Paradoxically Yours...

Life's little Challenges

('life' - 7th July 2017)

Sometimes Life chooses us to be the the Main Characters in its tale of our corner of the world. When we get lemons, shall we make lemonade or cough medicine? Suck it up slowly and sweetly - or tolerate or even reject in its entirety?

But sometimes Life presents unexpected challenges called artists' inspirations and they take wing in countless ways. The writer is tempted to briefly put aside the demands of longer works, entering into the world of the '500-worder' at the end of his weary week - or maybe chooses another trial of his skill - the #CreativeSunday word list. Six words chosen by a random word generator, to build the flashest of fictions - but only for 24 hours! Have fun they say. Don't take it seriously. Impossible? Maybe, and yet it's appeal grows weekly. Maybe it's time to re-write those popular lyrics to say - 'Writers just long to have F-U-N!'

Look!

(angle/estate/door/verse/invention/crust)

No matter what Joe Bloggs tried in his valiant attempts to earn a crust, he ended up being shown the door. He found himself ankle-deep in unreal estate - even his sales pitch rhymes turned out the worst verse ever written. 'Blogs by Bloggs' just didn't cut it.

After a brilliant Eureka moment, Joe tried his hand at inventions, but his Fireproof Matches were a failure; Waterproof Teabags totally lacked flavour; and the Inflatable Dartboard didn't go off with quite the bang he'd anticipated. Reluctantly, Joe returned to a life of crime. At least that angle would earn him bed and full board for the foreseeable future.

(rumour/denim/dusk/switch/florist/dentist)

It was the barber who heard the latest rumour first (and they say women gossip?), and he told the florist over lunch, who knew she'd have great difficulty telling the dentist, so as she waited in the outpatients room, took the opportunity to share the latest with his receptionist. She faithfully reported that whilst admitting it was difficult to see clearly, being near dusk, a close neighbour almost caught Mrs. F. Loosie in flagrante delicto as it were, closing her venetian blinds after her switch from her usual torn denims to a slinky black lace number. And thigh-high black leather boots! Well, the neighbour didn't actually see the boots, but with those skimpy little bits of black lace?! Well-ll-ll... nudge-nudge, wink-wink, say no more!

(listen/snatch/surgeon/skylight/ghost/cheese)

"Listen carefully now, young master, and if you're the chosen one, you'll hear snatches of the surgeon's song echoing through yon dusty skylight. Hearken ye, lad." And the wizened old guard, a ghostly spectre himself, cupped his ear with a claw-like hand.

An involuntary chill ran through Charles' slight frame, as the sepulchral voice continued, "— but only when the moon is round as the circle of Life itself."

An involuntary 'Be-chees-us," escaped his lips as Charles' wide-stretched gaze rolled up towards the moonlit window high above.

Are we having fun yet?