Weekly Challenge #743 – Soar

Hardware issue

LIZZIE

At the top of the mountain, all we could hear was the fire, burning the logs. And we waited. For a sign. One day and another. Time went by. No sign. Our children waited and their children. And when there was no hope left, I stood up.
“I’ve been here since the beginning. I’m tired. I’m leaving.”
Everyone protested.
I raised my hand. Silence.
“We have burned everything around here. Look! It’s ridiculous. Enough is enough. We don’t even have a twig to burn, a twig.”
Someone at the back whispered “What was the sign all about again? I forgot.”

RICHARD

Interviews

I used to be hopeless at interviews.

I never knew how to project confidence or show myself in a good light, and I always struggled to answer questions in a meaningful way.

That was until I discovered the SOAR technique: Situation, Obstacle, Action, Result!

It’s been a huge boost to my confidence, allowing me to take the initiative at interview, demonstrate my talents to the utmost, and to deliver responses of the highest calibre.

Unfortunately, it hasn’t resulted in me getting any job offers.

So, if you can point me towards any techniques to nail that part, let me know!

SERENDIPIDY

Isn’t this incredible?

Being able to soar like eagles, so far above the earth: Everything spread out beneath us, far below.

They say that after you’ve done your first skydive, you’ll come back time and time again.

It’s certainly held true for me, I’ve lost count of how many jumps I’ve made, and it’s a safe bet that I’ll be coming back for more.

However, I’m afraid you won’t be coming back for another jump.

You forgot the golden rule: ‘Always pack your own parachute’.

Never trust someone like me to do it for you!

See you on the ground!

RICK

The Briefest Moment

He never saw it coming …
“The Circus Life”
Shocking even to him.
Sore feet, bad knees, and the never-ending stench of gunpowder embedded deeply in his sinuses.
Good money with very little work, a trailer to himself, store-bought liquor, and surprisingly … women seem drawn to a human cannonball.
But, that’s not why he does it.
There is a brief moment where the cannon no longer propels … and gravity has yet to claim you …

Floating, weightless, omnipotent … EXULTANT!
A perfect landing, a bow and a flourish …

He exited the big top like a god who walked amongst the sheep!

NORVAL JOE

Billbert told his father, “If the superheros are at the office, working together, maybe I should go there, too. Lend a hand.”
His dad shook his head. “You’re young, Billbert. I wouldn’t want to put you in danger.”
“I woulnd’t be in danger, Dad. I could soar high above them all and give reports of the enemy’s movements. They wouldn’t even see me.”
Mr. Wienerheimer raised his eyebrows. “That might not be a bad idea.”
Linoliamanda tugged at Billbert. “Come on. Let’s go.”
“Where do you think you’re going?” Billbert asked her.
“You concentrate on flying. I’ll do the reporting.”

TOM

An Elusive Thought

Flap Flap. Higher Higher. Push, yes push. So tired, so far. What did he tell me, flap, what was it. Tears only tears are left. Higher. Below me sea, above me sky. What did he tell me, flap, something in the sky. A line of fuzzy green, what is did he tell me about green. Higher Higher. The green is full of brown. Blue, green, brown. Flap. Keep flapping he didn’t need to tell me that. Higher, hot, higher. Not good. What did he tell me, hot not good. Why am I soaring towards the sun. Yes that what he said.

PLANET Z

Hummingbirds flap their wings at eye-blurring speed to stay in the air.
While vultures and eagles and other birds spread their wings and soar, circling thermal currents to rise higher and higher.
And then there’s the penguins, who use their wings to glide under the water.
What of the ostrich? The emu? The kiwi?
Well, the first two run with their powerful long legs.
But the kiwi, squat little thing, just roots around and pecks at bugs and other tiny treats.
Then there’s Bill.
So foolish, with the cardboard flats duct-taped to his arms.
Always getting trapped in revolving doors.

A ride

I took my car to the dealership for an oil change, tire rotation, and other minor regular maintenance.
I sat in a waiting room for a while before a shuttle bus took a group of other customers home.
I met some very nice people on the bus, including a researcher at the university I went to.
I looked out the window to the campus, the old familiar buildings and trees and the new construction.
Then, as the driver headed to my home, I got a text message.
My car was ready.
I laughed, and told him to take me back.

Plays with grace

After they turn up the lights, cash out everyone’s tabs, turn off the jukebox, and put up the chairs… she gets out her guitar and walks to the stage.
Just a corner of the bar, big enough for one table.
She puts one of the chairs back down on the floor, pushes the table out of the way, and she sits down.
And she plays. She plays so beautifully.
Not like the old days, when she filled the bar, and the line went around the block.
No. Even better.
A tree falls in the forest.
And she hears it fall.

Turn Eighty

The robot served as my mother for years.
Then, when I was older, she served as my wife.
After that, she served as my daughter.
And then, she served as my nurse.
For eighty years, I was never without her.
Nor was she ever without me.
“You turn eighty tomorrow,” she said. “I have enjoyed being with you.”
As she mixed the government-supplied chemicals, I thought about her.
How she’d call for the service to pick up my body.
And whether they’d pick her up for termination.
Or recycling. To become a mother again.
Then a wife. And a daughter.

The Human Touch

They say that the human brain is the most powerful computer.
But they’re wrong. The most powerful computer is in the sub-basement of the university.
It’s a massive array of computing units, networked together at the speed of light.
Surprisingly, it doesn’t take much power.
Just food and water, and some waste disposal.
Because it’s made out of human brains.
No, they’re not brains in jars. They’re still in their bodies.
We tried using homeless people and convicts, but we get better results with normal people.
Just lie on this table and relax. Breathe normally.
It won’t hurt a bit.

How sweet

After every terrorist attack, they’d dance in the streets and hand out candy.
Usually, the bombmakers or the gunmen or bombers in training would stay away from the celebrations.
But every now and then, we’d pick a few up.
Two, four. Always in pairs.
I put two in a room, strapped to chairs that had elevated armrests.
Their fingers forced into the others mouth.
Fingers, covered with cupcake frosting.
“You’re so fond of handing out sweets,” we said. “How sweet are your hands?”
When one finally bit, the other would scream, and they’d bite, too.
Over. And over. And over.

The camera doesn’t lie

They say that the camera doesn’t lie.
And it’s true. The camera doesn’t lie.
It’s the asshole holding it who lies, framing the shot to show what he wants it to show, and leaving out what he doesn’t want to show.
It’s the editor who lies, leaving the truth on the cutting room floor and stitching together their own version of reality.
It’s the producer, choosing what to broadcast and what to leave on the shelf.
It’s the reporter and anchor, with their tone of voice, their body language, wrapping the lie in a package you’ll believe.
But you shouldn’t.

Weekly Challenge #742 – Cleave

Sock cat

LIZZIE

The impressive statue filled the room of the museum. It held an ax and a noose, and also a plate of fruit.
Strange combination, he thought.
“Whatever you do, don’t touch it,” said the security guard, walking away.
He touched the plate, of course. Nothing happened. The noose. Nothing. The ax. Still nothing.
He shrugged.
Suddenly, something hit him. He got snatched back by the neck and was gone when his back got slashed.
Before the cameras, the director promised he would find the culprits.
The security guard hid the noose and the ax away, and calmly enjoyed his apple.

RICHARD

Contract

I like ambiguous words. You know the sort: when you can use the same word to mean completely opposite things, like the word ‘fast’…

When our marriage commenced, our relationship was rock solid, and we felt it would hold fast forever, but now we’re fast approaching the end.

The wife tells me, that no matter what, we’re bound by our vows, and therein lies my getout clause.

You see, I insisted on writing them myself, and when I said we would ‘cleave, together’, I insisted on the comma between them.

That way, I have a contractual obligation to divorce her.

SERENDIPIDY

It’s one of my favourite words – cleave.

Unlike stab, chop, cut, carve and slice it conveys a real sense of intent – a premise of permanency, of finality and complete conviction.

You can’t cleave something half-heartedly and there’s an element of surgical precision too: Cleaving is undertaken with gravitas and commitment, it’s not haphazard, incidental or impulsive.

And, for all those reasons, cleaving is far too good for you.

For you, my friend, it’s the choppy, stabby, slashy, frantic cut and thrust of frenzied abandonment. The messy kind that causes pain and intense suffering.

I’ll save the cleaver for someone better.

TURA

Cleave
———
Three eminent masters of their respective crafts contended to see which was the greatest.

Master Ding the butcher said, “My blows with the cleaver are so sure, that in nineteen years not once have I needed to resharpen it”

Master Qing the carpenter said, “In nineteen years, I have never needed more than a single blow to drive home a nail.”

Master Bing the bureaucrat said, “In nineteen years, I have denied every petition presented to me.”

The other two bowed. The next day, Master Bing’s body was found expertly dismembered, the pieces nailed to the gateposts of his house.

NORVAL JOE

When his mother left, Billbert walked over to his father and looked at the computer screen. “Who exactly is headed our way?”
His father pointed to three blobs on the monitor. “These are super villains. I don’t know who these two are, but this big red one is named Atomic Fission.”
Linoliamanda joined Billbert and his father. “What are his superpowers?”
“Her, superpowers,” Mr. Wienerheimer said. “She divides things, like separating the members of our team. Making it possible to eliminate them one by one.”
Billbert gulped. “Is mom in danger?”
His father shrugged. “I don’t know. I hope not.”

TOM

Chop-Chop

“Mama?” “What Cleave?” “Why did you name me Cleave? Timmy says it’s a stupid name.” “Timmy is a dick, and everyone in this direct DNA pool is a sub-primate.” “No, mama, I know Timmy is a knuckle dragging moron. I need to weaponize my name to battle with the god’s less fortunate, thus seeking the almighty’s reward. Well actually I just want to fuck will them.” “Well it happened a long time ago in Italy. Your Great Grandfather, not one to suffer idiots, buried a butcher’s knife it a customer’s head. Go now my little cleaver, and do likewise. Chop-chop.”

PLANET Z

The annual Best Cleavage Contest was coming up.
Melanie picked out her best low-cut blouse and bra and checked herself in the mirror.
“All natural, no artificial fillers,” she told herself.
Unlike some of the so-called competition.
It took thousands of dollars of surgery to get close to Melanie’s league.
There was no way they’d make top shelf.
So, they took a different approach.
Up there on the stage, Melanie looked up and down the row of flat-chested women.
Who pulled off their skirts and turned around.
Perfect ass-cleavage, every one of them.
Defeated, Melanie felt like a total… fool.

Glued to the television

I remember my mother talking about the Kennedy assassinations and the Moon landing.
She said they were all glued to the television.
Which I found strange, because she was always telling me not to sit so close to the television.
“Why can’t we get a bigger television?” I’d ask. “That way, I don’t have to sit as close to it.”
Now, I’ve got a big flat-panel television up on a stand.
Every now and then, a cat jumps up on the stand.
The cat isn’t exactly glued to the television, but I do hear occasional static crackle on their fur.

Empty Revenge

Does revenge bring closure?
It wasn’t hard to face her killer.
He was in the morgue.
On the table next to my pregnant fiancee.
It was a suicide bombing, after all.
I yelled. I screamed.
Beating his corpse with a folding chair.
But I still felt the rage.
When we found the bombmaker and the planner, I thought about making them eat each other’s fingers.
Instead, we shackled them to concrete blocks, flew them three miles out over the sea.
They fell, begging and screaming.
Let them drown in my tears.
But I felt nothing, and I haven’t cried since.