DP: Uncanned Laughter – For the love of Toddledygoop

A misused word, a misremembered song lyric, a cream pie that just happened to be there: tell us about a time you (or someone else) said or did something unintentionally funny.

SAM_1475This is my sister’s eldest. We all call him Poena, but his real name is Lourens. I am lucky to have been there while he was growing up, since I lived with my sis and her husband for quite some time. He, along with his younger brother and sister, are my angels, my life and my love. 

Now, this particular kid, when he was about six, sever years old, came to me one day and asked if I wanted a “peophol-vrug”. At the time, I did not know what the word meant, and my sister explained to me that it was another, slightly inappropriate name for an egg.

“Poepholvrug” is an Afrikaans word, and directly translated, it would be something like “Butthole-fruit”. Hence, egg . . .

So, obviously, when she told me, I screamed and wet myself laughing.

I love you guys!!

 

You Were Never Part Of The Plan

You return home to discover a huge flower bouquet waiting for you, no card attached. Who is it from — and why did they send it to you?

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When I saw the flowers, I knew. 

There was no card attached, though I would have known what it would say had there been one. A card had always been unnecessary. 

I took a moment to compose myself, having no time to lay waste to undeserved tears. He would be disappointed if I were to break down now. Not when I’m so close to having end what I started so long ago.

I shrugged into my raincoat, took my bag, and left our apartment. I did not lock the door; I did not find it necessary. One way or the other, I would not be returning.

The streets were transformed into a kaleidoscope of lights and colours as I sped along the highway at high speed. The rain broke against my front window and the wipers were working double time in order to clear my sight. Regardless of the swirling light still shining in some of the windows, the surrounding buildings looked bleak and forlorn as the curtain of rain slowly drew to a close. 

Strange people, ignorant people sitting at their desks, unbeknownst to them that outside their refuge, all hell is breaking loose.   

I swerved left along an off-ramp, clipped another car, ignored its incessant honking, and sped towards the last building on the street.

I climbed out of my car, looking at the shunning lights that almost failed to spill across the gravel. The rain was hammering against my raincoat, and the sound was deafening.

I sensed guns on me. They knew I would come. The end is near. 

From the bag slung over my shoulder, I retrieved a hand grenade. It felt good. The cool steel burned inside my hand what my cold heart could not. Warm tears ran down my cheeks, but relented to the rain.

As I drew the pin and started running towards the building, my thoughts went back to the first time I met him.

He had never been a part of the plan.  

DP: A Bookish Choice – Even in Space

A literary-minded witch gives you a choice: with a flick of the wand, you can become either an obscure novelist whose work will be admired and studied by a select few for decades, or a popular paperback author whose books give pleasure to millions. Which do you choose?

322617“You can only pick one, love.”

I’d say both options seem attractive. Everyone would love for their work to be appreciated and studied for decades, even in obscurity, whereas everyone would love to receive well deserved compensation for the art they produce for the millions who extracts pleasure from it. The actual choice between short-lived and longevity?

I’m not one for fame and all that it entails, but if I really had to make a quick decision, I’d probably go for being the paperback author whose work gives pleasure to millions. Nowadays, it’s an easy choice to make without having to consider the other.

When I die, I’d like to smile at what I’ve left behind, knowing that great writing never dies. One day, when earth has gone and all that is left are stars and a good old spaceship on a mission, I’d like to have one of my books on board. Not because it brought me fame, but because everyone loved it so much, they had to have a copy.

If you want to dream, dream big, I suppose.

DP: New Wrinkles – An Odyssey

You wake up one day and realize you’re ten years older than you were the previous night. Beyond the initial shock, how does this development change your life plans?

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Life is full of twists and turns. At some instances it seem like you’re going nowhere fast, and the next you’re off on a great adventure.

Yesterday an earthquake happened, and today I am ten years older. Something is happening. Something big. I made my way to the window, the memory of the quake enlivened by a tingling sensation throughout my body, as if the aftershock got absorbed inside of me.

I was excited when it first happened, to say the least. And disappointed when it ended. It left me dissatisfied, as if I expected more. I wanted a profound change.

It’s uncommon for South Africans to experience an earthquake. It had to mean something. However, it ended, leaving me empty. On top of that, I am suddenly ten years older.

I tried to listen if I could hear the usual sounds from the kitchen as mum and dad went about their morning rituals. All was quiet. Not even a bird was chirping.

A bright, piercing light suddenly appeared in the middle of my room, dangling from the ceiling like a chandelier, although there was none. I backed into the wall, shaded my eyes from the glare, and groped for anything I could use to fight if that should become a necessity. I found the club my dad got me for my thirteenth birthday.

The light faded and died, and revealed a small, clothed being floating in the air. I swung the club towards it as fast as I could, but the tip only went through it. It opened it’s eyes – yellow, glowing orbs – looking at me disapprovingly.

“I could kill you right this second if you haven’t been chosen, young one,” it said, its English perfectly formed, though its mouth could as well have been a beak. “We don’t have much time. I suggest you drop that dangerous weapon and come with me.”

“Go with you? Are you out of your mind? I don’t even know what you are,” I screamed. Although going with it might result in the profound change I wanted, my basic instincts proved to make me set up arms. “What are you doing in my room? What is happening?”

“Why do I always have to burden myself with you petty humans? I am Zeel, and I serve as the escort to accompany the chosen one to make haste for battle. The situation is as follows: Because the universe consists of innumerable dimensions, one warrior of each dimension is chosen to aid the others when war has sprung. When the portal to your dimension opens, it is signified by an earthquake, like the one you felt yesterday. We can’t explain why it happens; it just does.”

“Are you telling me that every time an earthquake happens, the chosen one gets escorted away? All of these years of reported travesty caused by quakes and this is the truth? Why me? I mean, I am fourteen years old. Look . . . oh. No, I’ve aged. Have you anything to do with this?”

“Yes. The warriors aren’t chosen by random means. The universe itself chooses a suitable candidate, and seemed to have fancied you this time round. Of course, since you were too young to join in battle, the universe aged you to an appropriate age as to ensure unlocking all of your capabilities, such as muscle strength.”

“Wha- What about my parents? Will they be okay?”

“They will never see you again . . . unfortunately. Let us go, young one, time is stretching thin. Perhaps,” sigh “for my sake, this change will age your mind, as well, and stop these incessant questions.”

“Hey, no fair . . .”

DP: Think Again – Or not . . .

Tell us about a time you made a false assumption about a person or a place — how did they prove you wrong?03-20_home_fairies

Okay, so I tend to see all the good in people, all the time. When they turn out to be different, it does not entirely affect me. Perhaps a shrug is the worst I had dealt with since discovering someone’s true nature. Expectations. 

I have been friends with a Scottish woman and her family for quite some time now. I have met all of her close friends who truly don’t give a shit about who or what you are, besides that suddenly they have acquired a new friend, which is absolutely awesome. So, in this package I have met a rather odd girl, Afrikaans like me, who liked to clean the house while everyone else was outside having drinks and going crazy. She seemed lovely, beautiful, intelligent, but she was sad and withdrew herself from the crowd since her boyfriend was part of the group of friends. I really don’t want to delve into details, since it’s rather personal, but my assumption of her, though basically still the same as when I first met her, has changed and expanded considerably. For the worst, unfortunately. Although she is not a bad person, making bad choices ALL the time kind of moulds her into one. The sad part being, she does not stop although she is aware of the wrong she is doing.

Sad but true. I’ll get someone to ask the universe if it could somehow show her the right way 😉  

DP: Writer’s Block Party – Getting Out

When was the last time you experienced writer’s block? What do you think brought it about — and how did you dig your way out of it?angry1

I suppose this is what my face looks like nowadays when I see the Office Word Icon. I have been under the block for about four months now, and had just about enough space underneath to stick my fingers out in order to type a few words for the last three posts I added to my site. Perhaps I am gradually squeezing myself out to have a word filled breather, but I’m still keeping a leg under there. If I’m to be truthful, I suffer from a depression that only recently burst into fuller bloom. Although I know what depression is, it truly renders me incapable of enjoying the things I want to do most. I have not touched any of my art pencils in over two months. I have not written a word in four, and have been lounging about like a bear with a rotten tooth. Luckily, it seems that I am slowly stepping out of that rut, with just a change of mind. It only takes a choice, and music, to make getting up seem worth it. I started writing again yesterday. I finished creating a symbolic photo for a friend who loved it immensely, which in turn filled me with fire. I’m climbing the ladder again. 😀

DP: Edge of the Frame

Edge of the Frame: We often capture strangers in photos we take in public. Open your photo library, and stop at the first picture that features a person you don’t know. Now tell the story of that person.

This was taken at the first Rockman triathlon event hosted (if I can recall correctly) just outside of Oranjeville, RSA. It had been a sweltering, eventful day.
SAM_0693Of course, she went home that afternoon, wondering what it could have been that touched her behind so gently. Although she felt a bit violated, she felt elevated, as well. This was a mystery that had no explanation, but she decided to not dwell on it any longer. 

DP: Naked with Black Socks

Fear-of-Public-Speaking-image

Are you comfortable in front of people, or does the idea of public speaking make you want to hide in the bathroom? Why?

Photographers, artists, poets: show us PUBLIC.

Had a little oops! just now. First thing I do when writing a new post, is search for a photo or picture that might or might not have any relation to the theme. Using Google, forgetting that safe search is not activated, I searched for a ‘naked audience’ picture, and lo and behold, I got pornography. I NEVER suspected, by god. 😉 As I’m at work still, I quickly had to bash the computer monitor against the desk. Not really, but seriously, almost had me in a spot of humiliation.

To come back to the main theme, I don’t particularly like speaking in public, although I could do it if I really have to. I don’t even like to strike up a conversation with a stranger, let alone a hundred of them. My comfortable space is where I am alone, here on WordPress or the confines of the Microsoft Word Application, where I don’t have to see strangers look at me like some spaced out idiots, but I could actually read the stuff they post too.

Had a blast!

 

 

DP: The Cat Says Meow

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Write a story about yourself from the perspective of an object, thing, animal, or another person.

Me as seen from a friend’s clever dog, Kaiser, who has recently taken a great liking to me. Every time we go for a visit, we would sit outside, mimicking what the dog thinks at a particular moment. It’s quite funny and promises loads of entertainment, as he does so well.

Oh, my god. Oh, my god, he’s here. He’s here. Where’s my chicken, I want him to see the chicken. Where’s my chicken? If Domino’s playing with the chicken, I will be sad, for then I won’t be able to play with my new friend. Perhaps we could take a walk on the hill, and he could throw me some rocks? He likes throwing rocks. I like catching rocks. But I like the chicken more. I see my friend does not particularly like to touch the chicken, since it’s all slobbery and covered with wet dirt. Not my fault, though. Must be Domino’s. I hate that dog. He’s so busy all the time, and he snorts, which disgusts me. I try to ignore him but he’s all up in my face, licking me. One of these days I might change my soft snarl into a nip? But rather not; maybe then everyone will hate me. They try to keep Domino away from me, though, but he just keeps on bugging me. Even from a distance. Fanya keeps him on his toes, at least, showing him who has the authoritative power.

My friend is here, so nothing is going to bother me. I would not allow it. I will lie under the four-legged shade out on the veranda, with or without my chicken, the squeaky little darling, and I will lie in wait for him to pick it up and throw it somewhere so I could see the delight on his face when I fetch it. Sometimes I even manage to catch it while in the air. Then everyone praises me, which means I was good. I’m always good. Sometimes I can be naughty. Sometimes I don’t bring the chicken back to him, so he must pick it up where I left it. Keeps the game going.

I see my friend has taken the metal unlocker from the wall. The unlocker with the white ball on a silver rope. The one that, once inside the (must be the ‘locker’, then), opens it, and consequently opens the gate to the hill. He loves the hill. I adore the hill. I run all the time. Sometimes he would run after me, and he would throw rocks, so I could catch it and put it somewhere just outside his reach. Sometimes I would just look at him when he stares into the horizon, at the other houses and buildings. But I see he ignores those most of the time. The hills, on the farthest reaches if the distance between here and there, always seems so magnificent; over there where no building can be seen. Like him, I like the clean scenery too. Buildings are scars, no matter what the owner thinks.

He woke me up. I didn’t care. When they got home after their nightly excursions, my new friend came to me, put his arm around me, and hugged me. It felt good. I placed my head on his arm, as to let him know that I appreciate him. Although my bed is no place for my friend, it really is big enough for him to stretch to his complete length, which is the opposite of short. He fell asleep that way. I fell asleep. It was only later, when he began to shiver, that he left my side and slid under his own covers they’ve left for him on the couch. I like the couch, though I’m not allowed on it. It looks magnificent.

The next morning I was sulking. I placed my snout in his face, but he did not wake up yet. He sleeps like a wild bear, and the wet that dribbles from the side of his mouth is shiny. It’s interesting. I still sulked. By the time he woke up, I could see he felt a little sick. I did not know what they did last night, but that might be a plausible reason. Good! I’m still sulking. I was sad because they had to go. Domino was trashing my face again, and it felt like I could place a paw on his head and keep him there. I wanted to tell my good friend that I wanted to go with, but who would listen to a dog? Perhaps I will see him again some other time. At least he hugged me just before they went, and told me a secret, which made the chicken seem dull by comparison.

I was happy. He was happy – and sick. We’re all happy.

Chicken!

DP: Six of One, Half a Dozen of the Other

108676Write a six-word story about what you think the future holds for you, and then expand on it in a post.

Live, dream, fantasize, travel, sleep, findthefountainofyouthandneverdie.          –          .Get to know me a little 🙂

Live – in the true sense of the word. Use all your senses when you perform this act, including that elusive sixth. It’s a choice, and with any choice, you have to face up to the consequences, whether good or bad. I want to do that, every day, for while “I have air in my lungs and a few blank sheets of paper”, living life is awesome!

Dream – When dreaming, one might as well dream big. My dream (modified) is to travel the world (backpacking) and see everything there is to see, even from a distance; 100 Places You Will Never Visit. Dreaming are for those with a thirst for life.

Fantasize – I’m a twenty-four-year old who still loves to watch cartoons, whenever, and eat my cereal during nighttime. Stories is my life, writing and reading. Everyone’s life is a story. Perhaps the reality of this world (war, racism, distrust, all the bad things) does not accommodate my preference to fiction, fantasy, and that is why I push away from all that crap, and make my own. But what is ‘bad’ really? This event has ways to disintegrate, leaving you with alternatives, round the house and back into the front yard. A bad experience is nothing but the title of a choice you make.

Travel – One cannot live in the seclusion of your house, work, house, and still enjoy whatever the Internet offers you by means of pictures into which you cannot climb. Traveling, and seeing will ease that burden, even if it takes my entire life in its stride. It will be a journey, an adventure so much worth of discovering.

Sleep –  Returning to a bit of normalcy, perhaps no one loves sleep as much as I do . . . I guess for earning great stamina during the day, one must rest the body – for a few hours more than necessary. Gonna have to have that balance.

Findthefountainofyouthandneverdie – First of all, this is one word of my own making (temporarily), so as to stick with the six-word rule/guideline. I am not going to regard antiquated ideologies, set up by some moron who got the hang of being a leader, as rules/guidelines to influence the way I live my life. It’s not suppose to work like that, anyway. I am but one person, not a fledgling but a fledgling, perceiving the world and the way it works by my own terms, on my own time. However, to get to the content of the ‘word’, I think secretly everyone wants to live forever. Perhaps, after your body dies, something will stay; what that’s going to be, no one will ever know. But like I said, if one wants to dream, dream big, and realize that sometimes, dreams are not meant to come true. Just don’t let that keep you from dreaming and be the best that you can be in this one life, or many others after this one.