bad fit at first, but soon it started to squeeze and cling in the wrong places. Turns out I was having a growth spurt and much like a child it wasn’t fun or without it’s emotional hassles. I had aches in places I didn’t know could hurt and pain in areas that used to be my comfort zone.  Thankfully God through different people and situations swept in like Calpol to soothe my year of growth. I didn’t stop growing, and the pain didn’t stop but the hazy blinding effect was cleared and I could visualize a grown up me in a better tomorrow. Looking back now I am thankful the thirty days return period had waned before the growth spurt started, thus I had to resign myself to getting back into shape.

This time around I have decided to be level headed and calm. To hopefully embrace every turn with a deep seated level of internal calm and positivity knowing that whatever it is and however long it lasts, be it a joyful or tearful event it shall never outlive these famous albeit cliché words:

…this too shall pass…

And on that note I extend a warm virtual hug, smile and handshake to everyone who reads a page, follows my blog,leaves a comment, or simply passes through; welcome to 2017, the year that isn’t quite an adult but isn’t so much a child any more. A year of immense possibility ….. a quest for a true identity. 

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Foiled

I read the mail each morning sitting by the bay windows. 

Mother often sat with me, she said the sunlight was at the perfect angle for reading. I sat here for the perfect view of a chiselled face firmly balanced on shoulders which would cast a shadow on Samson’s.

If only I could switch his body with that of prince Charming, now won’t life just be perfect. Hiding my wanton smile behind the mail, I turned my attention to the mailed responses to my summer soiree invite.

The first was from Ariel, was there really a point in opening this one?

There was no chance of Ariel making it to the soiree, poor girl, living on a tiny island oceans away from civilization. The voyage across was difficult, Ariel only crossed it once a year, she would just have reached home by the time the invite got to her. Good riddance if you asked me!

My smile crescendoed to a snarl as I read her response.


In response to the writing challenge flash fiction for aspiring writers hosted by Priceless Joy click on the link to visit the blog. The photograph is from the lovely Louise @ a storyteller’s abode (interesting photo can’t wait to see all the stories it inspires) and the challenge is to write a 100 – 150 words (+/- 25 words) story inspired by it. Do click on the link for other stories. 

Banished

Contrary to the mainstream version of the three little pigs story, the wolf had no interest in eating the pigs. His plan, however less gruesome was still devious; he banished them to desolation behind fortified doors.

Piggy: bedmate to Lazarus

Piggylyt: floor manager robbers den.

Piggylyte: Lab assistant Merseyside morgue.

One can only imagine the chaos that ensued with the words

Lazarus come forth!

Open sesame!

And the knock knock joke by the coroner!

It was all oinks and shrieks.

As for Mr fox his inept spells has him trapped in Piggylyte stone fortress lost forever in fairytale land.

PHOTO PROMPT © CEayr


Written for Friday fictioneers a writing challenge hosted by Rochelle. The picture was provided by the lovely CEayr the task is to write a 100 words story inspired by it. Thanks Rochelle for hosting the challenge. Thank you for stopping by… do click on the link to read other stories.

Making room

Cereal cupboard extreme left; six different brands, two packs of each one. 

Walking across the polished floor giving each cupboard a thorough check, taking care not to slide, Marion smiled there was so much space. Who would have ever imagined she would own such an elegant kitchen? Well Niall had, he had always wanted more space. 

Gone was the single shelf with everything they owned stacked on different layers;tight squeezes to get in and out, accidental finger hellos and smiles as they helped each other squirt ketchup or mustard across the plate.

She missed those days, but it felt good to walk freely without bumping into something or someone.There was no doubt Niall was enjoying the space at least he hadn’t complained since she last saw him in the basement.

When he asked her to give him space in his heart, she knew it was time to throw him out of hers, with no chance of  resuscitation.

There were benefits to having so much space after-all.


In response to the writing challenge flash fiction for aspiring writers hosted by Priceless Joy click on the link to visit the blog. The photograph is from the lovely Maria @ doodles and scribbles (interesting photo can’t wait to see all the stories it inspires) and the challenge is to write a 100 – 150 words (+/- 25 words) story inspired by it. Do click on the link for other stories. 

 

 

Gaping love

She asked,

Where are the scars on your heart,

the bruise on your soul.

Where are the welt marks on your back,

the weeping ulcers on your heels.

A prove of

how far you would walk 

how much you would endure 

how much you would weep

if you lost my love

He replied,

I would walk the deep to prove it to you

But I wonder, would your heart let you recognize it?

Would the image in your mind 

embrace the image before you?

Perhaps your soul craves a martyrs love 

before the love of a mere mortal.

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Watered jokes

“Have I you about the man who turned bright red when I gave him a ticket?”

“Bright red? Nope you’ve never told me about that one.”

But off course he had. 

“Well you see, a  flood the night before had moved his car into the wrong parking zone. Being the proverbial clown I gave him a ticket and told him to invest in a flood proof car next time.”

“I guess the flood dislodged his sense of humour.”

“It sure did.”  Hearty laughter filled the air.

The scene and story never varied.

His humour was intact unlike his memory.

PHOTO PROMPT © CEAyr


Please bear with me I am still having issues with my computer but will undoubtedly find a way to catch up with everyone’s story and blog over the weekend.

Written for Friday fictioneers a writing challenge hosted by Rochelle. The picture was provided by CEAyr the task is to write a 100 words story inspired by it. Thanks Rochelle for hosting the challenge. Thank you for stopping by… do click on the link to read other stories.

Relational aggression a mask for bullying

Definition: relational aggression or abusive relationship is a type of aggression in which harm is caused by damaging someone’s relationships or social status. 

Children attempt to inflict harm on peers (i.e. aggressing) in ways that destroy or damage shared goals within their respective gender peer groups. According to research boys have been shown to harm others through physical and verbal aggression (e.g., hitting or pushing others, threatening to beat up others). These behaviors are consistent with the types of goals that past research has shown to be important to boys within the peer group context, specifically, themes of instrumentality and physical dominance (see Block, 1983, for a review). However, for girls the focus is on relational issues centered around social interaction e.g., establishing close, intimate connections with others. This might include actions such as angrily retaliating against a child by excluding her from one’s play group; purposefully withdrawing friendship or acceptance in order to hurt or control the child; spreading rumors about the child so that peers will reject her. 

We tend to excuse this behavior in adolescents as well as grown women with different gimmicks: girls will be girls, sharing common goals, click of friends. I don’t have much of an issue with these labels but they shouldn’t be an excuse for abandoning our humanity, basic courtesies or the salient law of treating others how we would like to be treated.

I found this article ‘girls-and-their-frenemies’ on the topic very informative, one to discuss with my daughter in the future. Do click on the link.

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