Wednesday May 11th, 2016

The exercise:

Haven't done the Movie Prompt in a while. This time around, our inspiration will be provided by the title of one of the movies that ended up being one of the top twenty-five grossing films in 2012. Why that year? I think there are some good prompt titles in there. Plus it was the year Max was born.

Had a short shift at the bakery this morning, as things were pretty slow and a new girl was doing her first full day shift. Once I finished the dishes there really wasn't much for me to do so my boss sent me home at 10:30. Hopefully tomorrow is a little busier and I can collect a few more hours for my next paycheque.

This afternoon I potted up our pepper plants and started weeding out the blackberries. It's definitely tiring to do both the bakery and the farm on the same day, but I'm finding ways to get it done.

Mine:

Skyfall

Chicken Little says the sky is
Falling.
That crazy fool sets my skin to
Crawling.
All them clouds ain't coming
Down.
I'm going to run him out of
Town!
They going to have to call the
Cops
When I get my... did I just feel a
Drop?
Everybody quit your damned
Stalling!
Run, run, cuz the sky is
Falling!

2 Comments:

Greg said...

Bakery and blackberries... I'm starting to detect a certain OCD trend with you and the start-letters of things ;-) That doesn't sound like a bad day, though I appreciate that the hours at the bakery are probably more lucrative! You will have to tell us how the new girl works out :) After posting a picture of the deer fence of course.
Your poem reads like it needs to be performed and I really like the energy that the one-word lines give it. I think I can picture you doing it on stage, and I'm pretty sure people would pay to see that ;-)

The Hobbit: an unexpected journey
Gandalf, once an elderly and wise wizard and now, after the War of the Shire, the murdering of the Balrog and the assassination of Saruman, simply an insanely powerful PTSD-stricken veteran, raised a hand and muttered a phrase under his breath. To Shlomo the hobbit it sounded suspiciously like cursing in elvish, though the elves told everyone that their language contained no curse-words. Inside the Inn of the Last Rites the stools and chairs contorted and seized their occupants, squeezing them quickly to death. Only when everyone had breathed their last did Gandalf walk inside, gesturing to Shlomo that he should go ahead of him.
"Thank-you," said Shlomo, who had learned (the hard way) to be polite to wizards with hair-triggger tempers.
"You're checking for landmines," said Gandalf shortly.

Inside, Gandalf made himself comfortable on the remains of a portly hobbit who had been eating chicken drumsticks when the furniture had turned feral, and gestured to Shlomo that he should sit on what was left of a waitress. Runnels of blood sluiced across the floorboards so Shlomo clambered up and perched in an effort to keep his hairy feet clean. The smell inside the Inn was of burning food and stark terror, an unpleasant combination, and Shlomo had to breath through his mouth to avoid feeling like throwing up.
"You have a ring," said Gandalf. He gestured at Shlomo's hand, and Shlomo obediently lifted it to show the wizard. It was a tawdry silver band set with a cracked tourmaline.
"It was my mother's," said Shlomo. "She always said she got it from a Christmas cracker."
"It's magical," said Gandalf. "You should give it to me or you'll attract attention from Dark Lords and bring terror and madness down on the Shire."
Shlomo made an effort to keep his eyes on Gandalf's face and not look around the charnel-house that the Inn had become.
"I thought you killed you-know-who," he said.
"You-know-who?"
"Her indoors?" guessed Shlomo. He'd been quite young when Gandalf was out adventuring.
"Do you mean the Dark Lord Sauron, the Shadow of Mordor?" Shlomo nodded. "He's immortal," said Gandalf. "Like me. He's not dead, he's just getting his breath back, ready for the next round."
Shlomo tried to look happy, and sat on his hands. "I think I should keep the ring," he said. "It was my mother's."
A gesture from the wizard tugged Shlomo's hands from under his well-padded rump and another gesture left the ring spinning in mid-air while Shlomo hurtled backwards into the fireplace. For a moment the fire seemed to hold him, then he was ejected up the chimney and across the Shire. As he arced across the sky, the wind rushing past his eyes and making them water, he was reminded that many a journey started in such an unexpected way.

Marc said...

Greg - I enjoy a little alliteration now and then, yes :)

Thanks for the kind words on mine!

Horrifically fun scene. I do so enjoy your dabbles in and twists on popular culture and this one is no exception! It seems to me that Shlomo is doing a fair job of being practical and finding ways of surviving... assuming he can find a good place to land, at least.