('Compass' Sept. 9-11, 2016)
After a silence of what seemed like eons to the poor starving artists in their garrets and/or man caves (and even in a multitude of lady abodes as well) (but was in actuality only seven months ago when clear new directions and links were generously given to all), the mighty pen of WO was heard to scratch again... at last! The collective sigh could be heard around the world, and in fact, near wobbled the earth off its precarious axis, it was so strong and heartfelt.
With a nautical flourish, the all-powerful WO burst back upon the scene with humble (or similar) apologies for the unprecedented delay that had been responsible for adding to the wakefulness of Insomniacs Inc. and raised stress levels of those who had slept fitfully, only to awaken to absolutely nothing there.
In vain the artists had cried and gnashed their teeth and bitten the bullet as they tried valiantly to go about their normal day. But there was something missing from their lives. They tried muesli, bacon and eggs, raisin toast... even stronger coffee (until the teaspoon melted), but nothing could replace that missing link. They looked up the weather, read all the news, played a computer game or ten - anything to have their fingers on those keys.
One intrepid soul tried to fish around for a solution and a rumbling gasp of joy rolled around the world. A catch, of sorts. At last! And just as the wheels started slowly turning in imaginations everywhere, and basic words began to string themselves together to meet this new and quite exciting challenge, the great WO spoke (or wrote, actually) his explanation.
He tells us even the might of WO was no match for the 'Masters of Cross Country Flight' (yes, that's the name he called them). Seemingly, Seattle was in a stranglehold of some unforeseen, formidable force forbidding the flight from lift-off. The destination of New York was as unattainable as a red dirt landing field in the back of beyond, Downunder. The reason has not been revealed for this sad state of affairs, but as THE Holy Grail 'prompt' is compass, followed immediately by the word malfunctions - well-ll-ll, what can I say?
Poor WO! Lost and directionless - NOT somewhere in the loftiest of stratospheres - but flat as a tack on the ground at the Seattle-Tacoma International, in the company of some 30+ million other passengers they transport a year. Oh dear, WO. Just a grain of sand on the beach of the world, flapping about as helplessly as a fish out of water. Inexplicably, these words come to mind -
GONE FISHING. BE BACK SOMEDAY.
YOU ARE READING
Prompt and Circumstance
Short StoryA collection of tales I wrote to meet the challenges of the Weekend write-in Prompts on Amazon's writing platform, (the soon to close) WriteOn for Kindle. At around 500 words each, they are quick little reads to fill in a dull moment.
