Weekly challenge #1048 – Give Up

The next topic is PICK TWO
Buffering
Update
An old postcard
offensive
Roll

LIZZIE

Give up. Give up. Give up. And he tossed and turned on the bunk bed. Nightmares turning into night sweats. His ears beating to the drum of his heart. Tomorrow. It’ll be another day. Tomorrow. But it never was another day. It was the same day, over and over again. The same intelligence gathering. The same raids. The same ambushes. The same killings. The same deaths. A never-ending string of horrors. Give up… He wished closing his eyes would make everything disappear. The noise, the nightmares, his heartbeat. Give up… That nagging voice hammered on. Tomorrow. Tomorrow, I’ll give up.

RICHARD

Marathon
Ask any marathon runner and they will tell you about ‘hitting the wall’. That’s the moment when the fatigue completely overwhelms your body and there’s nothing in the world you want more than to quit.
In technical terms, it’s the point at which your cells run out of glycogen – the fuel that powers your body.
And, right now, I was hitting the wall, big time!
“Keep going!” Somebody in the crowd shouted, “Don’t give up!”
Easy for them to say.
I gave up.
Fell to the ground, exhausted.
And laboriously crawled back the long hundred yards to the start line.

TOM

Full Measure.

O’Brian gave the Lt. Daley the small square of paper. On it were written two words. He raised his eyes to meet the faces of the last of the defenders. It was very quiet, so in a whisper the Lt gave the only order he could give the circumstances. It was a one word, matching the one note of the trumpet. When the fog of war settled the tribe took the field. Second Si-At Paylax stood before Daley’s body. He carefully removed the crumple square of paper. “Why didn’t they give up?” he mused put the paper in his pocket.

NORVAL JOE

“Mrs. Weinerheimer, I appreciate you bringing Sabrina back,” Ms. Pinkerton of Child Protective Services said. “We’ll take care of her from here.”

Joan Weinerheimer was suddenly filled with fury and stepped forward. “I’m not going to give up on Sabrina. You had us turn her in before and where did she end up? Locked in a basement by a group of cultists.”

Pinkerton tried to mask her surprise and said, “That’s a serious charge. I hope you have more than just this girl to back up your accusations.”

Sabrina said, “Let’s go to the Yaan’s house. You can see yourself.”

SERENDIPIDY

You really should give up now. In the long run, it’s for the best; you’re just delaying the inevitable, so why not give up and accept your fate?
You can run, you can hide, you can even fight back if you think that will make a difference.
It won’t.
The outcome is a forgone conclusion. I will hunt you down, and when I have you in my grasp, I will kill you. Slowly. Painfully, and without the slightest remorse.
If you must, then try to escape me, but it really is pointless.
Just give up now.
Because, I never do.

LEWIE

Title: Santa’s Little OSHA Violation

A jolly “Ho-ho-ho” came from behind, followed by “Hidey ho, neighbor!”

“Hello, Santa,” little Timmy replied.

“Why the long face?” Santa asked.

Timmy showed him a block of wood. “I’m building a pinewood derby car, but I have no tools.”

Santa put his hands on his waist and made grunting sounds, followed by the order: “Never give up. Never surrender!”

Santa went into his bag and grabbed a few presents, handing them over. Timmy quickly ripped open the packages, finding a chainsaw, angle grinder, nail gun, industrial CNC router, plasma cutter, and a flame thrower, while Santa shouted, “More power!”

PLANET Z

You’ve heard about the Christmas Truce in World War One, but have you heard of The Big Surrender of The Second Punic War?
Lines of Carthagagenians and Romans facing off, throwing spears and charging, and all of the sudden, silence.
Everybody threw down their swords and spears and shields and held up their hands in surrender.
From the lowest stable slave to the highest general, they all surrendered.
Nobody knew what to do at that point.
They all looked around, trying to figure out what happened.
Or what to do next.
Many just sat down and stared for a while.

Deaf safe words

What do deaf people use as safe words?
I’m asking for a friend. Who I have tied up in the basement.
So he can’t sign out HELP. And he’s never quite learned how to talk right.
How the hell am I supposed to tell one grunt from another?
And he’s got a ballgag, so rolling his tongue won’t work either.
Never learned Morse code, so all that blinking isn’t working.
Now, when it’s the other way around, yeah, that’s even worse.
I can shout MUENSTER CHEESE! all day long, and he’ll keep swatting me with the cat-o-nine-tails.
So, any ideas?

Old general

The old general had gone senile years ago. He kept calling his caretaker, his chief of staff, and he would ask about reports from the field. The nurse would print out the same report every day, just with the weather and date changed. The general would nod, dictate orders, and the nurse would pretend to take notes so that she could give them to the brigade. This carried on for several years, and when the general would ask to inspect the troops, the nurse would say they’re being assembled and would be ready for inspection by six, past his bedtime.

Dead professor

Last time I went back to the old school, it was for Professor Ellsworth’s funeral. A lot of his former students came, came out for the memorial service. The poetry we read was probably some of the worst poetry ever written. Professor Ellsworth had marked it all with failing grades and bitter criticism. With occasional demands for us to read works on the same subject by Milton, Wordsworth, and other masters. But now, the old Gas bag was in an urn, and there was nothing he could do to stop us from sharing our incompetent and juvenile compositions at will.

Oboe

If I win the lottery, I will call a few major symphonies and buy the oboe chair. There’s no reason for it. It’s just so strange, nobody would understand it. And that’s the point. We only write our names in sand. Unless it’s with an oboe, I suppose. And every oboist in that city will strive to sit in the chair I bought for them. Or they could remain standing or sit on the floor, I suppose. How silly that would be, dressing up, bringing out your finest oboe, and sitting on the dirty floor. Go get a chair, dummy!

Destroy the past

I saw so many things in the city that I’d never experienced before.
The people. The lights. The stores. The streets. The buildings.
And in the middle of it all, a statue.
A tall man, his face full of hate, lashing a whip.
What was he lashing the whip at?
The plaque at the bottom of the statue had been defaced and was no longer legible.
I asked the people around it, but nobody knew who or what it was.
“Maybe it’s one of those lion tamers,” I said.
I got a coffee, saw a show, and went back home.

Happily never after

And the prince and princess didn’t live happily ever after.
After a few miscarriages, the princess had four daughters in a row.
The prince cheated on her with a maid, producing a bastard.
That was awkward.
And then, the princess had a son.
The king and queen lived well into their eighties, so it took a long time for the prince and princess to take power.
By then, the kingdom was a bit of a mess financially.
The bastard killed the king, queen, and their family, usurping the throne.
Parliament had him arrested, tried, convicted, and hung.
The people rejoiced.

Weekly Challenge #1047 – Railing

The next topic is Give Up

LISA

The Railing of Lost Things

There’s a railing where the Portobello Road meets Westway: The Railing of Lost Things. People travel to leave their finds on it. It has single gloves, socks and wellies. Scarves flap in the breeze and rusting keys nestle where the rails join the floor.
It’s an impossibly beautiful curation… a place for the faded, sun scorched and old. I visit when I’m that side of town. Remembering the day that I met my husband there all those years ago; as I wove a blanket through the metal posts hoping someone cold would find it and claim it as their own.

RICHARD

Expressly Forbidden

As a lad, I loved trains.
A railway line ran past the end of our school playing field, and during break times and lunch, a bunch of us used to congregate there to watch the trains passing.
Sometimes, we’d sneak on to the line, clambering over the railing to place coins on the track, to be flattened as the trains thundered over them.
It was a laugh, and we were always very careful.
Well, maybe not always.
One sunny Spring day, my best friend Brian lingered on the line, just a little too long.
I don’t like trains any more.

LIZZIE

The stairs to the basement had no railing. “No one ever goes down there anyway,” he said. One day, they decided to sell the house. There was nothing but a small apothecary cabinet with empty drawers in the basement. “Who put this here?” She shrugged. “Garbage.” That’s when the problems started. He tripped and hit his head on the corner of the cabinet. She twisted an ankle and he dislocated a shoulder while trying to move it. Enough was enough. They decided to leave it behind. The cabinet whispered “Railing”. They rushed to sell the house for half its worth.

TOM

If only ..

On the surface one might consider railing and kvetching of equal stature. While both zero-in on projected state of displeasure, Kvetching is in a league of its own. Railing is an end in itself, a purge of injustice, seeking resolution. To kvetch is to drag everyone within ear shoot through the nine rings of hell. If done correctly an infinite chain of propositions each expressly delivered with a world weary voice fill with hopelessness. While I am quite skill at railing on and on. I do not have the endurance to kvetch out. I lack the guile and the wit.

SERENDIPIDY

The great stone sarcophagus in the corner of the cemetery is rather impressive. Wreathed in ivy, and covered with the moss of ages, it stands alone in its own remote dedicated plot.
Like so many of its kind, it is surrounded by a wrought iron railing.
Unlike other plots however, the railing is topped with razor wire, coated with anti -climb paint, and bears numerous bright yellow warning notices attached on all sides.
These measures are not designed to keep trespassers and curious onlookers out, but rather, to keep someone safely and securely confined inside.
Welcome, to my humble abode.

NORVAL JOE

Billbert followed Mandi out of her room to the railing of the stairs, looking down on the main floor of the house.

She turned to him, tears in her eyes. “I’m sorry, Billbert. This was something I had to do. You can do whatever you want. Say whatever you want. Just don’t ask me about the ring and don’t take it off.”

Billbert held up his hands, about to ask why, but found he couldn’t put the question into words. Eventually, he just said. “Okay, then. What do we do now?”

Mandi shrugged. “Maybe we should make something to eat.”

LEWIE

Title: Steam-Powered Summer
The couple leaned against the decorative railing of the Delta Queen, admiring the view of the natural vegetation along the shores of the Mississippi River.

Behind them, the steam-powered calliope organ was playing a joyful tune, echoing back from the valleys.

Their excitement was building, as they would be next to get a chance to learn how to play it, and be rewarded with a certificate.

Decades later, long after a divorce, their son would find an old framed photograph of the beautiful steam-powered paddle boat on her wall, showing that his mother still cherished that moment in time.

PLANET Z

It’s been a long time since I’ve lived above the ground floor. I think the last time was when I was on the third floor of a new apartment complex. We had a small balcony and a railing, but we never went out there. One day, my roommate left the door open, and I knew this because I saw one of my cats balanced on the railing, but not balancing all that well. I got up and ran to the balcony and grabbed her just as she was about to fall. I don’t think we ever went out there again.

Late scribbles

Toby came up with really good ideas late at night. He’d be brushing his teeth or putting on a night shirt for climbing the bed and an idea we just hit them. But you didn’t have a notepad by his nightstand. So he’d forget them in the morning trying to remember what he’d come up with. He tried using the voice assistant on his phone to remember things for him, but he’d be so sleeping groggy, the voice to text would come out incomprehensible. Eventually, he put a pad and pen on the nightstand, but all he made were scribbles.

Bad reception

After the wildfire destroyed part of the city, the mayor and city council promised they do everything to help rebuild. But despite millions of dollars spent on planning and outreach, not a single environmental impact regulation or building code or contract was addressed. Eventually, the frustrated homeowners enlisted dozens of homeless people to raid the mayor and city council‘s homes and build campfires in their fancy living rooms. Their suburban mansions all burned down. The fire chief was lambasted for the slow response. He shrugged and said I was off duty, and the hotel I’m in has lousy cell reception.