Tag Archives: prose

∙ᶌ∙ Ϡ ∙ᶌ∙ the real housewives of ‘Once Upon A Time’

“Will you pleeeease stop calling me Red!”  whined the young woman formerly known as Little Red Riding Hood.  She pushed back the hood of  the grey wolf  fur coat she was wearing,  stamping snow off  of  her matching fur boots as the butler closed the front door of  the castle behind her.

“Oh,  for Pete’s sake!”  said Snow White.  “We call you that because you dye your hair red,  not because you used to wear that ugly red cloak.”  She was standing in front of  the magic mirror,  trying to see herself  around the idiot who lived in the mirror.  Giving up,  she turned toward the group of  women she had invited for dinner.

“Then why do we call you Snow White?  Your hair’s black!”  Red had been jealous of  Snow ever since she got to marry a prince and live in a castle.

“That’s just her alias”  said a stunning (natural) redhead.

“Yes,  she used to be Cynthia Tedrehan until they caught her on camera trying to rob a fruit stand”  added the gorgeous blonde standing next to her.  I am Snow-White!  And this is my sister,  Rose-Red”  she said pointing to the redhead.  “Does the prince know you’re a felon,  Cindy?”

Belle let out a very un-ladylike snort.

“Ha!  If  her prince doesn’t care about her having lived with seven little men,  why would he care if  she tried to steal some fruit?”

“That was uncalled for.”  said Aurora {aka Sleeping Beauty.}  “You were willing to marry the Beast when you didn’t know he would turn back into a prince.  Talk about kinky!”

Belle shot her a dirty look.

“At least I didn’t marry the prince who raped me while I was sleeping.  You were what?  Seven months pregnant by the time you woke up?”

Aurora took a step toward Belle,  her face bright red.

{Cinder}Ella stepped between them,  putting her arm around Aurora.  {She,  too,  thought Belle was probably a pervert.}

A woman sitting in the corner suddenly cleared her throat.  Everyone turned to her,  but no one recognized the woman with the blonde pixie-cut hairstyle.  “Really,  ladies!  Enough of  this trash-talk!”

Sensing the confusion in the room,  Snow said “Have I told you how much I like your new ‘do,  Rapunzel?”

Belle snorted again.  “The way I heard it,  you’d let your hair down for any Tom,  Dick or Harry when you were locked in the tower.  Did your prince make you cut it before he would marry you?”

Just as it seemed someone was going to take a swing,  the butler appeared.  Ringing a tiny bell,  he said “Dinner is served,  m’ladies.”

This story’s moral ~
careful what you say…    or hope
you’re  ‘saved by the bell’

∙ᶌ∙ Ϡ ∙ᶌ∙

{in the original fairy tales,  all of  the women except one married a prince.  i took poetic license including Little Red Riding Hood since we don’t know if she has married ~ here is my original poem about her posted 23 September 2011}

no innocent

was she

but rather

a devious,

greedy girl

schooled well

in the

ways of


by grandma

no wolf

stood a



her wiles

with the


old lady

as bait



woodsman’s axe

coming down


their heads

from behind

next winter

all three


stay warm






∙ᶌ∙ Ϡ ∙ᶌ∙

“Little Red Riding Hood”   Sam the Sham and the Pharoahs   {Betty Boop Video}

originally posted  18 March 2012

all images are in the public domain unless otherwise noted
credit for the images as follows ~

‘Little Red Riding Hood silhouette’
Le chaperon rouge, vu par krak

‘Snow White in the mirror’
peter pearson’s flickr photostream

some rights reserved

‘Snow White and the Dwarfs’
by Anne Anderson (1874-1930)

‘Beauty sat down to dinner with the Beast’
by Anne Anderson (1874-1930)

‘Sleeping Beauty and the Prince’
pencil and watercolor 1899

by Henry Meynell Rheam (1859–1920)

‘Rapunzel in her tower’
by John B. Gruelle

From The Project Gutenberg eBook
Grimm’s Fairy Stories
by Jacob Grimm and Wilhelm Grimm
Illustrated by John B. Gruelle and R. Emmett Owen

read the fairy tales on wikipedia.org at these links ~

‘Little Red Riding Hood’

‘Snow-White and Rose-Red’

‘Snow White and the Dwarfs’

‘Beauty and the Beast’

‘Sleeping Beauty’



Leave a comment

Filed under blog anniversary, Creative Every Day, fantasy, science fiction and horror, haibun, humor, NaBloPoMo, poetry, Post-A-Day, prose, redux

haboob {another creepy tail}



It was easy to slip across the border from Mexico into Arizona and a haboob was the perfect cover to get into the city undetected.  The massive dust storms covered the valley at least once or twice every summer during the monsoon season.  One news helicopter photographer caught a few seconds of  the two lights moving in at the front edge of  the mile-high wall of  dust,  but it was explained away as airplanes skirting the storm to land at Phoenix Sky Harbor International Airport.  People only see what they want to…  especially those with neophobia.  In today’s political climate,  that was just about everybody.  Arrangements had been made the week before via email offering a remunerative deal that a local street gang couldn’t refuse.  It was just enough to cover what they could make in a month selling weed ~ any more would have made them suspicious.   A small bag full of  diamonds would be left at the landing site.

The two space ships set down unnoticed in the burnt-out block of  South Phoenix where the drug gang had chased off  all the addicts and homeless people.  By then, everyone who could be was inside anyway.  The haboob was an immense sand blaster made by nature with hurricane-force winds.  Anybody unlucky enough to be caught unawares was stuck on the side of  a road somewhere praying that their car wouldn’t be carried away like Dorothy’s house in the Wizard of  Oz.

Ramps came down from both landing craft letting out a strange neon-orange glow.  The eight-legged creatures made their way into the rubbish filled back yard of  an abandoned house.  A modulated signal beyond human hearing was being broadcast. The haboob would also mask detection by any of  the humans’  equipment designed to pick up sounds in that range.  In less than a minute a strange scurrying noise could be heard.  It seemed to get louder by the second.  The creatures from the space ships opened the doors at one end of  each of  the cases they carried in their two front claws,  laying them gently on the ground.  In under ten minutes,  the containers were being filled by scorpions of  every size scrambling over one another to get into the large cases.  The {illegal} aliens closed the containers and made their way back into their ships,  cooing and clicking to calm their babies within.  They had more than enough nurseries on board the mother ship to allow their descendants plenty of  room.  All of  the subterfuge had been unnecessary when they had made the last trip one hundred years ago.  It had been quite a surprise to discover that the city had grown so quickly,  invading their hatching grounds.  The next brood would have to be laid on a deserted planet in another solar system.

The ramps pulled up and the two ships launched back into the haboob just before the tail end of  the dust cloud passed through the area.  When they reached South Mountain,  the ships suddenly shot straight out of  Earth’s atmosphere in the blink of  an eye.  If  there had been any eyes looking.

Video footage of  the haboobs always made the network news shows the next day.  Only one local station aired a thirty-second segment the following week to report the abrupt disappearance of  scorpions in South Phoenix.  The residents themselves didn’t question it.  They were just grateful to have the scorpions gone since no one in that area could afford an exterminator.



“Holiday”   Scorpions

{ by strange coincidence,  i’m a Scorpio.  make of  that what you will… }



this story was prompted by ~

3 Word Week #23     at     READING AND WRITING BY PUB LIGHT
prompts:  {all three must be used}
thanks for the  ‘haboob’  prompt,  Steve ~ another creepy-crawly story for you {smile}

I.)  haboobn.
A penetrating sandstorm or dust storm with violent winds,  occurring chiefly in Arabia,  North Africa and India. {and in Arizona,  U.S.A.}

II.)  neophobian.  A tendency to dislike anything new;  a morbid fear of novelty;  misoneism.

III.)   remunerativeadj.
1.)  Yielding suitable recompense;  profitable.
2.)  Serving to remunerate.



originally posted  27 September 2011



photograph by Mike Oblinski of  an actual haboob in Phoenix
{  fair use }



Leave a comment

Filed under blog anniversary, Creative Every Day, fantasy, science fiction and horror, fiction, NaBloPoMo, Post-A-Day, prose, redux, short stories

•☯• dream catcher •☯•

The sickly sweet aroma of  summer’s fruits gone over-ripe sent me wandering back…  reminding me of  a fervid summer day that was the last time I could claim my life as my own.

It was the final year of  The Thirty Year Drought.  Of  course,  no one knew then that the rains would return in a matter of  weeks.  The crops weren’t worth harvesting and the hard,  shriveled fruits were left to rot on the vines.  The heavy perfume of  the grotesque vegetation was so thick I could see it ~ a blue haze that insinuated itself  into the dust that was everywhere.

Both my parents took the day work they could find in town,  insisting that I stay on the farm to protect what little of  value was left.  Though only fifteen,  I’d gotten damn good with the old pump-action shotgun.  Stupid fucking men thinking I was just a piece of  ass they could enjoy before they stripped our place clean of  whatever they could eat,  drink or carry off.  None of  the neighbors cared how we kept our pigs fed as long as we shared the meat whenever we slaughtered one.

I hoped that helping others to survive would spare me from eternal damnation but,  with every life I took,  I felt my future dying as the Earth died all around me.  I spent my days sitting on the front porch waiting for the marauders,  shotgun hidden in the folds of  my skirt,  decorating grapevine hoops with felt from our one remaining sheep,  as well as found feathers and pretty stones.  I hung them all along the porch eaves.

I’d taken to watching a spider spinning its webs inside the hoops,  one after another.  By the time the spider had wound the last thread,  it no longer seemed strange to me that he had started at one end and moved,  hoop by hoop,  to the opposite end of  the porch.  I wasn’t at all surprised when the wise-looking spider spoke to me.

“I  have brought you an opportunity to help Humankind and the Earth”  he whispered,  “if  you have the courage to devote yourself  to their needs.”  “What would I have to do?”  I asked hesitantly.

“Between the two of  us,  we have created dream catchers which hold the destiny of  the future within them.  They will only work if  the People believe in the Great Spirit and in the power of  the dream catchers.  You must go to each Human and speak to them when they are sleeping,  giving them the faith they are lacking.  Leave a dream catcher hanging above their bed so that it may filter their good ideas,  dreams and visions to them while they slumber.  The bad ones will be trapped and will not pass.  In this way,  they will discover the actions that need to be taken to heal the Earth and bring balance to all Life.”

I could not refuse the honour of  being chosen for such an important task.  It did not take long for Humans to begin to solve the problems of  the world.  A way to seed clouds to make rain was working in less than a month;  new farming techniques were developed which helped to feed everyone.  With their new-found faith,  violence ceased.  All of  the deadly sins were vanquished.  Those with material goods shared.  Those with knowledge taught.  Those with hearts full of  love and compassion cared for those who were unable to care for themselves.  Life flourished as others began to spread the Faith we all need to have in ourselves to succeed.

The spider and I continue to make dream catchers to deliver around the world.  His companionship is a treasure I truly cherish.

Working together
Gives individuals strength
United we thrive


“Dreamcatcher”   Secret Garden

Poetry form ~

(Japanese: 俳文 haikai writings) is a literary composition that combines prose and haiku. The range of haibun is broad and includes, but is not limited to, the following forms of prose:  autobiography,  biography,  diary,  essay,  history,  prose poem,  short story and travel literature…..

A haibun may record a scene, or a special moment, in a highly descriptive and objective manner or may occupy a wholly fictional or dream-like space. The accompanying haiku may have a direct or subtle relationship with the prose and encompass or hint at the gist of what is recorded in the prose sections…..

Contemporary practice of haibun composition in English is evolving rapidly. Generally, a haibun consists of one or more paragraphs of prose written in a concise,  imagistic  haikai  style,  and one or more haiku…..Read More

image ~ “dreamcatchers”  by  media123
creative commons license

the history of  dream catchers

how to make a dream catcher

a wonderful reading of  the poem “The Spider and the Fly”
with the poem in print on the screen~

“The Spider and the Fly”  by  Mary Howitt  Read by Tom O’Bedlam

“Will you rest upon my little bed?” said the Spider to the Fly.”
‘The Spider and the Fly’   Mary Howitt   1829

the mortal or deadly sins

originally posted  19 August 2012 ~ this was one of  the top  five most viewed posts in 2013

Leave a comment

Filed under blog anniversary, Creative Every Day, haibun, NaBloPoMo, poetry, Post-A-Day, redux

•Ψ• Sinnerman •Ψ•




Damn!  They were going to hear the sound of  his bare feet on the pavement even if  they couldn’t see him in the shadows of  the old factory!  What had happened to his shoes?  His memory was a jumbled mess of  blurry images…  all he knew for certain was that  “they”  were chasing him!


unning in the forest at dusk was too dangerous!  He’d better stop until full dark if  he didn’t want to be discovered ~ every footfall crunched leaves or snapped a twig.  Breathing heavily,  he slid as far under the old tree root as he could get.  He covered himself  with the detritus of  the forest floor and hoped that no animal would catch the scent of  blood on him if  he fell asleep.



Running through the stream under the full moon left him too exposed.  The glint off  of  the blade of  the knife clutched in his left hand might catch someone’s eye.  He paused long enough to bury it beneath a pile of  rocks in the shallow water.



Running along the narrow pebbled bank of  the creek sent stones skittering off  into the grass and tumbling down into the water.  His foot slid along with the tiny rocks and,  before he knew what happened,  his left foot was sucked into the oozing mud.  He fell to his knees in the stream and thrust his hands up to the heavens.
“Help me,  Lord!”  he cried.  “I  have sinned but i am asking for your forgiveness.”
But the Lord God refused,  telling him  “GO TO THE DEVIL,  SINNERMAN!”



The smell of  sulfur burned his lungs…  trying to take shallow breaths,  he waded through the stream as it began to bubble and hiss at the edges,  his bare feet already blistering on the hot stones beneath the water.
“Lucifer!  Lucifer!”  he called out.  “I  beg sanctuary!  Tell me what I  must do!”
The Devil sneered and said  “OFF WITH YOU, FILTH!  GET OUT OF  MY SIGHT!”



They had set the wolves on him.  He could hear the howling not too far away but his raw,  bloody feet could not move any faster.  Was it still the same night?  Or had he lost an entire day like he had lost his clothes and his memories?
Blood spurting onto walls…   onto the sheets…  onto him…
red,  crimson,  scarlet.  What you called it didn’t matter.
That bright vermilion spraying all over was the only clear memory he had.


Clothed in naught but the darkness,  ol’  Sinnerman shook his head like a dog,  trying to get the sweat out of  his eyes.  Not that it mattered if  he could see.  Rejected by both Jehovah and Beelzebub…..      he had nowhere to go.

›·• Ψ •·‹

When even Lucifer

has shunned ye…..      Oh,  Sinnerman,

just what did you do?

›·• Ψ •·‹




“Sinnerman”    Nina Simone



the final paragraph/haikū-senryū  haibun portion beginning “clothed in naught…”  was originally posted  16 February 2012
the  “back story”  was published  at  Microstory A Week  11 April 2012  { my gratitude to  Steve Isaak }  { revised ever so slightly }



artwork  ~   “Last Angel”   Nicholas Roerich
{  public domain }



“Sinnerman”    Nina Simone

lyrics ~
{i think these lyrics are incomplete but hopefully not inaccurate.}

Songwriters:  Nina Simone

Oh, Sinnerman, where you gonna run to?
 Sinnerman, where you gonna run to?
Where you gonna run to?
All along dem day.

Well I run to the rock, please hide me.
I run to the Rock, please hide me.
I run to the Rock, please hide me, Lord.
All along dem day.

But the rock cried out, I can’t hide you.
The Rock cried out, I can’t hide you.
The Rock cried out, I ain’t gonna hide you guy.
All along dem day.

I said, “Rock, what’s a matter with you, Rock?”
“Don’t you see I need you, Rock?”
Lord, Lord, Lord.
All along dem day.

So I run to the river, it was bleedin’.
 I run to the sea, it was bleedin’.
 I run to the sea, it was bleedin’.
All along dem day.

So I run to the river, it was boilin’.
 I run to the sea, it was boilin’.
 I run to the sea, it was boilin’.
All along dem day.

So I ran to the Lord, please hide me, Lord.
 Don’t you see me prayin’?
 Don’t you see me down here prayin’?

But the Lord said, “Go to the devil.”
The Lord said, “Go to the devil.”
He said, “Go to the devil.”
All along dem day.

So I ran to the devil, he was waitin’.
 I ran to the devil, he was waitin’.
 I ran to the devil, he was waitin’.
All on that day.

I cried, power (Power to da Lord)
Power (Power to da Lord)
Power (Power to da Lord)

Bring down (Power to da Lord)
Bring down (Power to da Lord)
Bring down (Power to da Lord)
Bring down (Power to da Lord)
Power (Power to da Lord)
Power (Power to da Lord)
Power (Power to da Lord)
Oh yeah, oh yeah, oh yeah

Well, I run to the river, it was boilin’.
 I run to the sea, it was boilin’.
 I run to the sea, it was boilin’.
All along dem day.

So I ran to the Lord I said,
“Lord hide me, please hide me.”
“Please help me.”
All along dem day.

He said, “Child, where were you
 When you ought a been prayin’?”
 I said,”Lord, Lord, hear me prayin’.”
 Lord, Lord, hear me prayin’.
 Lord, Lord, hear me prayin’.”
All along dem day.

Sinnerman you ought a be prayin’.
 Ought a be prayin’, Sinnerman.
 Ought a be prayin’.
All on that day.

I cried, power (Power to da Lord)
Power (Power to da Lord)
Power (Power to da Lord)
Power (Power to da Lord)

Go down (Power to da Lord)
Go down (Power to da Lord)
Go down (Power to da Lord)

Power (Power to da Lord)
Power (Power to da Lord)
Power (Power to da Lord)

Oh woh, power, power, Lord.
Don’t you know.
Don’t you know, I need you Lord?
Don’t you know that I need you?
Don’t you know that I need you?
Power, power, power, Lord.




Leave a comment

Filed under blog anniversary, Creative Every Day, haibun, NaBloPoMo, poetry, Post-A-Day, Post-A-Week, prose, redux

• җ• Bugged •җ •

The first incident occurred when she was eight years old.  She got head lice at school.  Her hair fell below her waist and the school nurse told her mother it would be best to shave her head as the infestation was so severe.  Even months afterward,  Marie had nightmares of  the lice squirming around on her scalp.  She never let her hair get longer than a pixie cut the rest of  her life.

When she was ten years old,  her family went camping at Yosemite National Park.  In less than an hour,  Marie stepped onto a red ant hill.  The ants were swarming over her entire body ~ even her face ~ before her father could wash all of  them off.  It turned out that Marie was highly allergic to the ants and had to be rushed to the hospital.

Marie was almost fourteen when the small mid-western town she lived in suffered an infestation of  grasshoppers.  She was walking into the house when a grasshopper jumped into her eye.  Not only did it scratch the cornea,  her eye became infected.  She had to wear a patch over her left eye the first six weeks of  high school.

A bee sting at her high school graduation picnic caused Marie’s face to swell.  Since her tongue and throat were also swelling,  another trip to the hospital was in order.  But not before the whole senior class had seen her disfigurement.  The school mailed Marie her diploma.

Marie had a double dorm room to herself  throughout college.  The university was concerned about being sued for negligence if  a roommate were to become ill from inhaling the insecticide fumes that Marie was constantly spraying.  The janitor added weatherstripping around her door so that the vapors wouldn’t escape into the hallway.  Some said that living four years in a room full of bug spray caused brain damage.

At the age of  27,  Marie was living a comfortable if  uneventful life.  Despite the insecticide fumes,  she was intelligent and healthy.  She set up a consulting business from her twenty-first floor apartment.  The closest anyone ever came to her were delivery people ~ Federal Express,  groceries,  pizza,  Chinese or Thai food.  You couldn’t really count video calls since those were just two-dimensional images.  Marie had her clients make electronic funds transfers directly to her bank and she did everything online.  She didn’t have a boyfriend {or any friends} and certainly did not want a pet.  In the five years she lived there,  Marie had not seen so much as a fly.

The newspaper obituary said that the venomous spider must have been in the soil of  the rare orchid sent to the woman in the apartment above.  It got into the air conditioning system and came down on its thread through the vent above Marie’s bed.







originally posted  3 August 2011

image  ~   “Lines Areas Depth III –  Frantisek Kupka”   Tony Hisgett,  Photographer   {  some rights reserved }

Leave a comment

Filed under fantasy, science fiction and horror, Post-A-Day, prose, redux, short stories