The world is stricken! Stricken, I say, with global grief! The word on the tweet is nothing but he slammed so-n-so and he bashed such-n-such. Misery’s harmony is warped and worn out, and the world is sick to death of that lame old song. The Black Death killed fewer people, for goddsakes! Everybody needs some grief counselling. Well, here you go:
Feed a soul, starve a narcissist!
The direction the affliction is headed is clear, and that means it’s time for a different tack. There are plenty of things happening in our communities that are more worthy of attention than the Fee-Fi-Fo-Fiefdom in Washington. If media is supposed to give a voice to the people, then it’s time to get outside and explore the good stuff going on with the people. If it’s cold where you are, put on a jacket first.
Here’s what’s happening over at Friday Fictioneers this week, where image meets imagination. Sometimes they fall in love. Sometimes they don’t. One thing is for certain, people are sharing good stuff. Rochelle Wisoff-Fields makes sure of it. This week’s photo prompt is courtesy of Roger Bultot. My 100 word story is a tale of a sad sack in need of a night out. Names were not used in order to protect the innocent. Thanks for reading.
Copyright Roger Bultot
A Wallflower’s Window on the World
Another gloomy afternoon, another strained ballad of mistrust and disgust wafts from the room below. Harsh reflections slide on long shadows toward another night alone, watching bits of cellophane dance along the alleyway where the addicts mingle. A slow betrayal of mind and body provokes a longing for those sepia toned days when life was still a mystery, before the weather and world affairs conspired repeatedly to wrench the senses. Only now, as memory fails, does the pain relent, a tender mercy. “Always trust the trees,” my father told me. “They never lie.” If only I could see some trees.