It will be ok

I don’t make wishes.
And I don’t pray.
What’s the point of that?
Why not just solve the problem?
Well, you can’t always do that.
Every now and then, I’ll say “Here’s hoping”, but that’s just a saying.
No prayer or wish intended.
Sometimes I say “It will be ok.”
That’s as close as I get to wishing or praying.
Because, usually, it will be okay.
Things aren’t as bad as they seem to be.
And if they turn out worse, well, at least you shut them up for a bit before the real shit happened and they started screaming.

Weekly Challenge #795 – Needle

Evil

LIZZIE

“Empty. Damn dopehead thief.”
Everyone made faces. The place stunk.
“Where to now? He has to be somewhere.”
Everyone looked at the deserted road.
“We should…”
“Yes, we should do something.”
Everyone looked at the elderly woman, standing at the back, knitting.
“This is no time to be knitting, lady.”
She smiled.
“I know where he is.”
“Where?!”
“At my home. I’m helping him. And no one, I mean no one, will touch him. He’s trying.”
“Well, why did you come along in the search party then?”
“Because I like to keep an eye on overly enthusiastic people, let’s say!”

RICHARD

Vaccine

“Just a little prick!” She said, rolling up my shirt sleeve.

“There’s no need to get personal!” I responded, giving her a mischievous wink.

The sour expression on her face told me that my not-so-subtle attempt at humour was not appreciated.

She slid the needle into my arm, depressed the plunger, withdrew and swabbed the spot. It was all over in seconds.

“All done” she exclaimed, and I stood up, pulled my jacket back on and walked towards the door.

As I stepped out into the corridor, she called out behind me…

“You’ve got a cute butt, though!”

DUANE

They say if you play Stairway to Heaven backwards it has Satanic messages. I tried it with my old stereo, but I didn’t hear anything. Same thing with Another One Bites the Dust. I played all the Beatles albums, Pink Floyd and Black Oak Arkansas. There was nothing recognizable.

Thinking my record needle might be getting old I taped a penny to the top of the arm. I went back through all the records again but still there were no hidden messages. I put on an old Rick Astley album and started turning it in reverse. My mind was blown.

SERENDIPITY

My trade is rather niche: I’m a specialist, one of a kind really, and those who need my services appreciate my eye for detail.

So, what exactly is it that I do?

I dispose of weapons. Weapons used in the course of criminal activity.

I don’t just dump them, I like my methods to have an ironic twist.

Like the piano wire garrotte that I fashioned into a necklace, for example.

My latest is my favourite – A hypodermic needle, used to poison a farmer…

So, how did I dispose of it?

I threw it into one of his haystacks!

NORVAL JOE

After stopping at the real estate agent to get the key, which Billbert thought looked like something George Washington probably used, they pulled up in front of the house.
“Here’s our new home,” Mr. Blanketmaker said with all the enthusiam of a game show host.
“New, Dad?” Billbert asked. “It looks haunted. How old is this place?”
“It was brand new in 1888,” his father laughed. “Come on, Son. It’s got character. Linoliamanda would love it.”
“Don’t needle your son, Hosmer,” his mother said.
Looking at the weatherworn house, Billbert thought his father probably was right. Linoliamanda would love it.

JARED

The Red Pill and the Truth
It’s amazing all the stuff ‘They’ don’t want us to know. But I know the Red Pill is available on YouTube. Take this Wuhan Flu and the so-called vaccines. I learned that the Chinese created the virus, and Bill Gates is using their 5G to make tracking chips small enough to fit through the vaccine needles to bring us all under their control. Now, I know people say they can’t get stuff that small, but let me tell you something, Mr. Smarty-pants: I’ve seen ‘Fantastic Voyage’. They shrunk a whole submarine and crew that small. And that was in 1966.

TURA

Needle
———
Seattle’s still sore about them stealing the name, but what else could you call the mile-high obelisk that launches the hyperdrive ships? We send them to every promising exoplanet we’ve discovered. The robot ships will mine the planets, and build more ships and space needles to continue the panspermia.

But we still haven’t solved the problem of sending fragile humans through hyperspace. If we can’t survive on Earth either, the endgame will be a galactic network of hyperdrive ports, and empty halls waiting to be discovered by some alien race, to marvel at the glorious beings who did these things.

PLANET Z

Every few months, I get blood drawn for some condition or another.
The more blood, the bigger the bruise.
Sometimes, there’s not much of a bruise, and it goes away quickly.
But as I get older, the bruises stay for a week or more.
One day, I know the bruises won’t go away.
The scars. The scores.
The coughing and wheezing.
Blurry vision, bad hearing.
Stumbling around. Falling.
Waking up in a hospital bed with more needles and tubes and wires and bags of fluid and beeping things.
The only thing I’ll get from it all is bills.
And bruises.

An Awareness

Every person’s existence is based on a cosmically infinite set of circumstances and the longest odds.
Mine is a bit more TL;DR than most.
And to be this age in spite of it?
When so many had the misfortune to succumb to their own greater burdens?
I should be more grateful than I am.
I should be more forgiving than I am.
You only get so much time.
And to accept that when all is said and done, pick up your bags and get on the train.
But there’s always time for one last kiss on the station platform.

Britannic

The Britannic was the sister ship to the Titanic.
And, like her unsinkable sister ship, the unsinkable Britannic sank as well.
Oh, sure, their reinforced the Britannica’s hull. And added more life boats.
And the Britannic spent her life as a hospital ship in warmer waters than Titanic.
But where the Titanic’s spotters failed to spot an iceberg, the Britannic’s spotters failed to notice a mine.
Which is understandable, since mines are much smaller than icebergs.
And make for less interesting movies, I suppose.
The third sister ship, Olympic, was sold for scrap and demolished.
Even less interesting, I suppose.

When it rains, Bob

The old saying goes that when it rains it pours.
I guess that’s meant to be taken metaphorically, when a lot of things happen at once, because my friend Bob, the weather guy, he’s got all kinds of words to describe rain other than pouring.
Drizzling is the most amusing of the words he uses.
Although I’ve heard others say “gullywasher” which is even more amusing, but Bob doesn’t ever use that word.
He lives in a gully, and takes offense that it is somehow unclean.
“My gully is spotless,” says Bob. “Just say pouring and shut the fuck up.”

The pet forgetful rock

Most people have organizers or smartphones to remember things for them.
Appointments, shopping lists… that kind of thing.
I have a photographic memory.
I remember everything.
The hard thing for me to do is to forget things.
So, I got a pet rock, and it’s job is to forget things for me.
It just sits there, totally oblivious, unable to remember a thing.
I picked it up and threw it on the grass.
Will it remember that?
Of course not. It doesn’t remember anything.
So, why should I remember?
And, should I lose the stupid thing, will it forget itself?

Hunting isn’t fun

They say that hunting isn’t as fun when the rabbit has a gun.
But that’s assuming that the rabbit also has bullets for the gun.
Although a rabbit could try to pistol-whip you with the gun.
Or bash you over the head if it’s a rifle or a shotgun.
The rabbit could also bluff, pointing an empty gun at you before you have a chance to cock and aim yours.
They’re small and quiet and fast, so there’s no shame in a rabbit getting the drop on you.
Just hand over your wallet and all of your carrots slowly, sir.

Sakura

We arrive in Tokyo as the cherry blossoms bloomed.
“Sakura,” we say, arriving in the park.
The pink flowers are everywhere.
We breathe cherry blossom, bitter and sweet.
The crowds are thick, every tree had people under it.
After a while, we find an open spot.
We lay out a blanket, take off our shoes, and sit.
The trees are in bloom for only a few days.
Life is short, but it can be sweet and beautiful.
We stand up, put on our shoes, roll up the blanket, and head to our hotel.
And dream of pink flowers everywhere, forever.

Weekly Challenge #794 – So many questions…

Happy girl

TOM

And Then She Was Gone

So Many Questions, so little answers. She had it all, wealth, the
adoration of millions. A rich internal spiritual life that gave her a rock
solid center to engage an all to raged modern world. Traveled the world to
comfort the inflected and stormed the hall of power in inflect the
comfortable. What seeping darkness had finally dimmed the light. What
growing weight press the last ounce of joy. Could you see it in her eyes?
The question remain and the answers elude. In the end we are left with
silent ghosts. When the light goes out the darkness gathers.

RICHARD

Questions, questions, questions!

Oh, for crying out loud!

Not another one, surely?

So many questions – it’s almost as if you imagine we’ve no idea what we’re getting into.

Do you honestly think that after three years we haven’t considered the points you’re raising at all?

It’s embarrassing, especially in front of all these people. How would you like to be paraded in front of family and friends and interrogated, it’s just not right!

Let’s just assume the answer is ‘yes’ to all these damn questions?

And just maybe, we’ll get to ‘You may kiss the bride’, before the end of the ceremony!

LIZZIE

I sat at my desk and pondered.
Should I go and interview the man?
Should I shake his hand?
Should I be friendly?
Should I smile?
Should I let him lead the conversation or should I ask him specific questions?
Should I show him the photos? The ones with their faces? The ones where they were still smiling?
And the maps? Should I show him the maps, the ones where the crosses mark the different locations?
Should I ask him…? Should I ask him about the bodies?
And are there more out there? Are there?
Where, please, tell us, where?

SERENDIPIDY

There were so many questions I wanted to ask, after all, it’s not every day you get to interview a real serial killer, especially when you’re just sixteen and doing an exclusive piece for the school newspaper!

But I only had fifteen minutes, and I had to make them count.

So I decided to ditch my prepared list – I could always make up the answers afterwards – and ask the things I really, desperately, wanted to know.

He entered the room.

“Hi, Mister Dahmer…

What would you advise a sixteen year old who wants to get into serial killing?”

TURA

So many questions
———
I was sitting outside a cafe on the Rialto one evening when I saw Jim emerge from the crowd.

“Hey Jim, where you been all these years? Weren’t you searching for the secret masters of ancient wisdom? How’s it going? Can I get you a drink?”

“So many questions!” he said. “Found a few, still seeking others. There’s a door off an obscure alley here in Venice that only opens at certain times. So I dropped by you on my way.”

“But how did you know I was here?” I asked.

“Secret wisdom!” he said, and disappeared into the crowd.

NORVAL JOE

Unable to sleep because of the endless pounding on the motel room’s wall, Billbert lay awake as so many questions ran through his head. Had he been older, his first question would have been, how long would their neighbor be pounding the walls? Instead, Billbert wondered, why had they moved to this forsaken, out of the way town? If Nuclear Fission had found his mother before, what guaranteed that she wouldn’t find her here? But, ultimately, the questions that nagged him most were, would Linoliamanda forget all about him and would he ever be able to be with her again?

DUANE

I’m getting tired of so many questions. Just when I think it’s done the process starts all over again.

Who would do such a thin

When did you find out?

What are you doing to keep it from happening again?

Why didn’t you come forward sooner?

How did this make feel?

Wait, where are you going?

My guidance counselor says I still have a week to drop journalism 101. Theater class would be fun, but that’s just more drama. Home ec always smells like cookies when I walk by. Wood shop sounds alright. I could make a cool wooden bong.

JARED

“Is that you, Captain?”

“Do I look like a Girl Scout?”

“Did we wake you from your beauty sleep?”

“What do you think?”

“So, what do you make of this?”

“Is that a clown wig?”

“And how about the feet?”

“Are those ice skates?”

“Notice anything else about the victim?”

“You mean, like the hole in their forehead, or the missing hands?”

“What about the blood?”

“Where is it?”

“Wouldn’t we like to know?”

“So, where did it happen?”

“Would you like to see the next room?”

“Why not?”

“What do you think here?”

“How did it get up there?”

PLANET Z

Trivial Pursuit games contain only so many questions.
It’s possible to memorize all of them in a set.
You can buy more sets, but those can be memorized, too.
Tournaments become nothing more than memorization challenges and lucky dice rolls.
That’s what trivia bots are for.
Millions of questions in a database, too much knowledge to study and memorize.
Unless you’re a trivia bot, too.
Then, you know all the questions and answers.
Which is why we scan for helper devices at tournaments.
No phones. No earpieces.
No ocular or neural implants.
And certainly no loaded dice allowed in, either.

Singin’ in the rain

Fred Astaire used to sing in the rain.
Until he caught a bad cold, which became pneumonia.
It took him weeks to recover from it.
Most people can shake a cold pretty quickly, but a singer has to be extra-careful with their voice.
Not to mention that he was also a dancer.
These days, they’d do the rain with advanced computer graphics.
But you could still tell that he was dry from his face and clothes.
Sure, they could simulate that too, but not as well as actually getting him wet.
Which would give him a cold and pneumonia again.