What he’d learned

A piece of flash fiction on sister blog Zenrinji, written as an exercise for a creative writing class

Zenrinji

Not long ago – it may be yesterday – there were two children called Alice and Bran. Now Alice and Bran lived in the last house at the end of the estate on the outskirts of a large town. You won’t have heard of this town, so it probably doesn’t matter what it’s called. Every day, Alice and Bran’s parents drove to work in the town and Alice and Bran caught to bus to school. At the end of the day they all came back home, did what they had to do and then went to bed.

On the other side of their house was a wood. Alice and Bran were told never to go into the wood because it was dangerous and you could lose yourself, so they never did. Instead, if ever they went for a walk they took their dog Cerberus around the estate and then came…

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Rapier wit

Tongue firmly lodged in cheek:

Zenrinji

crosswordblank

If ever forced to try out swordplay
I’d fail to be a Cyrano.
And as for impro wordplay,
expecting puns? Oh, sirrah, no!

Clash of steel best fitting crossed swords
(whether epées, foils or rapiers),
flash of real wit suiting crosswords
(often met in broadsheet papers):

all would go from bad to worse
(same as when I’m writing verse).
I’m as like to win a duel as
write a gem fit for a jeweller’s.

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So it begins

More flash fiction from Zenrinji

Zenrinji

graves

Things come in threes: he’s about to drop her off at the shops when he realises he’s left his phone at home, so can’t liaise about where and when to meet up.

Next, after he’s filled up the car with petrol, he discovers his wallet is in his other man-bag. At home.

After some frantic running around the money problem is solved when he spots her coming out of a shop. But later, returning from a visit to the local library, he finds his everyday glasses are no longer on his nose — and the library isn’t open for another two days.

“Is it nearly time for the pillow over the head?’ she murmurs, sultrily. And so it begins.

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SPAM #1 → MAPS #1

Zenrinji

map

Maps for transforming nonsense spam

Original
Genuinely when someone doesn’t be aware of afterward its up to other users that they will assist,
so here it takes place.

Nonsense → Sense

Genuinely, when someone doesn’t?
Be aware of afterward!
It’s up to other users that they will assist so.
Here it takes place.

Acknowledgement: Lizze Ross for competition submission

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Message in a bottle

Entries invited for my first (and only) spam poetry competition:

Zenrinji

footprints footprints

No matter
if some one searches
for his essential thing,

thus he/she wishes to be
available

that in detail,
so that thing is maintained
over here.

A recent, recycled entry in my ongoing spam poetry competition
Do you have a favourite bit of spoetry you think qualifies? Post it as a comment below; please note, it will only be considered if it ends up in my spam folder.

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A dream of death

An exercise I wrote a term or two ago for a creative writing class, I forget on what theme.

Zenrinji

mushroom_cloud

He’d never been close to death until then.

Yes, he’d seen dead bodies – his grandma, his father, a body in a road. True, this was death, but death as it had happened to others, deaths already tainted by premonitions of their passing or tinged with the innocent curiosity that characterises the young. This was not imminent death as it might apply to him: a moment of reckoning, a brief interval pointlessly proffered to put his house in order.

For those who’ve lived through it, even if memories have faded, the Cold War was a time of surviving on a precipice. Sometimes its edge visibly crumbled at one’s feet, as it did during the Cuba crisis. Sometimes there was just a feeling of vertiginous malaise watching grainy news footage of CND marchers, whether or not they were really cranks or communist stooges.

But one day death really came knocking at his…

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