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Weekend Writing Prompt #181 – Histrionics
SUNDAY 1st NOVEMBER 2020 ~ FLASH FICTION
HISTRIONICS
by John Yeo
Mary always dressed in strange clothes that were designed to attract attention.
With her scarlet hair, her purple hat, she was dressed to cause a sensation.
Mary talked Incredibly loud, laughing hysterically to deliberately flout convention.
Flirting outrageously, with tears of tension, histrionics were her pathway to stardom.
(48 WORDS)
FRIDAY 30th OCTOBER 2020 ~ POETRY PROMPT ~ ‘The birds didn’t go south for the winter’
TEMPORARY CATASTROPHE
by John Yeo
The birds didn’t go south for the winter this year
Since global warming started climate change
It was puzzling to see them remaining here.
~
Due to the heating up of the atmosphere
The unusual seasonal effects seem strange
The birds didn’t go south for the winter this year.
~
They changed their presence on the biosphere
Swifts and swallows were soaring their range
It was puzzling to see them remaining here.
~
The perpetual dawn chorus was tunefully clear
Insects remained to live in a strange disarrange
The birds didn’t go south for the winter this year.
~
Natural consequences would be surely severe
Science would need adaptation to rearrange
It was puzzling to see them remaining here.
~
It was mysterious to witness such abrupt change
Wings have ceased to fly the global sphere
The birds didn’t go south for the winter this year.
It was puzzling to see them remaining here.
~
© Written by John Yeo ~ All rights reserved.
~~~~~~
When I first saw this prompt l began thinking about the consequences of global warming on the whole of the avian family.
The heating of the atmosphere is such a slow insidious process that the consequences to birds wouldn’t be an instant event.
Obviously this would not be a simple matter for birds as migration is linked to food supply and food supply would have to increase to cater for the birds. If there could ever be a continuous food supply in one area for the birds that didn’t fly South and were able to survive, surely breeding patterns would change and there would certainly be an over-abundance of birds, thus putting more pressure on the food supply. A good subject for a poetic flight of fancy.
THURSDAY 29th OCTOBER 2020 ~ FLASH FICTION
This is a response to a Flash Fiction prompt from ‘Putting My Feet In the Dirt’, Writing Prompts hosted by ‘M’.
Which can be found by following the link below..
PROMPT ~ SIGNED, SEALED AND DELIVERED
SIGNED, SEALED AND DELIVERED
by John Yeo
The duel was to be fought at dawn between a celebrated army officer and a mysterious, anonymous man in black. Both men had professed love for the Lady Svetlana, a desirable Russian beauty who seemed to have deliberately played one man up against the other.
Captain Lewenski pointed the pistol and pulled the trigger. Everyone gasped as the man in black turned to the assembled witnesses and fell to the floor mortally wounded.
‘I leave without questioning?’ gasped the man as he lay dying.
At that point another shot rang out from a coppice nearby, and the Captain fell dead without a murmur.
The seconds shook hands as Lady Svetlana walked out accompanied by a retinue of attendants and minders.
‘At last we have cleansed ourselves of both these nasty double agents who have been responsible for so many deaths.’
‘They were duelling over your affections, my lady.’ said the taller of the two seconds, who had represented the Captain.
‘My affections lie with my country. This duel was fought for our survival. The order for the execution of the victor, was signed, sealed and delivered to me.’
Two further shots broke the silence of the cold morning light and both seconds fell dead.
‘Cleanse the remains!’ Lady Svetlana ordered coldly and an ox cart was loaded with four corpses.
©️ Written by John Yeo
RANDOM WRITING PROMPT
TUESDAY 27th OCTOBER 2020 ~ FLASH FICTION
You bought a memory foam pillow at a garage sale. Little did you know that it wasn’t an ordinary pillow. The pillow gave whoever was lying on it the memory of its previous users.
~~~~~~
by John Yeo
I’m a single man, living in a sparsely-furnished bedsit in a densely populated area of the city. It was pushing the bounds of reason to describe this place as furnished when I first rented it and I had bought many items to make things a little more comfortable from local charity shops and garage sales.
It was Sunday night when I started to feel odd. I remember suddenly waking with an urgent desire to visit the bathroom. I was feeling quite muddle-headed and I had to blindly force myself to remember where the bathroom actually was. I simply put this down to the result of a heavy-headed sleep and I got back into bed and tried to sleep.
I lay awake for a while and my mind began to drift over some odd subjects. I began to worry about getting caught and arrested by the police for my crimes. The criminal offences I was ruminating over were connected with money-laundering and extortion. I remember thinking they were just a series of ultra-realistic dreams. I brought to the surface of my mind a whole sequence of events and places where I apparently had lived and images of the people who were also involved in these criminal activities. Eventually I drifted off into a deep sleep until the alarm clock shrilled out and it was time to get up.
I dressed for work and stopped in a small local cafe for breakfast. The weird dreamlike experiences from the night suddenly came to mind as I sat and ate and I thought I recognised the area where I was supposed to have lived and committed my crimes. The house was much like a large detached place where I had stopped to buy some items for my flat from a nice lady who was having a garage sale to clear some unwanted effects.
I didn’t think anything else about the dream when I got to work as I was far too busy working on some intricate accounts.
I was shattered at the end of the day as I hadn’t slept too well the night before and I went to bed early, where I immediately fell into a deep sleep. I woke a couple of hours later and visited the bathroom, again I was unsure where the bathroom actually was and I seemed to be unfamiliar with the way things were situated. I returned to the bed and tried to sleep again, without much success.
My pillow was uncomfortable and I turned it over and over trying to get the memory foam to fit my posture. Then I remembered I was married to a lady named Jean and we had been wed for three years. My brother and sister were also living in our house temporarily but they had both recently left the house. Jean had cleared everything out from their rooms, dumped some junk and had a garage sale with some other items, in aid of a local charity.
I was heavily involved in a betting business where I made high profits from money-laundering and much besides.
The next day everything faded into the background when I woke and I dragged myself to work and over my lunch break I confided in my friend Shirley.
We decided to visit the house I remembered from my dream, on some pretext and check out the lie of the land. When we got there we found the house empty and shuttered up, the neighbour next door informed us they had moved overnight.
When we arrived at the office there was a message for me from my neighbour at home to let me know there had been a fire in my house and the whole two flats, including mine, had been destroyed.
Shirley and her husband immediately offered me the benefit of their spare room for a while until I was able to find somewhere to live.
Strangely, I never, ever, experienced those strange dream-like feelings again.
© Written by John Yeo ~ All rights reserved.
SATURDAY 17th OCTOBER 2020 ~ FLASH FICTION
PROMPT ~ Three words: Long lost brother.
by John Yeo
I was curious to find an unexpected visitor on my doorstep when I returned from work today. I encountered a man who looked about ten years older than me leaning up against the doorpost. He had long fair hair, with striking green eyes. His eyes were noticeable as he had a permanent squint and he wore a pair of rather large plastic spectacles. He was over six feet tall and towered above me as he gave an impudent grin and said, ‘Hi! Pleased to meet you. I’m Damion, your long lost step-brother.’
These words were delivered with a broad West Country accent. I was taken aback and I looked up at him and replied, ‘Are you mad? I don’t understand what you’re talking about. Get out of here before I call the police and have you removed.’
‘Hear me out and I will explain, I promise you we’re brothers, we have the same father, George Alexander. I was born in Somerset, where our father had set up a second home with my mother. I was the product of that relationship.’ This was said with the same impertinent grin.
I responded angrily, ‘You’re obviously mistaken Damion! You look nothing like me and I don’t believe a word of your story. Now get out of here before I call the police.’
He nonchalantly grinned and pulled a large envelope from his pocket and withdrew some photographs.
© Written by John Yeo ~ All rights reserved.
FRIDAY 16th OCTOBER 2020
This is a response to a Flash Fiction prompt from ‘Putting My Feet In the Dirt’, Writing Prompts hosted by ‘M’.
Which can be found by following the link below..
Today’s prompt ~ A PINCH OF PURPOSE
A PINCH OF PURPOSE
by John Yeo
Magwich, Megan and Mary had been friends for years. They’d all met up at Professor Merlin’s magical college in the depths of a root encrusted, mysterious, haunted wood. No one who graduated from this academy had any illusions about their future careers. They left as fully qualified witches.
Magwich was a tall slim attractive blonde, with blue sparkling eyes that had a habit of involuntary fluttering whenever she was concentrating. She wore her traditional black pointed hat at a jaunty angle that betrayed something of an impish sense of humour. Her parents were successful industrialists who hadn’t done much research when they’d sent her away to school. They were just happy to have her education completed at a school where she would be well looked after.
As a total contrast, Megan was born to be a witch, her parents were both steeped thoroughly in the magical arts and they knew exactly what they wanted for their only child. Her father was a practical working wizard who had enjoyed great success in curing people through his use of magical spells. He had been somewhat disappointed when he discovered he’d fathered a daughter, although he was genuinely proud of her. His wife Miranda thought the world of her bright, dark eyed daughter, with her long flowing black locks that hung freely down her shoulders. Megan was somewhat short and quite dumpy, which was a direct result of her mother spoiling her and over feeding her with tasty titbits from the family cauldron.
Mary, our third and most remarkable member of this trio of spellbinding witches was an individual character in her own right . She had bright reddish auburn hair and a fiery temper to match. Mary was an orphan. No one knew what had become of her parents, or indeed if she had ever bothered to be born to conventional parents. The story went that she was the offspring of an egg laying large black tabby cat and a red feral feline wanderer. Apparently they were shapeshifters who had been originally born in the shape of humans and were able to take the feline form at will.
Professor Merlin was seemingly an easygoing wizard who had educated many students over the centuries and inoculated them all with a sense of purpose. It wasn’t until you looked into his eyes that you realised there was a streak of steel running through his educational purpose.
Graduation day had arrived and Magwich, Megan and Mary were destined to become a coven in a far off nation, where they were to reside until they received further orders from the Professor.
Mary acted as a natural leader and she bluntly said.
‘Listen here you two, we haven’t been informed what this elusive sense of purpose is. I’m certain it’s not going to be pleasant for certain people and I need you both to be loyal and obedient to our coven. We are going to live in a place in the Black Forest in a country far away from here.’
Magwich flicked her blonde hair to one side, fluttered her right eye and spat on the floor. ‘Look Mary, I don’t take your orders but I respect your judgment. If we have to live together indefinitely I will do my best to tolerate you and your insolence but don’t push us too far.’
Megan scowled and nodded at these remarks and aggressively responded. ‘My Dad is an important practising wizard and he knows what this sense of purpose is. I have been shown the universal sign of a magical sense of purpose.’
With that she turned to Mary and administered a sharp pinch on her face that resulted in a scream of agony. Mary instantly retaliated and viciously pinched Megan back. Mary then savagely pinched Magwich and soon all three young witches were rolling all over the place pinching each other wildly, on the buttocks, in the face, literally everywhere.
Suddenly there was a loud shout as the Professor arrived and waved his magic wand and some sort of peace was restored.
‘I’m happy to see you have all administered several pinches of purpose to each other. Bear in mind you are all equal and I’m equally proud of you all. There aren’t any leaders among you. You will all work together or I will see you are reminded with some further unpleasant pinches of purpose. These will be stronger and more hurtful. Now go in peace and work together for the benefit of your coven.
© Written by John Yeo ~ All rights reserved
TUESDAY 13th OCTOBER 2020 ~ FLASH FICTION
COMMUNICATION
by John Yeo
Why do I write?
The answer to this question goes back many years to the dim and distant past to my school days. In the days when pens were dipping pens that scratched on exercise books using an inkwell that transferred thoughts to paper. I remember I was always in my element in the English class where my imagination was allowed to run riot as we were all encouraged to write short stories and poetry. My fingers would become stained blue and sometimes the blots of ink would reach my face as I bit the end of the pen in absent-minded concentration. Sometimes the teacher would read out loud one or two particularly interesting pieces of work for the benefit of the rest of the class.
I remember one young lad who wrote about his life at home and the bruises his Mum and him would sometimes receive on a Friday night when his Dad returned from the local pub full of drink and frustrated anger. This was a story that wasn’t read out loud to the class but involved the headmaster and the police getting involved to stop this violence happening.
It was then I first began to realise the importance of writing and the changes writing could effect in our lives.
© Written by John Yeo ~ All rights reserved.
PROMPT ~ You have a billion dollars in your bank account. How did you make it?
by John Yeo
I was fourteen years old when the seeds were sown for my fortunes beginning to arrive by the lorry load. My name is Sebastian Large, I am a self made billionaire and I put all my large fortune down to a combination of luck and hard work.
It was shortly after my fourteenth birthday when my Grandfather Albert died. This made me feel terrible and I remember crying myself to sleep, every night for a whole week.
Grandad was always a good friend to me and we used to laugh with each other whenever Mum and Dad took me to his house for a visit, which was usually about twice a week. Grandad was a tall man, slightly stooped in his shoulders with a shock of grey hair that was always unruly and usually in need of a visit to the barbers. He had bushy eyebrows and pale blue eyes that seemed to pierce through you to your heart. He was an ex-naval man, having spent over twenty years in the merchant navy on cargo ships. Grandad had been around the world many times over and he had a fund of tales and stories that he would relate to me almost from the day I was born. I loved hearing these wonderful tales of life onboard the trade vessels and the descriptions of the crews and sailors he had worked alongside.
Grandad was also a keen stamp collector and he had a roomful of stamp albums and stamped envelopes that he’d picked up during his travels. I remember looking through them with him many times, admiring the colourful square pictorial stamps from all around the world. Grandad would tell me many tales of the countries where these stamps originated from and how they came into his possession.
One day we were going through an album of old English stamps when Grandad suddenly turned to me and said,
‘Seb. When I take my leave of this world, I intend to make sure you receive my entire stamp collection. Take real good care of them and they will someday take good care of you.’
I laughed nervously and replied.
‘Grandad you will never die, I would miss you too much if you ever left us.’
Sadly a year later, Grandad died and I inherited thousands of stamps all neatly pasted into stamp albums and on many different sized envelopes. I kept them in one of the rooms in the house where they simply began to gather dust and spiders webs.
I left university with huge debts and a degree in creative writing and I soon discovered that budding writers weren’t paid much money. I suddenly had the bright idea to have my inherited stamp collection valued and perhaps they would raise enough money to pay my debts and start me off in business.
The day of the valuation arrived and I asked a couple of auctioneers to value the collection. Imagine my surprise when I was informed, Grandads stamps were worth hundreds of thousands of pounds at a conservative estimate. I was delighted when they were finally sold for close to a million pounds as there were some rare oriental stamps among the collection printed in gold leaf paint and some extremely early valuable English stamps.
This was my springboard to making me a billionaire. I invested much of this money in technology and oil shares and soon my fortunes rapidly increased.
However this wasn’t anything to do with the main income that led me to amassing my billion pounds.
No! I wrote down many of my Grandads stories and sold millions of books, some became films and plays and then several television series.
I became a considerably wealthy famous author and I bought and sold many mansions and even two private Carribean islands.
Yes I have a billion dollars in the bank, thanks in many, many ways to my hard working, seafaring Grandad.
© Written by John Yeo ~ All rights reserved
(I picked up this prompt from a site on the internet called freewrite.com I was at a loss as to where to find my subject for the day. I think this response turned out pretty well and I wrote the above piece in about an hour. The words just seemed to flow once I got started and I’m extremely pleased with the result.I intend to publish it on my WordPress site and expand the story later.)
(761 WORDS)
PROMPT ~ You and your ghost best friend are an infamous crime-solving team.
DEAD AND ALIVE
by John Yeo
It was 3 o’clock in the morning when my mobile phone shrilled into life by my bedside. I came to consciousness rapidly, still in the throes of a wild dream, where we had solved a huge case for a fantastic reward.
I’m Case Cassidy, a private investigator attached to the Mutual London Insurance Company. I have been called in to privately investigate some large life insurance claims where murder has been suspected.
Little does anyone know that I have a partner, I like to think of him as a sleeping partner. He doesn’t answer to a first name, just his well known name when he was alive which began with the letter ‘C’. He was a famous detective during his lifetime and I must say I’m glad to have him around.
‘You’d better get that.’ came the familiar Italian/American voice clearly in my mind.
‘O.K! O.K!’ I replied, ‘Keep your mackintosh on!’
I punched the button on the mobile ‘Hello! Yeah!’
‘Hey Case! This is the Insurance fraud controller. There’s been some new evidence on the Johnson case that we paid out on last week. We’ve had a tipoff that the beneficiary is at the airport now fleeing the country with some ill gotten gains. Try to get to the airport before he leaves and tail him until the police arrive to arrest him.’
‘I’m on my way!’ I replied and slammed my finger hard on the disconnect button.
C’s voice came into my head instantly. ‘I remember we met the suspect a month ago, I remember him vividly. A smarmy sort of a guy who spoke with a cut glass public school accent. I’ll fly over to the airport now and keep tabs on him while you jump in your beat up Peugeot car and negotiate the traffic.’
‘O.K, but haunt him with all manner of three dimensional interventions until I get there.’ I found then; I was talking to thin air.
The six mile journey to the airport was fast and smooth at that time of the morning. I was lucky not to encounter any police patrol cars on the way. I got through to a noisy, crowded terminal one when C’s voice came clearly into my head,
‘He’s in the first class lounge on terminal three. He is drinking champagne and looks quite pleased with himself,’
I headed straight over there and produced my ID card to the airport security man and approached the suspect.
‘Hi Mr Johnson! Fancy meeting you here, I remember you from a few days ago when you were in our office in Holborn. How are you? Are you off on a trip?’
C’s voice broke into my mind and said, ‘Tell him he’s under arrest for grand larceny and fraud.’
Johnson looked somewhat shaken as he replied, ‘No, I’m off to visit family in Spain.’
Meantime in my mind C was growling, ‘Cuff him until the police arrive.’
I replied to C in my head, ‘Look you know I’m not a policeman!’
I replied to Mr Johnson. ‘Nice, what part of Spain?’
C was aggravating my composure with his comments when I suddenly said to Johnson.
‘Oh one more thing! I’m making a citizen’s arrest and you are under my custody until the police arrive.’
Johnson tried to run but the airport security guard stopped him at the door.
The police arrived and took him away. C and I were arguing for ages over the way this case turned out.
© Written by John Yeo ~ All rights reserved
Prompt ~. Tell a story from your favorite era.
by John Yeo
I woke up in a haystack at the side of a large field near the village of Sparkwell. I’d run away from our home near Dartmoor after a pedlar had visited our village with the news that the Spanish were on their way to Plymouth with a huge armada.
My name is Jim Wilson, I’m 15 years old and I can hardly wait to get there and join the navy. My Dad and Mum wouldn’t let me volunteer so I’ve run away to join up. Oh! I think I may be in luck, here comes a hay wagon.
‘Hey stop! I need a lift. Stop!’
The driver slowed and turned his weather-beaten face towards me. He was wearing a worn black outfit that most farmers and their vassals who followed the Puritan religion wore.
‘Hop on the cart son; I’m only going about two miles along this road. Where are you headed?’
I started to climb onto the back of the cart but the driver signalled to me to sit beside him on the front. I answered his question with the single word Plymouth.
‘Plymouth! that’s about ten miles from here. Why are you heading that way?
‘Have you heard the latest news? The Spanish are on the way and I want to join the navy to help with the fight.’ I responded.
‘No! I didn’t know they were nearly here. I had heard they were on the way to invade England and King Philip wanted to inflict the Catholic religion on us. I’m sure the Queen has organised a fleet to meet them, but I know we’re heavily outnumbered by the Spaniards.’
I introduced myself and explained that I had left home and had spent the night in a haystack.’
‘Probably the one in the field where I stopped to give you a lift. I’m Farmer Frank, Have you eaten anything today? No, I didn’t think so. Why don’t you come to our farmhouse and share breakfast with my family. My wife will look after you and we can see if we can find someone who is heading towards Plymouth Hoe. That’s where you are certain to find the English fleet. I believe Sir Francis Drake is in command of the fleet.’
I was so grateful for his help, I couldn’t help smiling broadly, I thanked him by offering to do some jobs around the farm for him. He readily agreed to this and we were soon pulling up outside some ramshackle barns and outhouses where Farmer Frank unhitched the horses and I was shown where the fresh hay was. I filled the feeding trough and poured some buckets of water into the water trough. I enjoyed a substantial breakfast and met the Farmer’s wife Sarah and their two strapping sons Terry and Robin. I was then asked to clean out the pig sty and the stables to pass the time while Farmer Frank went to make some enquiries among his neighbours.
I set to work willingly and cleaning and clearing up after the animals while Terry and Robin went off to work in the fields. Farmer Frank was visiting several people in the neighbouring farms and didn’t return until late. I must admit I was feeling dead tired when it was time for our evening meal. Sarah the farmer’s wife had fed me a lunch of cheese and apple with a huge chunk of rough bread earlier in the day.
Farmer Frank said, ‘Jim, not good news I’m afraid; nobody is going towards Plymouth for a while, but you’re welcome to stay for a few days and earn some money working on the farm. You can sleep in the small barn’
I reluctantly agreed to this and I made my way there and settled in the corner on some warm hay. I was so tired, but you can imagine how much sleep I got when I heard the sound of bolts on the outside of the door getting drawn and I realised I was locked in and a prisoner.
I tried the doors but they were firmly shut and I desperately searched for an exit to enable me to escape. I found a boarded up window high in the barn and began to physically break the rotten wood that comprised the window frame. A barn owl had made a hole and I smashed my way out through this, to the consternation of the owls that were screeching loudly as I broke out. As I jumped through the hole and landed on a pile of straw ten feet below, the farmyard dogs began barking loudly. A lantern was alight inside the farmhouse as I hobbled away, having twisted my ankle when I landed. I hid in a huge water-filled wooden barrel and escaped across the fields before dawn.
I was fortunate to be picked up along the road by a pedlar who was heading into Plymouth. This man was a tinker who made a living selling and repairing pots and pans. A large red-faced friendly travelling man who was jovial and glad of my company. He introduced himself as Peter Potter. He was shocked when I described my recent experience with Farmer Frank and said he would spread the word everywhere he went for people to be on their guard.
We were both surprised to find Sir Francis Drake calmly playing bowls when we arrived. Apparently the Spanish were defeated by the weather. I joined up anyway and soon became a cabin boy on the good ship, VIctory.
© Written by John Yeo ~ All rights reserved
Bereavement single parent dad
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