Flash Fiction #127

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PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

SUNSHINE VITAMIN

Arggh! Turn down the Sun!  It’s too bright!

My tongue is asleep….and my teeth itch.

I’m suffering a self-inflicted wound. Whose smart idea was it to drink tequila last night??

Mine?? Doesn’t seem so smart today!  Did I think I was 20 again?  We can’t party like we did as teens.

My head feels like it’s full of cotton candy. It’s the only thing preventing the pounding ache from splitting it apart.

I can’t think. I could barely dress myself this morning.

Bars should have reverse carding. You’re 62, sir?  I’m sorry; you can only order cranberry or prune juice.

***

Go to Rochelle’s Addicted to Purple site and use her Wednesday photo as a prompt to write a complete 100 word story.

***

I offer another view of Heaven, from the Canadian side.

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Sunshine And Lollipops

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In my 300 post, I mentioned, again, the fact that some of the long-established bloggers are disappearing, or cutting back on their volume of posting, due to life changes. I thought by now, that just about everybody had a blog, except perhaps, coots even older than me – and yet, new ones keep popping up.

One such new one is Cordelia’s Mom. She must be the youngest retiree ever. Such a lovely lady can’t possibly be almost as old as I am. I know she’s not as surly. Cordelia doesn’t have much to say, but her Mom is full of wit and wisdom. Click on the link above to go have a look for yourself.

Mom has been blogging for about six months. We often use the same tags on our posts, so I kept running into her, and began commenting. Perhaps intrigued by the lack of references to psychiatric treatment, she started visiting my site.

I received my first blog award when I had only published 14 posts, and didn’t really know what to do about it. Similarly, Cordelia’s Mom recently received two awards. One was the Sisterhood of The World Bloggers Award, welcoming her to the distaff side of writing and soul-baring. The other was The Sunshine Award.

Since I don’t qualify for the “Sisters” award, she kindly passed on a version of the Sunshine Award to me. To prove how well she knows me already, in her nomination post, she lists me as Grumpy Old Dude – Archon’s Den. She sent a big chunk of Sunshine my way. I’ll just have to reflect it on you as best I can.

This is my kind of award. Other than acknowledging receipt of it, there are no rules. It’s just a way of showing that other bloggers are aware of and appreciate you, and perhaps bring a few more readers to your site, by being part of an ever-widening circle of writers.

By begging and whining to the wife, but without actually tripping over my ego, I managed to get a copy of the Sunshine Award graphic installed at the top of this post, just to prove that I’m not hallucinating (again). I thank Cordelia’s Mom effusively for including me in her group of worthy recipients.

I don’t have to answer any questions, or make up new ones. I don’t have to reveal even more about myself, which is good. There’s only so much toilet paper on a roll. Once it’s empty, it’s empty.

My co-defendant buddy, Oscar the Grouch, tells me that I can take The Fifth – even though we don’t have it here in Canada – and not actually nominate anybody else for this award, to protect my persona. He and I are going to do some tequila shots, put a big platter of nachos out of our misery, and watch the Die Hard marathon. If anybody wants to make something out of that, just knock on the garbage can lid.

Flash Fiction – Part 4

All Dressed Up – and Everyone’s Gone

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I stared at the picture, waiting for it to say something to me, so that I could say something about it.

I thought and thought – but nothing! Gahh, writer’s block.

It should be easy. Pretty little plaza, decorated for a celebration of some sort….but wait, where are all the gaily-dressed people? Oh dear, I’ve seen all these movies, the UFO just landed, the rebels launched poison-gas shells, the drug cartel took hostages.

No, no, it’s just siesta time. Soon, as it cools, Mariachis will play, children will cavort, senoritas will swirl and tequila will flow. Ay caramba, all’s well, ole!