July 3 prompt: ‘agree’
B-o-r-i-n-g
More old Bores found in South East
“Us? They’re talking about us?” I was shocked. Brand new to the area and this was the local paper’s so-called welcome?
“What a doozy you are,” hubby quipped. “They’re writing about our underground bore water reserves, silly.”
I sighed with relief until next issue –
Bid to shut up 750 old bores
Unconvinced, I thought I’ve talked too much all my life, but to be threatened like this? Agreed… still this one hurt… a lot!
And next day, I was left near speechless as the plot thickened with the news –
Boring Contractors Arrive
Photo by Sepp Rutz on Unsplash
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July 10 prompt: ‘crooked’
I Say Tomatoes, You say…
He wasn’t really a crook.
He wasn’t crooked in the sense of being a regular lawbreaker.
BUT—his dear old Nanna loved him so much. She would do anything for him.
Like nurturing a plant he told her was SO important to him, but it lacked care due to his working hours. Needed someone to talk to as well as its regular care.
“Tomato plants are like that, you know, Nan.”
And she nodded. And nurtured. And wondered, but only questioned once why no little green fruit appeared.
“Tiny cocktail tomatoes, Nan,” he said, hugging her.
NOT marijuana plants. NO!
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July 17 prompt: ‘straight’
Different Strokes
Percival Pencil had a maddening habit; a compulsion to threaten Alice A4 with severe lacerations from his repeated scratches and stabs.
In vain, Prudence Paperweight begged, “Don’t do it, Percival. DON’T ill-treat her SO heinously.” But Percival was deaf to pleas for clemency; ramrod straight in his resolve to display his special language.
Even when Ellery Eraser spoke up despite his normal null and void stance, Percival remained unmoved, his heart seemingly heavy as lead.
“She’s only a tawdry show-card,” Ellery remonstrated. “You were made for finer things. A manuscript for instance. But THIS cheap little advertising placard?”
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July 24 prompt: ‘inspiration’
You won’t Die Laughing
After his terrible motor-bike accident, the surgeons and neurologists told Gustav he had severe brain damage.
He unexpectedly quipped, “You MUST be joking.”
An unusual statement for most, but Gus was born in the country where ‘joking addiction’ was first defined and named… Witzelsucht.
It was true — Gustav’s wits ALL were such that he found humour in everything he perceived.
Even the bed pan had its moment in the sun when his wife visited, and with a deadpan face he said,
“Darling, it’s funny, but I don’t think my bed pan is the only thing that’s full of sh….”
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July 31 prompt: ‘confusion’
On reflection
“Are you sure?”
Swinging his head from side to side, peering around as if the solution would appear in neon lights somewhere; physical proof of the unbelievable, he frowned his confusion in no uncertain manner, rubbing his bristly chin all the while.
“It’s just not possible,” he gasped, taking the deepest ever inward breath; letting it out in the saddest sigh imaginable.
His gaze clouded, eyes seeking answers in his shadowy reflection.
A slackness dragged his lips down; eyes were dulled…
We shared the pain, the shock, the disappointment.
Wattpad had closed one of its mighty doors to us all.
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