The Pillar

This week's prompt from Velvet Verbosity was the word pillar. The challenge is to write exactly 100 words on this topic, in any form you like. In my mind, I saw a pillar standing alone, rising out of desert sand. I wondered why it was there; then, all at once, I understood. Read my story to find out the answer.

The Pillar
Gawen sweated and struggled, setting each segment in place, but finally the pillar stood, alone in barren sand. By day he lived in the hidden chamber of a cave nearby. The pillar served as he’d planned, a spot travelers could find again. Some hoped to avoid tax collectors, others didn’t like bringing all their cash into the city. By night, Gawen crept out to dig it up. In three years he had enough to buy Morgan’s freedom, pay their passage to Albion, and secure their future.

The archaeologist scratched his head. “Who put this here, and why?” He never learned.

Treasures

This week's prompt from Velvet Verbosity was the word treasures. The challenge is to write exactly 100 words on this topic, in any form you like. I thought of all the word brought to my mind, and wrote this poem which catalogues my own personal hierarchy of treasures. Perhaps some of you will have the perspective to understand.

Treasures
Stacked banknotes,
Stock certificates,
Bonds.
Paper reminders,
Promises easily broken.
Elusive, illusory wealth.

Finely-wrought gold,
Diamonds blazing purest fire,
Carven jewels,
Rubies, emeralds, sapphires.
Ivory graved in darkest ink.
Oddly stamped coins,
Heaps of silver,
Mounds of gold.
Ancient statues,
Clay vessels
Shaped by artisans long dead.
Bits of rare jade.
Solid, enticing.
Treasure.

Words,
Scribed, printed
Engrossed.
Meaning traced
On paper or parchment,
Bound, captured,
Shelved, available.
Storehouse beyond measure
Brimming,
Wisdom, imagination, thought.
Priceless heritage.

Curled shapes,
Furry flanks,
Whiskered muzzles,
Wide bright eyes
Glowing mischief, love.
Velvet paws,
Purring breaths,
Living cats.
More precious than everything.

City

I nearly missed this week's prompt from Velvet Verbosity. Last Wednesday, I developed heat exhaustion, and by the time I recovered, I figured it was too late. However, since I see the new post isn't up yet, I'll add this entry. The prompt was the word city. The challenge is to write exactly 100 words on this topic, in any form you like. This time, instead of a poem or a brief prose musing, I've written a short science fiction story for fun.

City
Our voices still as we enter the ancient village. Even crumbling, smothered with new growth, the ruins are impressive. I know the stories, how they choked on their own folly. I wouldn’t wish to live crammed in with countless others, to smother in the reek of endless fires.

Still, they had powers and knowledge I cannot imagine. They reached to the sky, they dreamed, even their failures scarred the earth for generations. I wonder what my ancestors were truly like. I crouch to study the figure the hunters found, tail outstretched for balance, but it is only a hairless monkey.



Read the explanation below only after you've thought about it, and really, really don't get it...



Oh, come on! Who do you think would take over the area around a city if everything fell apart. What creature does everyone associate with cities; the first to establish a symbiotic relationship with man without becoming domesticated? The city rat, of course!

And, yes, you guessed it, I'm not much of a city person. Forests, mountains, streams, oceans and meadows for me.

Final Hour

This week's prompt from Velvet Verbosity is the word hour. The challenge is to write exactly 100 words on this topic, in any form you like. This time, instead of a poem or a brief prose musing, I've written a short story. I find it more interesting to explore different forms, just as I enjoy seeing the different angles each contributor approaches the word from.

Final Hour
A short, sharp knock, the sound I’ve been expecting - and dreading - for months now.

A guard thrusts open the door, not waiting for my reply. “You have an hour to prepare.”

My goodbyes have already been said. If God has rejected my earlier pleas, all I can do now is accept His decision. I pick up my pen. So many ideas, so many observations jostling to escape before darkness erases them. Their loss seems sadder even than my own. Which shall I save? My pen wavers in midair.

Another knock, and the guards come in. How brief an hour is!

Elusive Ultimate

This week's prompt from Velvet Verbosity is the word ultimate. The challenge is to write exactly 100 words on this topic, in any form you like. I always enjoy seeing the very different responses each word provokes in different writers.

Elusive Ultimate
How often
We seek the ultimate.
How often
We proclaim it found.

Yet -
Is life long enough
To sift centuries of wonders,
Comparing, discarding, selecting?

Does any have insight enough,
To speak another’s mind?

At twenty,
Dreaming ultimate dreams,
Daring to hope
Fragile promise durable.
At forty,
So often weighted by
Doubled experience,
Dreams crumble, tumbling
Into nightmare,
Leaving only ultimate loss -
Which, too, may pass.

Future thoughts
Forever beyond view,
Chasms greater and stranger
Hide others’ minds unguessed, unread.

The ultimate -
Indefinable,
Unreachable,
Ultimately elusive.

Thus preserving,
Always,
More to seek,
Heights to strive for;
Ultimate fountain
Of hope.

Protection

This week's prompt from Velvet Verbosity is the word protection. The challenge is to write excactly 100 words on this topic, in any form you like. I find this challenge is a lot of fun, and different words draw very different responses from me. In this case, for those who don't understand the poem, I'm illustrating it, below, with a photograph of the place I had in mind, Fort Warren, on Georges Island out in Boston Harbour.

Protection
Sturdy walls of stone
Withstanding cannon’s recoil,
Shouldering dense green thickets,
Yet marked by something slight
As passing moments.

Amidst great guns firing,
Roaring deadly defiance,
Massive blocks of granite
Stood unshaken.
Beneath spreading roots
In thick soil awaiting hostile reply,
Roofs bear up unsagging.
Unyielding fortress,
Silent now,
Worn.
Not expected cataclysms of war,
Only time’s unceasing footfalls
Conquered island bastion.

Once blocking enemy ships
Astride harbour approaches.
Turning aside even thoughts
Of attack.
Now ignored, overflown
By aircraft, time’s little joke
On designers, builders.

Vital protection,
Outdated, abandoned;
Monument
To simpler years.
What bulwark can repel
Passing time?

Plastic

The latest challenge is up over on Velvet Verbosity. This week's word is plastic. I hope my thoughts will get you thinking, as well.

Plastic
Plastic, a cheap substance not inherently beautiful like metal or wood, breaks easily in use, yet refuses to degrade and go away when tossed aside to clutter up meadows and forests. At best an inexpensive, less satisfying alternative to better materials, the ultimate cost to our world is high.

Plastic, not real, not honest, not strong enough to resist pressure.

In neither sense is plastic a positive idea. Yet our society makes more and more from plastic, trusts it to do more; we vote for plastic leaders, idolise celebrities with plastic bodies and personalities. What does this say about us?

Against

This week's 100 word challenge at Velvet Verbosity features the word Against. Well, I'm against using the same format for every effort, so here's a poem for your (doubtful) pleasure.

Against
I cry out -
Against
Death and loss.

Against
Entropy.

Against the inexorable current of
Time.

Against
Cruelty and its craving:
Suffering.

Against
Lies luring us astray -
Politics;
Every party, every candidate -
Posturing,
Hypocrisy,
Good intentions soured, presented as fresh,
Cures worse than diseases,
Distortions of truth
Winning votes,
Betrayal of all
Who trust promises.

Against
Conformity,
Thoughtless obedience -
Slayers of creativity;
Hatred and intolerance,
Harsh enforcers;
Standardization,
Enemy of infinite variety.

Against
Greed,
Lust;
Which cultivate
Indifference to all
But their satisfaction;
Exploitation,
Pollution,
Destruction,
Bitter fruits of indifference.

Against
Rigid law,
Rules, regulations,
Injustice.

Against
War in any form.

Distraction

This week's 100 word challenge at Velvet Verbosity is on the topic of distraction (don't allow yourself to be distracted by the list of last week's entries, scroll down to the bottom). Well, I got so distracted that I wrote two entries, so I'll post both of them here for your amusement. One is a story, the other is, well...

Distraction

Eyes on the controls before him, Thurman struggled to concentrate on the reaction he was expected to monitor and control. Distraction is your enemy. They’d drilled that into him during training. Distraction kills. Making the continual necessary corrections was nearly impossible even with the reminder. One of the visiting bigwigs had brought an assistant, a tall, lushly built redhead in a dress that concealed little more than it had to. One glimpse left him hopelessly aware of her presence. She leaned over his shoulder, curious. Thurman had just time to think distraction kills as the fireball incinerated the control room.

Distraction

It is best to avoid distraction while writing, lest some catchy jingle such as Nothing But Gingerbread Left disrupt the flow of your thoughts. If you are distracted, the result may be a very good cat, with whole phrases or sentences nonsensical or out of place. If you do find yourself with nothing but gingerbread left, you may be forced to discard whole paragraphs you’ve written. It can be difficult to pet a purring cat in your lap while typing, or reconstruct your ideas later. A distracted writer is a catnip carrot. Only those who can concentrate should eat gingerbread.


A note for the curious: Nothing But Gingerbread Left is the title of a story by Henry Kuttner. In keeping with the theme, it seemed only fitting and appropriate to work this in as a tribute of sorts, although I didn't think of the story until I'd started to write the basic idea. The link leads to an article which tells more about the story, for those who don't know it and don't understand why it is so appropriate to reference. Finally, a Google search to find the article also revealed that Henry Kuttner may have adapted his jingle from a traditional marching cadence.

Velvet Verbosity 100 Word Challenge: Want

I recently became aware of an interesting blog, Velvet Verbosity, and an interesting challenge run there each week. The 100 word challenge involves writing exactly one hundred words on a one-word prompt. Those words can be poetry or prose, fiction or an essay. Nevertheless, writing exactly one hundred words, not one word more or less, is much more difficult than it seems.

This week's challenge is on the subject of "want". The top of the post features entries from the last challenge, on Eden, but if you scroll down to the bottom of the post, you'll find this week's word. I hope some of my readers will take up the challenge. My own entry follows, in bold text, with my comments on what I've written following it.

Want was all Michael had ever known, the one thing he understood. It was a mixture of cold and hunger seasoned with fear. Watching his brothers and sisters turn hairless and thin as sticks, seeing his mother’s dull eyes follow them as she slowly wasted away, every cell of his body crying out in want, he was the last of his family. He died alone, surrounded by their bodies. All the while, mocking the want that consumed him, food left Ireland’s shores to feed the demands of mercantilism. Experts agreed with the British politicians such inhumanity was the best decision.

Some of you may think this is melodramatic. However, such things happened in the late 1840s in Ireland, and happened all too often. Food really did leave the shores of Ireland while her people starved. Politicians really did think their theories were more important than human lives. Granted, this isn't a balanced account, but it is true history.

Half my ancestors came from Ireland. I could legally qualify for Irish citizenship, on two grounds. I don't know the exact experience of every family during the Great Famine, but as they were Protestant Irish, they were likely to do better than most. Notice that I don't say I agree with how Irish Catholics were treated; that was, however, how it was at the time. At least I do know my ancestors were poor enough they weren't busy making life difficult for Catholic families.

In addition, contrary to the myth that Protestant Irish families had no Catholic ancestors, I am aware that any family that lived in Ireland since before Cromwell, as at least one of my lines did, had Catholic ancestors and relatives, however much some of them hated to admit it. So those people who died were my people, some of them related to me, however distantly.

For the past several years, this episode of history has haunted me. I've written stories set during this time, and have several unfinished ones I'm working on. When I saw the word "want", this was the subject that naturally leaped out at me. Those who died in the Holocaust also suffered from want, but they suffered far more from other, more pointed evils. The Great Famine is, to my mind, the perfect showcase for want.

And, yes, this is how I tend to think of politicians and the experts who advise them. All too often, they are trying to do the wrong thing. Even when they try to do the right thing, they pass laws that appear as if they're doing something, but don't really tackle the tough problems head on. That's why I haven't been all fired up about the election; I suspect at least half my blogger friends could do a much better job than any of the candidates.

Cathy's Writing Challenge

About two weeks ago, Cathy of Cathy's Rants and Ramblings posted a story challenge. I signed up for this, along with the other bloggers listed here. The story was to be posted on 06 October, and the only rule was that it must end with the sentence; "An innocent victim of a lie told in silence."

Before you read my story, in the post below, I would like to apologise. After I signed up for the challenge, a minor family emergency consumed all my time. I didn't even have time to get enough sleep. So on the 5th of October, I had nothing at all written, I had half forgotten any ideas I had, and I had to write a story in a hurry.

I concieved this idea, and decided it was better than the half-forgotten ones I had come up with earlier. I wanted to spend more time editing it and getting it just right. I hoped it would read more like a pure legend from ancient Ireland. Sadly, I ran out of time, and this was the best I could do. I apologise to my readers for posting a half-edited story. That seemed better than no story at all.

Mary Anne of Life in Qualicum Beach

Dr. Jordan of In My Humble Opinion (4 parts)

Wolfbaby of Dreaming and Believing (2 parts)

Moof of A Moof's Tale

Kim of Emergiblog

KT of Kt Living

Difficult Patient of Ripple of Hope

Jasmin of Shadow Writer

Empress Bee Of The High Sea of Muffin 53

PK of Pearls and Dreams

The Laundress of Dirty Laundry

Amin of Write-Now

Who Wouda Thunk It of Another Day In Paradise

Brian of Truth is Freedon

At Your Cervix (R.N.) of at your cervix

Dr. A. of Dr. Anonymous

Ipanema of Under The Canopy

May of About A Nurse