woman rides horse into club in her underwear

guest host: anne p.

hi. i’m anne, with an e. thanks to joem for giving me this forum.

joem is tight with ann r. i just want to be clear that i’m a whole different kettle of fish.

first, to set the record straight, that wasn’t my underwear. it belonged and belongs to my roommate and intended, jennifer. i myself don’t wear much underwear.

i had wanted to ride into the bar nude, but in deference to jennifer’s feelings of modesty, and perhaps because of her possessiveness toward my body, i chose to compromise by covering my sexy bits.

i rode in to propose to jennifer.

second, why in underwear? because we had had a tiff at breakfast. for some reason, the subject of lady godiva came up. jennifer knew nothing about her beyond the fact that she rode naked through town on a horse and had a chocolate candy named after her.

listen, jennifer, i said. if we’re going to be together till death does us part, assuming the conservatives don’t rise up and arrest all of us for getting married or using the wrong bathroom, you need to learn a little history, not just the names of every rock band in the universe.

jennifer, i said. at least get an idea of each century. godiva was in the domesday survey with her old english name of godgifu or godgyfu (gift of god). get to know something of  the little renaisance that occured in the eleventh century.

so i rode into the bar as godiva to give her an engagement ring and show her there were no hard feelings and she accepted.

i’m not going to go through life acting out history but i hope in this case, it was a teaching moment.

they fight crime

“You there! Thomas Baker! Wake up!”

“I’m not asleep… First Lady.”

“Good Lord, call me Susan. I know you weren’t sleeping. You were brooding. They say you’re plagued by the memory of your family’s brutal murder.”

“Well, it just happened yesterday. A little soon for me to be plagued and brooding. I’m still somewhere between disbelief and anger. Plus when my face heals, it’s going to be covered with scars. So I was just day-dreaming about what I’ll do when I catch the killers.”

“That’s a lot of exposition right there, Tom, but you are a film-maker.”

“I am. I like to set the stage. For example, I know that you’re extravagant and a man-hater. You were First Lady for eight years. You hate your man. Also, you have the power to see death.”

“That’s correct. I’d say the stage is now set for action. I’m here to fight crime and I want you to help me.”

“All right, but hang on. The extravagance thing. I’ve seen some costumes but that getup you’re wearing is something else.”

“Designer. Cost thousands, and I’ll change for dinner.”

“Just so you know, I’m pressed for cash.”

“It’s on me, Tom. All on me.”

“The other thing is, you can see death?”

“Yes.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means I can see him. The black robe, the skull, the scythe.”

“You see him,  you know, killing people?”

“No,  just coming and going, from place to place. Gliding along like he’s on a hoverboard, but without any sudden flames.”

“Do you speak to him?”

“Just to say hello. As First Lady I did a lot of meet-and-greet. I’ve shaken Death’s hand.”

“Bones?”

“Cold bones, indeed. Hand bones connected to the wrist bone.”

“OK. Let’s go catch the guys that murdered my family.”

“Saddle up, Tom. You can film the proceedings on your iPhone.”

“What’s our first step? I’m not sure I could handle the crime scene, even if they’ve got all the family bodies cleared out. And the pets. Their corpses, I mean. The killers didn’t spare the pets. Not even little Sparky. I mean, kill the grandparents and spouse and all the kids, and the adult pets, but that’s where I draw the line.”

“Quite so. We won’t need to visit the crime scene.”

“How do we find our first clue?”

“Our first clue? My dear boy, we don’t need clues. All we need is to know who committed the crime and we don’t need clues for that.”

“How are we going to find out then?”

“Obviously, we’re going to go ask Death.”

“Aha. What if he won’t tell us?”

“What an odd question. I’m the beloved former First Lady. Of course he’ll tell us. Follow me, out the door, down the stairs, onto the passing bus, off at the hospital, because Death spends a lot of time here. Into the wards and lo and behold, there he is, leaning over that fat man.”

“We’re post-fat shaming, you know.”

“Extraordinary. Oh, Death? Excuse me, but could you let that fellow live a bit longer. I’ve a quick question or two… Thank you…

“You see the brooding film-maker over there? Can you tell me please who brutally murdered his kin?”

“I don’t know about brutal or murder, but of course I took them all. Including little Sparky. And thanks to Terry Pratchett for my little appearance here, by the way, RIP Terry.”

“You know what I’m asking. Who handed the kin off to you, so to speak?”

“The brooder did.”

“The brooder himself? No wonder he’s brooding.”

“He’s brooding because he didn’t capture the whole thing properly on his phone like he planned. Ever since Tangerine came out, he’s been obsessed with making a movie that way.”

“Tangerine is an excellent film.”

“Yes, I recommend it. Not the life style in it though. Injurious to your health.”

“All right then. Another mystery solved. Thank you, Death.”

“You’re welcome. Do you want me to take the brooder now? Save the cost of a trial?”

“No. I’m extravagant. I’ll need to buy numerous new outfits. It’ll be a show trial. Tom will film the whole thing as well. A final documentary. Before the end credits roll, he’ll include a simple dedication onscreen to the memory of Little Sparky.”

 

For terribleminds Friday Flash Fiction

Prompt: He’s a scar-faced day-dreaming filmmaker plagued by the memory of his family’s brutal murder. She’s a man-hating extravagant former first lady with the power to see death. They fight crime!

lone wolf

First, a poem:

Fable by Janos Pilinszky


Once upon a time
there was a lonely wolf
lonelier than the angels.

He happened to come to a village.
He fell in love with the first house he saw.

Already he loved its walls
the caresses of its brick layers.
But the window stopped him.

In the room sat people.
Apart from God nobody ever
found them so beauitful
as this child-like beast

So at night he went into the house.
He stopped in the middle of the room
and never moved from there anymore.

He stood all through the night, with wide eyes
and on into the morning when he was beaten to death.

Next, my response:

wolves live in packs

the pack is family

an older female may be driven out

or leave to find another pack

that has a mate for her

a male lone wolf is not a good thing

he cannot bring down the favored game

he must eat the small animals

or carrion

he needs family

if he chooses badly

if his mind is not right

and he chooses badly

if worst of all

he chooses man

and survives

he must learn the way of the

dog

 

For Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie

exploration

explored id, ego, superego. id won.

 

For Sometimes Stellar Storyteller Six Word Story Challenge

suddenly

glacier withdraws at
glacial pace then suddenly
green grass blades appear

 

For The Daily Post