Sometimes All That Remains Is Dandruff

brush cropped
                                                            remains of the day    ©TD2016

 

And there are things

which are not possible

 

it’s not the wrong season

it’s not the wrong hour

it’s not the wrong place

 

they are not supposed to be

and only God knows why

 

and every time a part of you softly dies

and every thing that cannot happen

happens somewhere else

 

it’s there where we’ll meet.

Choices

choices.jpg

(justsostories)

Victor had too often in his life said No. Or rather No when he actually wanted to say Yes! and Yes when deep inside it was calling No!

In order to simplify his life, he replaced all Yesses with Nos.

It had taken him years of painstaking work to build his fortress to keep everyone out and himself in. Victor started to believe it was because of all the Nos which should have been, might have been, could have been Yesses.

And therefore, starting from today, no, from this very second, he would say YES! to everything.

*
*
*

This emerged from a prompt by Jutta Reichelt’s Story Generator.
Jutta is a German author and fabulous human being who runs a genius blog on writing and storytelling.

Hedda in Hollywood – prompt

Untitled-3
©TD2016

(onehundredeightyfourwordsflashfiction)

Hedda Hoffman was an underpaid extra starlet, hanging around the Paramount Studio lot waiting for her big time. There were so many hopefuls just like her but she not only had resources, she was also resourceful and no one would ever be able to claim she’d slept her way to the top.

Her wedding ring was a prop and if that wasn’t enough for the groping talent scouts’ hands, Hedda would whisper gently and conspiratorially in their ear that she was suffering from a not-so-rare sexually transmittable disease. That usually cut short any kind of amorous fervour and bodily exploration, but was also risky because she didn’t want to end up as gossip fodder in Louella’s Hollywood Reporter.

So, one step at a time. Yep, it was a men’s business but she wanted to make it on her own terms, not for nothing was her favourite smoking place underneath the big Klieg light, even if the emanating heat liquefied her carefully applied make-up.

7.30 am. There came Mr. Grant, on the dot as usual.  She had skillfully re-arranged the cables so that he had to trip.

And who would catch his fall if not Hedda?

44 life magazine_cropped
Life Magazine 1944

This story emerged from a prompt by Hausauspapier using today’s date (21st Feb in my case). If you want to join in, take the book you are reading or the one closest to you. Open it on page 21 (day), copy the second sentence (month) and add your own sentence or write a whole story.
Mine was David Niven’s autobiography Bring On The Empty Horses about the Golden Age in Hollywood and the sentence was ‘Kick her up the ass!’ Sure enough Hedda went into action again.
I’m carrying this clever prompt forward and you are invited to participate with a link in the comments section or by leaving a comment.

And if the muse sticks by you – here is the link to a Dangerous Liaisons prompt. 

I’m looking forward to your contributions!

 

Mona Lisa Sm:-(le

Thomas Ricker flickr Mona lisa suck
photo: Thomas Ricker

(onehundredandtwentysevenwordsflashfiction)

Lisa del Giocondo was fed up with keeping that phony smile on her lips. These fools didn’t know that the only reason she smiled so awkwardly was to hide the wooden braces which had been fitted to correct her crooked teeth.

Dio mio, she wasn’t amused at all. Not by these gaping visitors, not by being trapped inside a frame or hanging by a thread… the corners of her mouth seemed to be pulled upwards by ever-tightening hooks.

Then this god-damn CCTV and guards everywhere… nowhere was she able to spend some time in peaceful solitude.

The lights in the Louvre went off. Lisa had been meticulously plotting her escape for 502 years, 13 days and 8 hours.

Finally the moment had come.

Mona Lisa_curtain

©DagmarBaumunk2016

Nostalgia Isn’t What It Used To Be

Elderly_Woman_,_B&W_image_by_Chalmers_Butterfield
photo: Chalmers Butterfield

twohundredandfiftyfivewordsflashfiction

I woke up early again this morning. I look outside but I don’t see anything. Everything is taking place inside myself. Sometimes I wonder if everything has taken place inside of me always. And everything and everyone on the outside was just a projection of my dreams, fears and longings.

After all these years, so little feels real. Or indeed lived. What if I never really lived? What if I was born dead and been living my life as a ghost? A ghost with human flesh and human features. Something which resembles a body, with a functioning brain and heart. With limbs that move but never go anywhere or touch anything.

Even now clasping my hands I don’t feel them. I could touch the lace curtain but I already know what it feels like. There is light. I’ve always loved it, especially the soft light in the afternoons which illuminates but doesn’t expose things I don’t want to see.

It’s better just to sit here and not move. Waiting. But not really waiting. Longing. But not really longing anymore. I often wonder if we are given a fair chance to live a real life or if instead we get mauled and torn and merely limp through our lives, never letting go of our crutches. And only at the very end realising we didn’t need them. That we could have taken a chance.

But then I forget all these silly thoughts and questions that don’t lead anywhere and instead just sit here, not looking at anything.

 

©DagmarBaumunk2015