Weekly Challenge #885 – Blinded

The next weekly challenge topic is: As far as the eye can see

SCRIBBLING WREN

The Blinding

In the beginning was the bird. One bird: a magpie, with an ‘oil in a puddle’ sheen across his outstretched wing. They had said a single magpie was bad luck, but then hordes arrived. A global power outage shut down all communication, if the internet still worked Hitchcock would almost certainly be trending on Twitter.

The first to be enucleated was a toddler playing on the swings. His whelps swept across the grass, met more chilling screams before horror filled the park.

With an iridescent flash, the attackers disappeared as quickly as they’d come.

But the darkness had already fallen.

RICHARD

School’s Out

I was never cut out to be a teacher, not just because I hated kids and – let’s be honest, kids tend to hate me too – but I was also horribly ill-suited to the job.

The school I taught at was so understaffed, we had to turn our hands to almost any subject. No problem for my more academically inclined colleagues, but when you’re a sports coach, teaching chemistry is, at best, hit and miss!

I made most of it up, scrawling incomprehensible, unintelligible formulae on the blackboard.

The class: blinded by pseudo-science!

Somehow, I got away with it.

TOM

Marleen Walker

Marleen Walker glided across the checked linoleum tiles towards the old brown easy-chair. A lingering hint of Old Spice and Luck Strikes brushed her cheek. She thought it was pretty funny how the scent of a person could with crystal clarity reconstruct her father’s presents. He lived the last six months in that ragged old chair. She could still mark out the decaying of his senses and towards the end the blinded of the light, both the inner and outer. Her body told her cry, but to so would be to cross a hard line. Later she said, always later.

As To the Reason for My Absence

Emuire was my cat. I taught her how to swear. And she did often. She did not care for the many other cats who would be abandon at out last house on the right below the tiny pump house on the hill. Emuire was a three legged cat and moved with a grace of motion you didn’t actually see you experienced it. Ask any owner of a three legged pet. Emuite lived to 15 and the day I had to force myself to the vet to end her pain all the stories in my head hide in a corner not available to me.

SERENDIPIDY

Do you know of anyone who actually has been blinded by looking directly at the sun? I’m pretty sure you don’t, and I’m equally sure that, at some point in your life, you’ve given it a go yourself, just for a moment, perhaps just through barely open eyelids? Right?

Did it blind you?

Maybe it hurt a little, and no doubt you were troubled by disorientating after images, but you weren’t blinded were you?

Nobody ever is.

Let me tell you why you really shouldn’t look at the sun.

Better still, take a look for yourself, a good long look!

LIZZIE

Dusk set in. The black panther remained seated on his pedestal, his back to the water, watching the humans getting ready to wrap up their day. It was that time again. They didn’t know. But that old witch had taught him well. She had showed him who to snatch and when. The next morning, they would wonder. How? Why? When? Who did this? As the morning approached, he’d go back to being a statue. A statue on his pedestal, the one they revered, the one they looked up to for protection. Dusk set in and he waited on his pedestal.

TURA

Blinded

————

Deprived of ordinary vision, the Blind Sage speaks with inner vision. Petitioners must make an arduous mountain ascent of many days to speak with him.

One asked, “How can I become rich?”

The sage answered, “Want what you have.”

He asked again, “No, I mean, how can I get lots of money?”

The sage answered, “Be of value to others.”

He protested in exasperation, “What wisdom is this? Why can’t you talk sense?” and tramped off back down the mountainside.

The sage replied to the empty air, “Because there are none so blind as those who will not see.”

————

NORVAL JOE

My twin brother was killed in a hit and run when he was riding his bicycle this morning. He rode every Saturday. I don’t know if he was blinded by the car’s headlights and run off the road, or if he was hit from behind. The details aren’t in yet.
Roger liked to laugh. He was a ventriloquist, a magician, a musician, an accountant, and he loved cats.
We ran a half marathon together last month. He said that was probably going to be his last, as he preferred to ride his bike. Looks like it was. I’ll miss him.

PLANET Z

Sometimes, Delores forgot to wear her charging mask, and she needed to wear induction loop glasses to power her eyes during the day.
The rims were thick, and a cable ran along her ear to the battery pack in her shirt pocket.
The optical system offered notifications and overlays as reminders and identification enhancements, but Delores kept those turned off.
So now and then, she’d wake up blind, fumbling for her glasses.
The first time she forgot to charge her battery pack, she told Alexa to deliver a fresh one.
She sat in the dark, waiting patiently for the doorbell.

JARED/JRADIMUS

Not by the Light

Harvey was still ecstatic. Beyond, even. Just before the end of the day, he closed on the biggest real estate deal he’d ever been part of, and he and the rest of the agents just closed out a bar on the biggest bar tab he’d ever been part of.

Walking to his car, he was jostled off the sidewalk and almost fell over. When he regained his balance, he looked up and could only see the headlights of an oncoming vehicle.

He survived, but with the injuries he sustained, the car’s lights were the last thing he would ever see.

George wishes

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
He wished he was a good pirate.
He blew out all the candles on his birthday cake and made a wish.
Nope.
He carried around a birthday cake and shouted if it was anybody’s birthday.
When someone said “Yes” he’d light the candles and demand that they blew them out and wish that George was a good pirate.
“Say it out loud,” he’d say. “Or I’ll have ye guts for garters.”
Nope. Still didn’t work.
But he did make some good money as a novelty birthday telegram that way.

George in the jar

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
You know that pirate in the “Whiskey in the Jar” song?
In that song, a pirate stole a bunch of money from some other pirate, brought it home to his chick, and then she got him drunk and set up a murder scheme that left her rich, the other pirate dead, and the guy in prison?
Well, that wasn’t George.
George wasn’t the guy in prison, the dead guy, or even the chick who set them both up.
And he sings that song way off key in karaoke bars.

If George had a hammer

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
If he had a hammer, he wouldn’t hammer in the morning, evening, or all over this land.
Nor would he hammer out love between his brothers and sisters.
Imagine, for a moment, George waving a hammer in your face, ordering you to love your brothers and sisters.
Because, if you take that literally, it’s kinda sick. Almost like incest.
No, just no.
It’s just plain wrong.
Thank goodness that George doesn’t have a hammer.
Or a bell. Or a song.
He just has a sword.
Because he’s a pirate.

George the friend

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
He was a good friend, though. I could always count on George.
Whenever I felt tired, or sad, or lonely, George was there.
He’d sit by my bed, telling adventure stories while drinking from his jug of whiskey.
I’d close my eyes and imagine the faraway places George had seen.
All the treasure he’d held, pieces of eight running through his fingers.
Whispering “Good night” he’d turn off the lamp.
Climbing out the window, leaving behind his whiskey jug.
By the time I was twelve, I was in rehab.

George in 1812

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
He made up for it by volunteering for the Port Royal Symphony.
George swept the floors, copied sheet music, and performed a variety of menial, but helpful chores.
The director was impressed by George’s efforts.
“We’re planning to perform Tchaikovsky’s 1812 Overture next month,” said the director. “Can you ask your pirate friends to provide the final volley of cannon fire?”
George gladly agreed.
His shipmates didn’t quite understand the request, and ended up laying waste to the concert hall.
George picked up a broom, and began sweeping.

George the hunter

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
He also wasn’t a very good hunter.
Instead of setting traps for animals, he’d run after them, failing his cutlass around wildly and shouting obscenities.
George was chasing a strange rabbit in a waistcoat when he fell down a deep hole.
He encountered a bunch of talking animals, which he killed and stuffed into his canvas bag.
As he climbed out of the hole, a little girl accused him of murdering her friends from Wonderland.
George stuffed her into the bag and sent a ransom note to her family.

Weekly Challenge #884 – Shenanegans

The next weekly challenge topic is: Blinded

JARED

WC 883 PICK TWO
A Hip Double Dip
No one could figure out why Roderik spent $12,000 a year for membership in an obscure historical heritage society. They thought the Gothic Heritage and Historical Society sounded made up and pointless. As far as he saw it, it was money well spent. As a history teacher with traceable Visigothic ancestry, he got his membership for half price. As a member, he gets tax credit for the dues, and exemptions on his presidential salary. The group is tax exempt for all donations they receive. And as long as no one tattles, he can keep on being the only member.

WC 884 Shenanigans
Shenanigans
“Shenanigans!” The bar fell silent. “I. Call. SHENANIGANS!” The old man repeated, bellowing.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” responded Steven, hesitantly.
“By the terms laid out in the 2036 Treaty of TikTok, which ended the Internet Prank Wars, you’ve attempted an April Fool’s joke, and I’ve called you on it,” Old Man McCluskey lectured.
There was a mixed response from the rest of the patrons, but most of them nodded in acquiescence of McCluskey’s irrefutable legal standing.
“As is now my right,” he continued, “I will administer the public flogging with the requisite wet noodle. Now bend over.”

NORVAL JOE

Billbert felt Sabrina’s forehead. He was in a quandry. He needed to get her cooled down. He also needed to take advantage of the chaos caused by pulling the roof from the cabin to save Linoliamanda. He struggled to get Sabrina over one shoulder and leapt into the air.
Landing in the back room of the cabin, he looked for his friend.
The old man burst into the room, shouting, “What shenanigans are going on here?”
Billbert gritted his teeth. “That’s a good question. Where is Linoliamanda?”
The man scoffed. “What did you expect, that I would bring her here?”

SERENDIPIDY

The night of the full moon is when we get up to all kinds of shenanigans.

It starts innocently enough, with knocking on doors and running away, but soon progresses to vandalism, bricks through windows, breaking and entering and kidnap.

Then we drag our hapless victims onto the hillside, strip them naked and cut out their hearts on the sacrificial altar as an offering to the gods.

After, it’s back down to the village for a communal supper in the community hall.

It’s tradition, and traditions die hard around these parts.

So do those who choose to complain about us!

TURA

Shenanigans
———
Shenanigans are benign swellings that develop on the flanks of elderly Alsatian dogs.

No, actually they’re maggotty cysts that develop on the bellies of horses. When mature, they drop off and split open on the ground. The emerging horseflies go on to lay their eggs in the bellies of horses, continuing the cycle.

No, the Shenanigans are an Irish rock band.

It’s an Irish version of cullen skink. It’s an Irish jig. It’s a metaphorical jig: “dancing the shenanigans” means underhanded tricks.

It’s a word game of making up new meanings for everyday words.

What do you think it means?

TOM

Descended from Kings

I grew up a third generation American Irish. Which isn’t as bad as being third gen American German, but not as cool as being seventh generation North American French. So, what do get after a century of assimilation, basically what George Carlin would call the: ear. You key in on the sounds that sound Irish. Take shenanigans. Yup, Irish that. We got a pretty good idea about what it means, but what does it mean. Etymologists say it might come from the Irish “sionnachuighim,” meaning “I play the fox. To pull a shenanigan is prompt a greater one in return.

As To The Reason for my Absence

In the 100-word challenge there are a number of mythic designations. Take both the Golden Monkey and Iron Monkey, please. One a total of 100 posted stories and the other the impressive 100 stories in a row. That’s a two-year marathon. Not easy to do. Many of us here have multiple monkeys, not a helpful item in an efficiency apartment. But despite our collective commitment to posting, some weight too heavy to hold, will break us to the ground. Often health, but always some grief of death. It has happened twice in the last two decades. First the death of Emuire.

RICHARD

Granny Shenanigans

‘Granny Shenanigans’ we used to call her. It was one of her favourite words, frequently employed to berate us and put us in our place, whenever we got ourselves into mischief.

“Stop those shenanigans right away, or it’s the naughty step for you!” She’d bellow from upstairs. Instantly we’d stop misbehaving and calm down, terrified of being consigned to the naughty step.

That bottom step was as far up the stairs we were allowed to go.

Only granny and her girls were allowed in the bedrooms, together with the gentleman callers.
And who knows what shenanigans they were up to?

LIZZIE

The class went on a field trip to an Alice in Wonderland theme-park.
At some point, one of the kids yelled “Snake!”. No one reacted. He was the official prankster.
When he yelled “Snake!” again, a girl saw a giant red-eyed snake coming out through the wall. She yelled “Snake!”
“It’s fake,” the kids laughed. “It’s just to scare us.”
The problem was that, when they left the theme-park, the teacher was missing and only half of the kids managed back.
“Where’s everybody?!” Asked the parents.
“In the exhibition. Literally. The snake did it.”
“How?!”
“We are all victims in-waiting.”

PLANET Z

When there’s a prank on campus, everyone looks at Joey. He’s The Prankster. It’s not just having the tools and mechanical skills. It’s knowing people and who can help you with your prank, or who to prank and how and when.
He started with little pranks, like dyeing the fountain water pink. He graduated to hacking the security system so it locked every door. Even the bathrooms. Then, one morning, everyone woke up to the campus being rotated by 90 degrees. Joey, as usual, denied everything. Then he’d smile and wink. And get started on his next, even bigger prank.

George the anchor supervisor

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
On the introvert/extrovert scale, George tested heavily towards introvert.
He kept to himself. Other pirates caroused together in social situations.
“It’s hard to have a battle if you don’t engage with others,” said the captain.
“I can fire a cannon,” said George. “That’s a productive engagement from a distance.”
The captain thought for a moment. “Okay, then congratulations on your promotion to anchor supervisor,” he said.
“Thank you,” said George. So when do I start?”
“Now,” said the captain, as George was chained to the anchor. “Weigh anchor!”

George and the Beanstalk

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
The other pirates sent him to the market for supplies.
They wouldn’t give him any money, though.
George stole what he could, stuffing his pockets and hiding things under his jacket.
One time, he was told to get a cow.
George found a kid with one, but how do you stuff a cow in your pocket?
He found some beans in there.
“Here, kid,” said George. “These magic beans for your cow?”
The kid agreed, and while the pirates grilled steak for dinner, a giant fell on their ship.