(Fiction) Friday --Something's afoot

This Week’s Theme: Afoot Something's afoot, I must say not one child's shown up to play not one tired man has cracked a beer not one young girl has shed a tear Something's afoot, I had heard not one cat has caught a bird not one dog has chewed a bone not one cat has remained alone Something's a foot, I do declare not one dragon is in his lair Oops. . . . . . RUN! MeeAugraphie 07/26/07 So , these silly words are mine, please do not waste our time by copying them.
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(Fiction Friday) Sir Easter Bunny

(Note: If you are still visited by the Easter Bunny and tumbled onto this post by accident or while trying to find great things about him, look somewhere else, this is NOT for little ones. It is technical stuff, you know like math and science. )

Over at Write Stuff, they post ideas for us to wax poetic or spout out or whatever we wish. This weeks idea, in their words:

Pick a mythical person or creature (e.g., Santa, Thor, Easter Bunny), and explain through dialogue, essay, or anything else, why they are unhappy with their job or position in life.

Please, read mine, but then jump over and check the comments on their post to get links to other wonderful stories or poems, you just won't believe how these famous people really feel! What tumbled out of my head:

Things have to change!

. . . as told by the future Sir Easter Bunny


"Easter Bunny"

"Oh, Mommy, I want the Easter Bunny to come visit me and leave me lots of stuff."

I am so sick of hearing them call me a bunny. Do I look like a bunny? I am a rabbit, more on the lines of a Bugs Bunny, you know, with personality, strength, cunning, cleverness. Yes, I know, he even had bunny in his name -- but he was a rabbit in all senses of the word, not so mamby pamby bunny. He only allowed them to use Bunny as his TV name because they paid him big bucks! No, not bucks, like male deer, bucks! You know, money. I deserve the respect of being called, Sir Easter Rabbit. I bet if Queen Elizabeth knighted me, that would stop those mealy mouthed kids from calling me The Easter Bunny.

"Oh, Jackson, look what the Easter Bunny left me, I got chocolate and a bunny to hug and bubbles and crayons and toy trucks and. . . "

Jackson bit his lip and felt his feet fidgeting, well, as much as feet could fidget and still hold him upright. "That's nice, Marshall. Wanna play with the trucks?"

"No, let's play with your toys. What did you get? A plane or a fishing pole?"

Jackson answered without telling the truth, "I got a plane AND a fishing pole, but I left them at my grandmother's house."

Now, I am also sick of just being a figure head, like some celebrity star that does nothing but smile and let their picture be put on the billboards and in the TV. Yes, I am one, too. I know it, but when I signed on to this, I thought I was going to be more, I thought I would have total control over Easter morning gifts.

What do you mean, I must be daft to think the universe would give me that kind of control? Why wouldn't it?

What? It works like that? I had no clue.

Well, that is not how it should work. And why should all those kids get all those toys they just ignore or throw at each other or break - just because they can - when those other kids like Jackson get nothing. . . and then find themselves lying about it. Jackson knows better than to lie - his grandmother told him all about lying and telling fibs and cheating on spelling tests and how bad it all was. . . And, you know what, she is going to be awfully disappointed that he lied, 'cause he did get something for Easter, she made him his favorite breakfast, the one they can't afford. She went out and bought a piece of ham, real ham, not that canned stuff with all the junk inside the can, you know that slimy stuff that oozes all over your hands like clear glue. Yuck.

But you know what else, it will break her heart that he didn't get stuff, even though she knows he doesn't get all that stuff.

And you know what else? They will all blame it on me, say the Easter Bunny didn't bring him anything, the Easter Bunny played favorites, the Easter Bunny gave him more, the Easter Bunny is a pansy. AARRRGGGGHHHH, I can't take anymore. These parents all buy into it, they come up with the lamest excuses for buying all that crap.

I'm not a pansy, either, I am Sir Easter Rabbit. And on my honor, I promise that if a campaign is ever paid for to change my name, I will personally see that each child gets the same thing, and only from ME, not from those parents. At least ONE HOLIDAY everyone would be equal.

Yeah, you're right, I am dreaming, but hey, I am rabbit.

MeeAugraphie
06/29/07

Remember, our stories are just drafts, but then on my site that is all you will read anyway. Told as the words flew out of my head onto my keyboard, no sitting for long periods of reflection, just free flow.

And, you , that one or two dishonest person(s) out there who aren't real bloggers, but just hunters for stuff to copy, don't. My words are crazy enough only to be written by me, not you, they aren't a good fit for your site....

The rest of you, great people, thank you for reading!

(Fiction) Friday -Bad news cures all things

This is my second week of playing along, when I first looked at these words my mind went blank, panic set in, I am never wordless! Within a few seconds I reverted back to my one-sided conversations - can't help myself, just love to write them, or maybe it is just all those one-sided conversations I have had with myself. No time to type quotations or anything. . .took me 6 or 7 minutes as it was. . . Draft, remember non-participants, just a draft. Now go out and write one yourself, it is pure freedom from all else in your lives.

Bad news cures all things. It does, I am living proof. Don't believe me? Ask John, he can tell you.

He does know. He witnessed what happened to me. I was limping around, my right foot was swollen.

Know, I don't know what I did to it. I just woke up with it swollen.

Bad circulation? No, I don't have bad circulation. Old people have bad circulation.

Funny, you are funny. I am not old, I am only. . . How old am I? Never mind, I know it is not old age.

Don't interrupt, I am trying to prove my point. So, I am limping horribly.

What do you mean I can't limp horribly? Of course, I can. I know how I limp. Quit interjecting.

It is not a big word for me. I know words like this: antidisestablishmentarianism.
I can even spell it, can you?

Thought not! So, anyway, I am limping around the house - horribly. Had to call in sick to work, couldn't have made it from the desk to the restroom and then out to the break room to get my coffee. I mean, I didn't want to get a cramp in my leg or a sharp pain in my hip trying to compensate. You know, walking weird to make up for it.

Weird? I am not weird. You're weird. Now, let me finish. So, Jacob called and said he couldn't come over this morning to help me clean out the drains. Of all times, when it is backed up with all that crap. And amazingly enough, at the thought of being home with all that crap overflowing into my house. My foot stopped swelling and I went out and played a round of golf. Bad things cured my foot. Just like I said.

Now, to your few crude people out of the millions of wonderful ones, copying is not nice, not acceptable, it is plain crap like that which was piling up at the fictional house. So don't. Thank you.

To find out more about (Fiction) Friday so you can join in the fun, click here! Everyone's brain needs to just free write it is, well, freeing.And what if five or six minutes out of your day if it 'frees you' from the drudgery around you for a few minutes. Why it may actually make a difference in how your day goes. Besides it will link you to all kinds of stories and poems based on the same first line and we don't all think alike, so it is no telling what you will find. I'm going to read them myself.

Of course, you could, first, quickly read about the woman who spends one hour and eighteen minutes cleaning men's floors, here!

Domain changed - finally

It took some help from Chuck (nitecruzr) in the Blogger Help Group, but I now have my own domain. Still on Blogger, but that is fine for this host. Now if the man I asked a question about altering this template would just answer my email from earlier in the week! It was scary for a few days, this blog is special to me. . . I posted my first ever Friday Fiction today, before this site fixed itself. So, for the next week it is here:

http://tumbledwords.blogspot.com/2007/06/friday-fiction-floor-cleaner.html


Yeah, I was in a weird mood when I wrote it. It was fun to write.