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THOUGHT TRAVEL

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A prompt response for ~ Inspiration Monday: THOUGHT TRAVEL

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THOUGHT TRAVEL

by John Yeo

The only time I ever get sunburnt from exposure to the sun is when I am actually exposed to the damaging rays of the sun.

The images just keep flooding in. My mind is overwhelmed with devastating images of poverty and suffering on the other side of the world. I have witnessed the victims of an earthquake, struggling to free themselves from buildings that have imploded and tumbled down, after the effects of huge shockwaves, as the earth moved and split apart. Wholesale death and destruction following a demonstration of the frailty of man.

I have lived through the effects of extreme hunger gnawing away at the consciousness and giving rise to pains racking the emaciated body of a child who is screaming for her Mother. The Mother who is lying dead beside her on the sun scorched earth. Hunger brought on by drought and a lack of rainfall to provide essential moisture for the crops.

Wars have unfolded before me, fought with a venomous fury. Where the bodies of the brave are heaped together; where the combatants have struggled in unequal combat. The victors revelling in the unequal struggle as their far superior weapons destroy all before them.

I have watched in horror as a river bursts its banks flooding the land with huge waves that destroy everything in their path. Leaving a huge death toll of people and wildlife in the wake. Flooding the land, filling valleys with the forceful power of water that over centuries can erode rock. Water that makes the tears of the survivors invisible as their tears add to the flood that destroys all.

I have followed a raging inferno as a tempestuous fire takes hold and rages through huge forests, the flames turning everything in their path to ash. Fire that leaves no survivors, turning all life in its path to dust. People and animals alike suffering an agonising death.

My senses then experienced the ultimate shock of a family sleeping through a nuclear explosion leaving this existence in a pile of ash. The burnt, scarred, contaminated, radioactive survivors and their future of eternal suffering.

The only time I ever get sunburnt from exposure to the sun is when I am actually exposed to the damaging rays of the sun.

 

Copyright © Written by John Yeo ~ All rights reserved.

 

HEART CONTROL

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A prompt response for ~ Inspiration Monday: HEART CONTROL

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HEART CONTROL

by John Yeo

   He lay there dying, The bandits had left him for dead when they ransacked the wagon train, slaughtering everyone. We had been explorers, pioneers and settlers, peacefully penetrating this new land, he thought, dreamily semi conscious, drifting in and out of sleep.
    It was the deafening silence of the central interior of this vast deserted continent that got to him most. Mile after mile of sandy, fly-infested silence. The buzzing sounds of the wings of a multitude of flies, going about the business of survival, cannibalising and feasting on the detritus of millions of dead flies and other tiny creatures that had briefly lived and died here was the only sound that permeated the deathly silence. A cacophony of orchestrated wings, creating a symphony that quickly became drowned in the overwhelming background silence, Lost to the momentary awareness that consciousness allowed his limited human senses to suffer. Thrust into the background to be drowned in the interminable silence.
     He listened intently, there was another sound that seemed to be continually drumming in the background. A noise he was familiar with, a sound that was so close to him, he couldn’t pin it down.
The more he listened and tried to identify this alien but seemingly familiar sound, the louder it got. Always there, it resounded louder and louder to his annoyance, however hard he tried to ignore this persistent beat it soon became a crashing thump. The concentrated awareness of this beating sound began to play tricks on him.
What was it? This crashing beat that seemed so close to him that he was totally unable to resist paying attention to it.
    Sleep began to overtake him and dreamily he realised although the noisy beat was still banging away, the thumps were gradually getting softer, more irregular. Soon he could hardly hear them they sounded so weak and irregular.
Slowly a black cloud of unconscious sleep descended on his conscious mind and the beating thump was no more.

Copyright © Written by John Yeo ~ All rights reserved.

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PATTERNS

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A prompt response to ~ http://thinkwritten.com/category/creative-writing-prompts/

271. Patterns: Write about repeating patterns that occur in life.

 

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PATTERNS

by John Yeo

 

Patterns: Write about repeating patterns that occur in life.

   Tom looked hard at that sentence on the wipe board.

     “Hey Walter! What the heck does that mean, patterns? What is the good Shepherd going on about? I mean what on earth does he mean by patterns that occur in life?”

  Walter, commonly known to one and all as the Swot, scratched his head vigorously. Rumour had it, the more vigorously the swot scratched his head, the less likely it was that he would come up with an answer.

    “I dunno what Mr.Shepherd means Tom, I’m not too sure how the patterns that do occur, and appear to colour our lives could ever be visible. Take the routine of an ordinary day. We rise, we live our lives in our own separate, totally different ways. We sleep at probably different times, for different lengths of time. Yet a pattern of behaviour has been formed. We need to sleep and we need the awareness of the day to express ourselves in totally different ways by waking up.”

   “Hmm! That seems like a broad interpretation of the question, Swot. Surely there are no visible patterns that occur, I mean. How about birth? There are so many ways a person can be born into this world, surely you will never form a pattern out of birth?” Tom said, more puzzled than ever.

  After another agitated scratch of the knowledgeable brain cell carrier, the Swot replied. “Yet an actual birth is a part of a pattern that occurs and re-occurs all over the world, and has done since the birth of humanity, thereby forming a huge undeniable pattern of life.”

   “Oh! Wow!” Exclaimed Tom, “I see what you mean! That could also be applied to death, everyone dies in innumerable different ways. Yet the pattern is there. An ever expiring pattern of people’s lives coming to an end, through death.”

  Walter grinned wickedly and gently remarked to Tom. “I think I see a certain pattern of behaviour when I observe the good Mr. Shepherd, teasing his lambs, by leading them to intellectual slaughter. A habitual pattern of events that occurs with annual regularity.

Copyright © Written by John Yeo ~ All rights reserved

DREAMTIME

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A prompt response for ~ Inspiration Monday: FUTURE VETERAN

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DREAMTIME

by John Yeo

     Whenever I went to the village store on errands. Old Moses would always be there, sitting on his customary chair, delighting one and all with tales of the old days before the coming of the strangers from over the water. Tales of tribal practices and survival of the fittest in these vast, arid, dry lands. My all-time favourite stories would involve the running fights between his people and the heavily armed, over-laden, in-comers, as they traipsed through the bush, carving up the tribal lands into sections for themselves. Moses and his family were pushed further and further inland to take up residence in the harsh deserted hot dry interior of this huge land.

     The storekeeper, who was of mixed heritage, being the product of a union between a native woman and one of the incomers, would continually refill Moses’s glass with an endless supply of grog to encourage him and to loosen his tongue. Meanwhile the stores customers would sit in a circle on various upturned crates and other unconventional seating and listen avidly to tales of a wondrous life before the incomers arrived.

     Moses, tugged on his long matted hair and began to relay his latest tale. “One fateful day.” he began, “I was just a youth sitting around the bush campfire with the rest of my family, when there was a crashing and crunching of brush underfoot and a whole group of strangely attired newcomers appeared, brandishing some of their weaponry. Using sign language they roughly demanded food and water. The women of the tribe proceeded to fill some leaves with food and the strangers began to greedily eat the concoctions that were placed in front of them. Unknown to them we had eaten some bush tucker earlier and maggots were on the menu.
The strangers were directed towards the river bank to collect water from the river where they sat on a long log. I will never forget that day! The log came to life, and a huge alligator dragged one of them into the swamp, never to be seen again. They fired again and again into the water, emptying their weapons; we quickly overpowered the incomers then and left them by the river. I am old now, a veteran of many close shaves and wars. You and your children are the peaceful future of this wonderful land. Future veterans of your own lives and experiences.”

      “Moses have another cup of grog,” said the storekeeper bustling out of the door with a heap of supplies for some people in a truck that had pulled up.
Moses nodded his thanks and swallowed down the dregs of his first cup, handing his empty stained mug over to a young man, who helped around the store.

     “Moses,” I said interestedly, “You mentioned you were a veteran of your own experience and we are the future veterans. Where are the veterans of the past? “

     “Gone to the Dreamtime to be with many generations of once future, now long gone veterans.”

  I was forced to think about this.

Copyright © Written by John Yeo ~ All rights reserved

LITTLE BOY BLUE

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A prompt response for ~ Inspiration Monday: BLUE WITH ENVY

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Inspiration Monday: Blue with Envy

LITTLE BOY BLUE

by John Yeo

  Phillip and Jack were brothers, brought up in the privileged environs of the Surrey stockbroker belt, the brothers lacked for nothing. Father was a wheeler and dealer in the markets, Mother was a medical scientist employed by the local general hospital. Both boys attended nursery school together, then had private tutors right up to their years together at University.
    Yet, there were subtle, if not blatantly obvious differences between the two brothers. Stature was the obvious outward difference, Jack the elder of the two boys, was taller, more successful at attracting the girls, and seemed to be popular with all their school fellows. His passage through the hallowed halls of learning was cushioned and seemed easy all the way.
     Philip the younger sibling was always in trouble with someone, he had to fight his way through every situation that fate presented. Philip was six inches shorter than Jack, and aggressively aware of the obvious disadvantages that his stature seemed to confer on him. This sensitivity to his short stature was the trigger for some harsh retaliation to the many cruel jibes of his school fellows. Philip’s envy of his brother turned to an ingrained hatred that secretly burned with an eternal flame.

    Both boys became members of a rock group in university. Philip became known as Little Boy Blue and he played a horn, extremely well. Jack became the lead singer, known to all as Golden Boy.
   There was a memorable time when the brothers were together on a trip to India, the amazing lifestyles of the natives and the culture of Mother India, fascinated the two young men. Their Mother was descended from a large spread out family of high caste Indian people and they were overwhelmed with invitations to visit their many uncles and aunts spread out all over the subcontinent.
   Their Uncle Prahib was a mystic and his wife Sarita was a visionary who was very attuned to the auras that people exuded by their personality. The day arrived when the two brothers were introduced to the family.
Prahib was friendly and benevolent and welcomed them to their home.
     “You are so like your Mother Philip, and Jack you have inherited your Father’s looks and bearing!” 

     Sarita smiled, then suddenly went pale almost in shock. “You two are really brothers?” she questioned. “Your aura’s are so unlike each other. Jack; I see a golden cloud surrounding you. The path for you has been paved with golden opportunities and your future is enhanced by a rosy hue. Philip; I am frightened for you: You have a shocking blue aura that reflects your ingrained envious hatred!”
Philip blushed and ran from the room to the garden where he sat alone.
     Aunt Sarita and Uncle Prahib, were soon with him. Uncle Prahib, the mystic, said,
“Little Boy Blue, come blow your horn and stay with us here in Mother India.”

Copyright © Written by John Yeo ~ All rights reserved.

 

 

PICTURES IN THE SKY

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A prompt response to ~ http://thinkwritten.com/365-creative-writing-prompts/

  1. In the Clouds: Go cloud watching for the day and write about what you imagine in the clouds.
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Image ~ Courtesy of Pixabay.com

PICTURES IN THE SKY

by John Yeo

    Peter and Pauline had climbed to the top of the steepest hill in the district, Old Tom’s Tor, the view from the peak was stunning, fields, mountainous valleys, and verdant green forests spread out before their eyes.

    Peter flattened himself on the soft green grass and lay back, enjoying the opportunity to rest in the glorious sunshine.

   Pauline laughed and joined him on the ground.  ‘This grass is so soft and comfortable we will have to be careful we don’t fall asleep in the warmth of the sun, look at the colourful wildflowers growing unruly and freely  all the way down the steep slopes: Beautiful!’ said Pauline.

     ‘You’re so right. Pauline, what a wonderful place; look at that sky, blue as sapphire, with milky white and creamy clouds scudding across freely. I can see shapes in those clouds, can you make out a flying horseman, led by an angel with her wings spread out.’

    ‘Yes! Oh yes, Peter! Isn’t that a wonderful sight? I must grab my iPhone and take a photo…Oh no, it’s changed already!… Do you see a map of the world? Britain and the United States are closer together on the sky map. The divisions between the separate continents and peoples are all blurred. That huge cloud breaking in from above seems to be taking control.’

      ‘Yes, Pauline that’s right a continual reflection of the changing patterns of the future! Look again and the picture is one of the powerful elements merging and becoming one with each other. The separations seem to be gone and the sapphire sky is the backdrop to an ephemeral forecast. Look flying birds with their wings outstretched chasing the dawn of a new age.’

    ‘Peter it’s getting late, we must make our way back down the mountain now, before dark sets in.’

     ‘Pauline I have a question for you; this magnificent background is the perfect place to ask. Pauline, will you marry me? We can be wed here, at the top of Old Tom’s Tor. I will arrange for a priest to marry us here. Please say yes.’

     ‘I thought you would never ask.’  laughed Pauline.

Copyright © Written by John Yeo ~ All rights reserved.

 

ARTISTIC DECAY

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A prompt response for ~ Inspiration Monday: ARTISTIC DECAY

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ARTISTIC DECAY

by John Yeo

  We ran down the platform at top speed, the train had been sitting in the station for at least fifteen minutes.

  “C’mon Betty! Keep up, we mustn’t miss the train, I’ve been waiting so long to get this interview over with. Means a lot to both of us.” Joe said, literally tugging her along.

 “Alright Joe, I’m coming! Please don’t pull my sleeve like they. You will ruin my new coat, I bought it especially for this college interview. It will be great to go to the same Art college together.”

 “Wait, please wait!”  shouted Joe to the Guard who stood on the platform with a flag and his whistle, which he raised to his lips ready to set the train in motion. He smiled as the young couple dashed up and jumped into the nearest carriage.

  “Phew, that was close!” Joe went on, as Betty collapsed in the nearest seat to the door. The train soon pulled away from the station into the leafy countryside speeding through the rural beauty of England on the way from their hometown of Ware to the city of London.

It was then that they took notice of the other two passengers in the carriage, an elderly gentleman with a smartly dressed young lady, both were politely smiling, as Joe and Betty settled back into their seats.

 “Look at that wonderful view Joe,”  said Betty. “Beautiful farms and country houses set in acres of rolling countryside.

Joe grunted in reply, as he put his head down studying his iPhone intently.

The closer they got to the city, the more derelict and decrepit the buildings looked as the large blocks of flats and terraced houses with washing lines on the balconies, became views of factories and industrial units. The buildings were covered in graffiti; an amazing variety of shapes and patterns and pictures that seemed to accentuate the general state of urban decay.

Betty was shocked at this change of scene. “Joe, that’s disgraceful, look at that shocking rubbish and abandoned litter, piled around the buildings and the graffiti all over the walls!”

Joe looked up from his device and said, “Betty, I hate the rubbish and the piles of junk all over the place, but I think some of the graffiti is good and actually has the effect of brightening up the urban landscape.”

 Betty then replied, “Joe that graffiti is mostly rubbish and has no meaning, just block initials and hearts and zigzags.”

There was a polite cough as the elderly gentleman in the opposite corner of the carriage broke in. “I beg to differ, young lady, the graffiti is an example not only of urban decay it reveals the underlying artistic decay of the population. This is an example of youth expressing themselves in the nearest they can get to pure art.”

 Joe then looked closely at their traveling companion and gasped, “You are Sir Larry the television artist, who has made millions from art! We are off to college to be interviewed for our places.”

The young lady then smiled and said, “Sir Larry will be on the selection panel!”

Betty said, “I hope I haven’t put my foot in it by what I said.”

The gentleman smiled and said, “I am sure you will get a place, both of you, I am a prime example of Artistic Decay, I was a graffiti artist once a long time ago when I was young.”

Copyright © Written by John Yeo ~ All rights reserved

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ORIENTAL SNOWDRIFT

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A Prompt Response for Flasher Friday

This is my response to a prompt from Our Write Side to their Friday Flasher prompt. A short story in no more than 500 Words using four elements.

  • Place: Japan

    Character: the new guy

    Object: an ashtray

    Weather: drifting snow

 

ORIENTAL SNOWDRIFT

By John Yeo

   We are an exclusive club of travelers. Our writing fraternity has visited a different exotic venue each winter for the last ten years. We have been to the ends of the earth in search of inspiration. We explore an unusual destination, then write like crazy for a fortnight using our holiday destination as a backdrop.

    We decided to holiday this year in Japan, It was Harry, the new guy to our group. who had the idea of visiting Hokkaido, I can clearly remember when he addressed the group at our annual meeting.

 “Thanks to the prevailing cold winds from Russia: Hokkaido, Japan’s northernmost and second-largest island usually gets a good dumping of snow. Sapporo, Japan’s fifth largest city, hosts a magical snow festival that attracts over two million people every year in February to see hundreds of snow statues and ice sculptures.”

There was a generally positive reaction to this idea.

Jim Trimble the chairman responded with, “Yes, I’ve heard of this massive unusual event, we ought to get some great inspiration from the displays and the atmosphere there.”

 Peter Drake our secretary and treasurer looked up from the laptop he had perched in front of him on the table. “Sapporo is within our budget and has some interesting features to visit whilst we are there. I can probably get a good deal if we book early,”

“Any questions, or alternative ideas?” asked the chairman.

Millicent Summers, then asked, “What is the temperature like there in February,?”

“Cold!” said Peter

The chairman then asked for a show of hands and the decision to visit Sapporo was carried unanimously.

That is the background to how we found ourselves marooned in a luxury hotel in Sapporo after a freak snowfall had dumped ten inches of snow on this part of the city causing widespread chaos. With devastating snowdrifts piling up, bringing delays to all transport, thousands of people were stranded at the airports.

 We were called together to be questioned by an officer of the Japanese police investigating the murder of one of our fellow guests, an Australian man who was traveling alone had been found dead in his hotel room with a severe wound to his head.

 The investigating officer arrived with two colleagues and began to question all of the hotel guests individually.

The police made an arrest and left with the suspect in handcuffs. We were shocked to discover that Harry, the new guy in our club was under arrest for murder.

 

Jim Trimble said the evidence was cast iron as the victim had been assaulted with one of the large heavy glass ashtrays that can be found in every room throughout the hotel. The only missing ashtray was from Harry’s room, this was almost incontrovertible evidence.

Millicent was soon on the case, and angrily cornered the night porter and questioned him vigorously, she hated to admit Harry had spent the night with her.

 Harry was quickly released from custody; an innocent bystander in a planned assassination.

 

(498 WORDS)

 

Copyright © Written by John Yeo ~ All rights reserved.

Friday Flasher

Follow this link To comment:  Join in and have fun

http://ourwriteside.com/friday-flasher-japan/

 

THE POSTMAN ALWAYS COMES EARLY

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Stormy Paper man ~ (Image courtesy of Pixabay.com royalty-free images)

A prompt response for ~ Inspiration Monday: Paper Storm:

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THE POSTMAN ALWAYS COMES EARLY

by John Yeo

  Mr. Blake, a mild-mannered clerk had worked for Power Bros. for 25 years, a dedicated regular employee, who had been extraordinarily loyal to the firm for a quarter of a century.

It was Monday morning in the Blake household, everything was in a turmoil after the weekend of peaceful pursuits that were important for keeping the balance of their minds in sync, with each other and the world around them.

Mrs. Blake got up and prepared the usual breakfast, as was customary, she took the tray into the dining room, together with the morning paper and the post. They always said how lucky they were having an early, reliable postal service.

   “Here you are, George! How did you sleep, darling? I found it so hot last night, I never got a wink, just tossing and turning.”

George grunted a response and examined the envelope that was on the tray.

   “Hmm! Looks like a letter from Head Office. That can wait until after breakfast, it’s probably just a circular; something that is going around all the branches. Those eggs and toast look wonderful, thanks, Beryl.”

 Beryl sat opposite and began to eat. “I must send some flowers to next door, Nicky comes out of hospital today with the new baby, just a little something to welcome her home.”

  “Of course darling, good idea! Jim and I were on the golf course together on Saturday. That is one proud Father! They are a lovely couple, we’re lucky to have good neighbours like that.”  responded George.

Beryl then bustled off to the kitchen with the dirty plates.

George idly picked up a letter opener that Beryl had thoughtfully placed on the tray and slit the letter open along the top.

As the realisation of the contents slowly seeped into George’s consciousness, he first went white with shock and horror, then his pallor changed to an angry red.

Dear Sir,

I regret to inform you that due to falling sales, your services are no longer required by, Power bros. May we take this opportunity to

thank you for your loyalty in the past and wish you every success in the future.

Yours sincerely,

G. Power

 

   “What’s up, darling? You look upset,” said Beryl who had just that minute re-entered the room.  

“It’s nothing Beryl, darling,” said George quickly stuffing the letter into his inside  pocket. “Where are my keys? I need something from the shed.”

 George ran every red light on the journey to work as he just got angrier and angrier with this cold-hearted treatment. To be summarily dismissed after 25 years without a reasonable explanation was inexcusable in his view.

 George stormed into the office waving the letter and in defiance of protocol, he entered the office of the managing director.

“I refuse to take this summarily paper dismissal lying down Mr. Power. George had an old  pistol in his pocket that he was about to pull out.

 Graham Power had known George for years and was both shocked and puzzled at this display of out of character behaviour.

  

 “What dismissal George? Give me that letter please,”

  George angrily thrust the paper over the desk and furiously waited for a response. He guiltily felt the gun bulging into his chest as Graham Power smiled and said,

  “Sorry old chap there has been a mistake, this letter was not meant for you. I will look into the matter. Meanwhile, go to your desk, it’s  a horrible mix-up. A paper storm in a teacup.”

Copyright © Written by John Yeo ~ All rights reserved

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TECH SUPPORT

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A prompt response to ~ http://thinkwritten.com/365-creative-writing-prompts/

  1. Tech Support: Use computers or a conversation with tech support you’ve had as inspiration.
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    Image from Pixabay.com

    TECH SUPPORT

    By John Yeo

     

       “Hello!”

    “Hello! This is the tech department speaking, All,our engineers are taking calls at the moment, your call is important to us; please continue to hold, all calls will be recorded and may be used for training purposes. Meanwhile enjoy some tinny, robotic, royalty free music.”

    🎶🎵 🎶🎵 🎶🎵

     “Hello, this is tech support here, what is the nature of the problem? We can help in most areas of computer science at affordable rates.” Said a robotic, tinny sort of voice at the other end of the line.

     “I have a problem with my emails, the inbox is up to 5000 unread items and still they are flooding in. How can I stop this interminable flow of junk mail?” I asked.

     “This is the tech department speaking,  in the tech department. Please provide your credit card details, we will sign you up for our five-star service treatment, where we take full control of your emails and delete the junk from the important day-to-day effluence. We will then charge you a small fee every month to keep the unwanted flow down. I can assure you of our best possible five-star service in the future.” continued the robotic voice at the other end of the line.

    “Oh! I just need some advice at present, thanks. What can I do?

     “Stand on your head and count to ten, then eat porridge for breakfast, easy on the sugar, it can be deadly.” replied the robotic voice.

    “What? Are you serious? How the heck can that help to stop the flow of junk mail?” I. asked.

    “Well Sir, it’s all about the quality of the oats, they are capable of producing the necessary flatulence that can stem the abominable flow of excreted matter.” replied the tinny voice.

    “Look here!” I responded aggressively. “I am becoming somewhat miffed at your insolence. I am asking for help here not for your unwanted nonsensical comments.”

    “Please calm down Sir! Try frying your eggs sunny-side up when you next eat breakfast. Works wonders when it’s raining.”

    “Are you joking? You stupid inconsequential idiot! What’s your name? I intend to report this to your head office!” I shouted now getting madder than ever.

    “May I suggest you do the splits on a live rail at the nearest tube station Sir.” carried on the voice at the other end of the line. “My name is Tobor, I am in charge of communication at the moment, all my superiors are either in a meeting or at lunch at the moment. Kindly provide your credit card details and all your computer passwords to enable any repairs to go ahead.”

    “Right I’m hanging up this phone now Tobor. Your superiors will be hearing from me!”

    “Thank you, Sir, your call is important, we look forward to hearing from you again soon. Have a nice day!”

    Copyright © Written by John Yeo~ All rights reserved