Sarah Potter Writes

Pursued by the Muses of prose, poetry, and music.

Friday Fictioneers: A Tale for Halloween

three_chairs

Come nightfall, I’ll slip into one of those three chairs.

At first, people will think I’m a pretend vampire, outdoors enjoying Halloween. Then some youth dressed as a ghost will say, ‘Hey, cool outfit.’

And his lithe girlfriend, kitted out like Buffy the Vampire Slayer, will compliment me further. ‘Spooky makeup and classy fangs.’

These hot-blooded revellers will fit the two empty coffins back at my crypt to perfection.

Would you care to join me?’

In life, I was a gambler; so too, am I in death. The street light. The window. Will they notice too late that I’ve no reflection?

 #

Photo Prompt: Melanie Greenwood
Friday Fictioneers: 100 word stories

Neglected Structures & Overgrown Places #13 — In Memory of a Computer Addict D:

Garden Chair & Computer Monitor

The green chair has sat in front of this garage door for the last year, but the computer screen has only just appeared on the scene.

I haven’t worked out if there is some symbolism attached to the arrangement, as reflected in the title of this post, or random dumping. On the other hand, maybe it’s yet another Still Life of Junk as in last Thursday’s post.

Wordless Wednesday — Movie Stars’ Retreat, Baa [bah] Humbug!

Wallace & Shaun the Sheep

Monday Morning Haiku #37 — Yellow Blob

Watery Sunrise 01

Watery sunrise
Transient glow soon engulfed
Rooftops slick with rain

Guest Blogger, Uncle Spike: Change of Career, Continent, and Citizenship

For many years I was an avid traveller of far-flung places – basically, anywhere warmer and drier than the UK was my motto. I always favoured those warmer climes, and my passport collected stamps of places like Australia, Egypt, Tunisia, all over mainland US and Hawaii, New Zealand, China, Africa (north, east, and west), India, and much of the Near- and Middle East, plus most of Europe.

Now, I was no rich bitch cruising around on papa’s cash; just an ordinary guy in search of adventure. From the age of 12-13 saw me hitchhike, cycle and train travel much of the UK, before escaping by channel ferry in the early 80s following a bereavement and a subsequent engagement that had gone a bit skewwhiff. And so off I toddled ‘to find myself’ – dunno if I can say I ever did, by the way, but that quest kept me on the road for some three years.

Spike 01_blog

I then returned to the southern shores of dear old Blighty, and eventually settled down, got hitched and found myself stuck deskbound in a semi-respectable job in a bank (after a hearty dose of BS tendered to pass the interview). For the next 15 years or so I worked my up the greasy corporate ladder, ending up in the spotty-faced world of mainframe programming and IT management, way up in Yorkshire. Flat cap, dog, motorbike, and a hilltop stone cottage built c.1750 was the order of the day…. BUT travelling was still central to my agenda. Using all my annual entitlement, plus time-off-in-the-loo, my wife and I mustered some 5-8 weeks away on yonder shores each year.

Many times we came to Turkey; not to the touristy bits, but sampling rural village life, with eventual plans to retire early in such a place – doing what hadn’t even been considered at that stage. This mixed-up lifestyle continued for over a decade, forever working 60-80 hour weeks in order to travel in our spare time.

Spike 02_blog

Then life’s meaning changed.

My wife was called upstairs rather early by the big man himself, and the work/holiday lifestyle, the job, the plans… well, they all seemed a bit daft really. So faced with a crossroads (my life, not that soap with Benny), I decided to jack it all in and do something; I emigrated to Turkey, became a fruit farmer, remarried, became a middle-aged pop, naturalised as a Türk and then wandered into blogging

My life all seemed quite ‘normal’; until I wrote it down J

To summarise; my life’s guide very much aligns with the words of a certain seagull. The image that follows is a scan of an old postcard that I have had close by me for 30 years…

Spike 03_blog

Thanks for your hospitality Sarah J

UNCLE SPIKE

#

Sarah says: It’s my pleasure, Uncle Spike, and thank you so much for accepting my invitation to guest here.

As an avid follower of your most entertaining blog, Uncle Spike’s Adventures, it was great to learn more about the man behind the Turkish fruit farm!

Friday Fictioneers: Cooked

PHOTO PROMPT Copyright- The Reclining Gentleman

When the grey first came, people said, “Not to worry. It will pass.” But the greenhouse gases built up, temperate climates hit 43˚C midwinter, and the sea-levels rose, gobbling up all the coastal resorts.

Those people who survived, congregated on high ground and walked around naked, gasping and wheezing.

It had all started with microscopic weather manipulation devices placed inside the lids of waste-disposal bins around the world: so much more effective than pumping silver oxide into the atmosphere from above. The aliens were time-travellers, which meant they could wipe us out and colonise our planet in under five minutes.

#

Photo Prompt: The Reclining Gentleman
Friday Fictioneers — 100-word stories

Neglected Structures & Overgrown Places #12 — Still Life of Junk

Still Life of Junk

Would this qualify for an installation in an art gallery? I was just thinking back to 1999, when Tracy Emin’s “My Bed” was exhibited in Tate Britain after being shortlisted for the Turner Prize.

Wordless Wednesday — Kissing in the Park

Kissing in the Park 01

Wordless-Wednesday-Button-150

Monday Morning Haiku #36 — Tangled Tree

Ivy Choked

Beneath tidy sky,
Autumn tree clothed in chaos:
Ivy triumphant.

Friday Fictioneers: Two Voices, One Head

How many more times must I tell you? I’m a reincarnation of Michelangelo, so stop pumping Risperdal into me and interrupting a genius at work. I intend to hatch a nautilus out of my living stone display. Yes, I said “living”. Of course, stones are alive. What are you blathering on about? They’re not inanimate, you idiot. Just give me space to communicate with them, otherwise they’ll keep giving birth to snail shells instead of a creature of divine proportions. What? You say I’m mistaken about the nautilus: the golden ratio is formed from a rectangle? Now who’s gone bonkers?

#

Photo Prompt: courtesy of Douglas McIlroy
Friday Fictioneers — 100 word stories

Post Navigation

%d bloggers like this: