Monthly Archives: August 2012

The Winger Chronicles - Part 2

Wow, this one didn’t come easy. I hope it doesn’t show. Chances are you’ll be left scratching your head about why he did what he did in part one by the time you get to the end of part 2. Those questions will hopefully be answered in the future. Oh and just a quick not, there will be no Winger next week. I’ll be on vacation so I’ll be skipping next Friday’s get together. You’ll have to wait two weeks for the next installment. Sorry!

As always, thanks to Madison for hosting and the rest of you for reading.

Comments, criticism, and half drunken rants are encouraged.

Photo by Stacy Plowright – “Clouds in Toronto”

Read previous installments: Part 1

She Never Listens (The Winger Chronicles: Part 2)

He pushed through the brush at the edge of the forest, knowing she was creeping along behind, not able to bring himself to send her back. Just beyond the nearly impassable brambles was a field, greener than any he’d ever seen. Beyond the field were mountains, and clouds that looked so much like mountains that it was impossible to tell where the real mountains ended and the fake ones began.

The girl poked her head through the thorny barrier.

“You shouldn’t have followed me.”

“You shouldn’t have left me.”

“It’s too dangerous.”

She pointed to the endless mountains. “Dad, look!”

———-

Read the stories from the other hooligans by clicking the image below.




Baiting the Hook

Image via Pixabay.com

“Wiggle, wiggle, woo. I’ve got you where I want you.”

The boy pinched the perfect earthworm between his thumb and forefinger, held it in front of his eyes, and grinned. He admired the beautiful specimen for a moment before continuing his chant.

“Wiggle, wiggle, me. This is not where you want to be.”

His hook punctured the worm’s head with surgical precision. It squirmed in protest. He wrapped the creature’s long body around the monofilament line and pierced the tail end of the tiny beast.

“Wiggle, wiggle, screwed. You’re about to be food.”

Ritual complete, he cast out his line.


Destination Weirdsville: Lia Fáil

In Ireland, or Eire if you prefer, there is a stone. I know, I know, there are a lot of stones in Ireland. At least I’m assuming. I’ve never been there. I’d like to go some day, but haven’t made it yet. Anyway, that isn’t the point. This stone in Ireland is known as Lia Fáil, or The Stone of Fal, also called The Stone of Ireland by some. Nope, I’m not talking about the Blarney Stone. You can go ahead and kiss it if you wish, but this stone has a much higher purpose. It used to anyway.

The Stone of Fal goes way back, before the time of Christ. It is purported that the stone had the power to determine the king of Eire even before it was called Eire. How can a stone accomplish such an amazing feat you ask? Well it’s simple really. I’m sure there’s a bit more to it, but the idea is basically this:

Step 1: A man stands on the stone.

Step 2: If this man is the true king of Ireland, the stone roars with joy. If the man is not the true king, the stone does what stones do best, nothing.

Step 3: There is no step 3.

Not only was it believed that the stone could hand select kings, but it also held the power to rejuvenate the king and endow him with a long reign.

The stone hasn’t roared in many a year, however. Ever since some jackass got mad at it and split it with his sword. Proof that even in ancient times, douchebaggery ran rampant among us.


Surefire plan for success

As a kid I wanted to be a fireman. Astronaut, ninja, and daredevil were all viable options as well. Needless to say, the only one of those that came to fruition is the ninja one.

Okay, okay. I’m not a ninja. Way to crush my dreams, dream killer.

I am none of those things and I’m okay with that. As I grew I realized I was meant to do something creative with my life and I just started working my way toward that recently. I have a few creative outlets in my job, but not as many as I’d like. It’s when I sit down and write, or sit down and draw, or grab my camera and go for a hike, or build something with the assortment of tools in my basement that I truly feel creative. And from creativity comes calmness and happiness, also a sense of accomplishment.

I was always one of those people who can just do things without putting in too much effort, so I didn’t. I coasted through life and just went with the flow, careful to never put in more effort than was necessary. School was especially that way for me. Even through college I hardly ever studied and still did well, which I find odd because I have a terrible memory in most cases. I tend to remember weird and obscure things over common knowledge tidbits.

Anyway, as I got beyond the schooling and into the world of a 9 to 5, I quickly realized that creative things are some of the few things I enjoy doing and am happy to put extra effort into.

Creativity is my lifeblood. Without it, I would be an empty husk of a man, and nobody wants that. So be a good minion and buy 10,000 copies of everything I release in the future and disperse them to everyone you encounter. As the cat in the hat would say, “Thanks, so much. You’re very kind.” If you can’t afford 10,000 copies, I’m alright with a few of you only buying 9,999. Just don’t make a habit of it.


Skeered

Image via Pixabay.com

“Ain’t skeered, are ya?”

Bill shook his head. Tim gave him another shove toward the old house.
“Get inside then, Less’n yer chicken.”

Bill stumbled toward the house after another push from Tim. The stairs creaked under his feet.

“Go in already!”

Bill reached for the doorknob. Tim wooed in the background, pretending to be a ghost.

Bill turned the knob and pushed the rickety door open.

“Hey, Billy. Wait.”

He looked back at Tim.

“Ya really thought I didn’t know ‘bout you ‘n Tina?”

Tim lifted the gun in his hand. The condemned building eagerly gobbled up the body.


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