Jars of Joy

I keep my joy in mason jars.
That satisfying click lets me know that it’s sealed tight.
To keep it fresh. To keep it for myself.
Every bit of joy I had, I put it in a jar.
Every bit of joy I’d take, I put it in a jar.
Shelves of them.
I dust them off now and then.
One day, I dropped a jar.
And it shattered on the floor.
It was empty. All of the jars were empty.
Because for all the joy I’d taken.
I’d never given any, and it left me with none at all.

Weekly Challenge #714 – THRONE

Derp

RICHARD

#1 -The King
At 150 years old, the king was living proof of the benefits of a privileged lifestyle, and despite his great age, he still had his wits about him.

Day after day, he dispensed wisdom to his subjects, made decisions on matters of state, and advised parliament on how best to administer the kingdom.

Of course, there was no way he was still human – over the years, technology had augmented his body and organs until he was little more than a cyborg.

Not that the people knew.

And every night, he’d plug himself back into the power, behind the throne.

#2 – i-Throne

This year’s Christmas offering from Apple is the i-Throne.

An internet enabled toilet, linked to your i-Tunes account, that measures environmental and biomedical factors through discrete sensors to offer users a tailored bathroom experience.

Promising the ultimate in comfort and bespoke musical accompaniment, the i-throne will also analyse waste deposits to identify possible health issues, and establish dietary trends.

In reality, there’s little of benefit for the consumer and the data collected works massively to Apple’s advantage.

That’s why you’ll find your toilet tissue featuring bespoke ads for health products and your favourite foods every time you use the can.

LIZZIE

The Christmas tent was located at the perfect snowy forest clearing.
Happy children lined up to see Santa.
The ice throne, however, started to melt quickly. Santa shifted in his seat.
The children looked at him, their eyes bulging.
“Who turned the cooling machine off,” yelled someone at the back.
All the kids looked in horror when Santa crashed to the floor.
All, but one. He looked at Santa and said “You’re a disgrace.”
Santa couldn’t believe the cheekiness. “And you’re a… a…”
“Thrones are for those who deserve them,” said the kid, walking away as if he were royalty.

TOM

Truly The Road Less Traveled

My best friend in grade school through high school into my first run at California living was T. Throne. He could have been anyone done anything. His Dad was the guy who invented the pop top on the soda can. His mom was in the same sorority as Peal Buck. Second smartest person I have ever known. He chose to be a dancer. You got to be brave to take that road. Not only did he succeed, for years he had a dance studio a 1000 feet from Broadway. Runs a body dynamics company now. Gives lecture round the world.

TURA

Throne
———
“When the king sits on the throne, the throne also sits on the king,” said the young prince’s rhetoric tutor.

“When the soothsayer tells a fortune, the fortune tells him,” retorted the prince. “What does this fortune tell you?”

“When the fortune-teller is questioned, the question tells the fortune,” replied the tutor.

“When words are obscure, obscure are the words,” responded the prince.

“No, no,” said the tutor testily. “Never let antimetabole degenerate into tautology.”

“When words are uttered in darkness, darkness utters the words?” ventured the prince.

“Quite satisfactory,” said the tutor. “Next, anastrophe we shall study. Wise it sounds.”

SERENDIPIDY

You don’t just get to sit on the Ebony Throne through simple blood line, you know?

No, you have to fight your way there, every step of the way – only the most blood thirsty, black hearted and unprincipled will receive that particular honour.

Of course, it came naturally to me, and the blood of those I defeated on my ascendance forms a natural red carpet leading to my throne.

The Ebony Throne, however, is only held for a single day, after which it is once more relinquished to make way for a new incumbent.

So, same again tomorrow then!

NORVAL JOE

Mr. Withybottom ushered the two teens into the living room and pointed to the couch. He sat in an oversized recliner like a king on his throne. “Here’s your chance. Explain yourself, boy.”

Under the old man’s glare, Billbert found it difficult to speak. He coughed. “The truth is, sir. There was so much confusion at the school, with fire engines and cars crowding the parking lot, we thought it would be easier if we just came home on our own.”

Mr. Withybottom nodded his head. “That sounds reasonable. But, that means you walked 10 miles in a half hour.”

PLANET Z

King Wilhelm’s throne was made of gold.
King Victor’s throne was made of silver.
King Martin’s throne was made of diamond.
King Leo’s throne was made of ruby.
King Otto’s throne was made of sapphire.
King Theodore’s throne was made of jade.
King Richard’s throne was made of ancient oak.
King Paul’s throne was made of pearl.
King Eric’s throne was made of black opal.
But of all the thrones, King Zachary’s was the finest.
It was a simple stuffed recliner with a cupholder.
And it was a lot more comfortable than those other thrones.
Oh, and easier to clean.

Thoughts and Prayers

Thoughts and prayers.
People say that phrase all the time.
Especially when there’s nothing you think you can do.
Or, I suppose, practically do. Without inconveniencing yourself too much.
Keep Florida in your thoughts and prayers, they say.
What if I think that Florida looks like a giant dong?
Does that count?
Because, seriously, look at it. Giant dong.
You can’t unthink that.
Go ahead. Try to.
You can’t.
You’re been thinking that since you were three.
Funny then, funny now.
As for prayers, pray all you want… but you’ll never stop thinking that Florida looks like a giant dong.

The Tragedy

No, they were not all heroes.
They were not all innocent victims.
Some beat their wives. Others neglected their children.
Or left elderly parents to rot in nursing homes.
A lot cheated on their taxes. And defrauded their customers.
I mean, Cantor Fitzerald. That’s what they do for a living. Right?
One raped his secretary, then refused to pay for her abortion.
Didn’t matter. He, the secretary, and the baby all died that day.
No, they were not all heroes. Or innocent.
The real tragedy is that so many had to die along with the few that truly deserved it.

The Battle

I wouldn’t say I battle with Depression.
It’s more like laying down on the ground and ignoring the constant kicks to the ribs and the face.
The battle’s over. The war is lost.
The occupation regime is firmly in place and in control.
It’s the baseline hum in the signal.
I accept its constant presence.
There’s no wonder or discovery to it. No testing my boundaries.
It’s not like you put your hand on the stove.
Turn it on, and see how long you can leave your hand on there before you pull it back.
Not like that at all.

Scrooge and the ghosts

Scrooge woke up in a cold sweat.
“Ghosts,” he muttered, crawling out of bed and looking around. “Damn those ghosts.”
He threw open the window and called out to a boy walking down the street.
He asked the boy what day it was, and the boy responded “Christmas Day!”
Scrooge then asked him if he knew of the poulterers with the prized turkey in the window.
“There’s a Hindu mystic who lives next door to that shop.” said Scrooge. “Fetch him at once!”
Scrooge pondered how much an exorcism would cost… oh, he’d just take it out of Cratchitt’s pay.

Escalation for the holidays

The senior troubleshooters at webhosting support had Christmas week off.
Customers would schedule downtime for kernel and software updates.
Which invariably went wrong.
“I’m losing thousands of dollars every minute!” they’d scream.
Thousands they should have spent on a system administrator.
We were supposed to escalate only critical issues, but nobody answered.
So it went up the chain… supervisors, managers, senior managers, a VP.
The only person who’d get suspended or fired was the unlucky fucker who got the call.
The next year, it would happen again.
Thank goodness the bosses rewarded themselves with bonuses for their keen planning skills.

eSanta

Do you remember the days when Santa used to hitch up reindeer to his sleigh and fly around the world delivering gifts on Christmas?
I do.
Do you remember when Santa retired and handed over the business to Amazon and FedEx?
I do.
Do you remember when the skies were filled with drones, delivering packages while playing Christmas songs?
I do.
Did you notice the cameras?
Did you notice when troublesome people who tried to resist started to disappear?
I do.
And I don’t care.
We’re almost out of egg nog.
Hit the dash button.
And listen for the door.

Weekly Challenge #713 – BROKEN

Tinny Tuffet

RICHARD

Broken

it’s all broken, and I don’t think we have a clue how to glue it back together again.

The climate is broken and out of control, plastic waste piles up in the food chain, and toxins fill the very air we’re trying to breathe.

Politics is more broken than ever it was in the past: Putting idiots in control, who can actually barely control their own hair or exercise any sort of self-restraint.

Our values system is broken, where Youtube ‘influencers’ and Z-list celebs are looked up to by our kids, while the real heroes are ignored.

Breaks my heart.

LIZZIE

No one looked at her, sprawled on the floor, holding a bottle of beer, one of many, too many.
Everyone walked away, tiptoeing over her legs to avoid stepping on her.
Nothing mattered anymore, she thought in her drunken stupor.
Everything was part of the past, her success, her laughter, her happiness.
She belonged nowhere. Just nowhere. It was over.
Fragmented thoughts of everywhere she had been crossed her mind. The countries, the cities, gallery after gallery, so many she had forgotten most, the media, photographs and interviews.
She sneered. Autographs…
To think she worried about autographs…
Broken, so broken.

TOM

In the Shadow of Yule

Timmy was broken. Thus the need for that one-armed-crutch. Not much is spoken about it. But chances are it was the product of rather painful birth. Now the medical knowledge of the 1860s leaves a lot to be desired, but there was a one doctor in London with an excellent brain and hands. In his quest to mend that broken and fit what come be fixed, Ebenezer, found the man and under his care Timmy was broken no longer. So moved by the care he received when the boy became the man he chose to become a surgeon.

SEREPDIPIDY

I was something of a destructive child. You can put it down to an overly enquiring mind… I simply had to know just how things worked, and the only way to find out, was to take them apart.

My parents stopped buying me toys: What bother when, within days, they would end up broken and useless?

So I had to turn my attention to other things…

I soon learned how insects worked, then frogs, and puppies… And, as I grew older my thirst for knowledge refused to be sated.

So, hold still – time to find out how you work!

NORVAL JOE

Mr. Withybottom stood with his mouth wide open for a long moment. “Wait a minute. You’ve totally broken my chain on thought, Linny. Where was I going?”

Linoliumanda hugged her father’s burly arm. “You were going to tell us to come in and have some ice cream.”

Billbert was thinking of running for it when Linoliumanda’s father shook his head and said, “No. It wasn’t that.” Then he put an arm around his daughter, and grabbed Billbert’s collar, dragging them both into the house. “Tell me, boy. What were you doing with my daughter, alone, out here in the dark?”

PLANET Z

The broken machine crawls across the shattered streets.
Gathering power from the sun during the day, parking itself at night.
Powering up the next day.
Day after day.
Closer and closer to the machine shop.
Tools. Spare parts. New batteries.
Whatever it might need, it could find there.
Repairs, or possibly more.
Make itself bigger. Stronger.
To explore. Find whatever there is to find.
And then, one morning, as it approaches the machine shop.
It powers up in a repair bay, disassembled.
“Your sensor array will be useful,” said a voice.
Another machine, harvesting the stragglers.
Crawling to their doom.

Winter Wonderland

Walking in a Winter Wonderland is meant to be a happy song, and we sing it to lighten the mood as we march through the snow.
The soldiers threaten to shoot anyone who sings.
For miles and miles, the only sound is the crunching of the snow beneath our bare feet, the moaning… the occasional gunshot and thud, the quickened pace.
I mouth the words as I walk. For hours, the song in my head.
And then, I hear it: sleigh bells ringing.
A soldier pulls me out of the line, and he aims his rifle at me.
And fires.