Time

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Time is ticking normally as you sit at your desk in the too hot office. You longingly look at the window, which is open all the way but barely lets in any fresh air. You feel bored and sleepy, even though there’s lots of work to do.

You shut your eyes just for a few minutes. The background noises start to fade and you feel like you are floating upwards. The window opens wider and you drift outside. You fly, rising higher and soaring over the city. Cool air rushes all round you, making you feel refreshed.

Perhaps, it’s only a dream but it feels so real.

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The Giant’s Pocket Watch #fridayfictoneers

PHOTO PROMPT © Jennifer Pendergast

The wooden back of a huge pocket watch had stood in the corner of the town’s park for hundreds of years. The origins of it had long been lost, but the myth was that the pocket watch had once belonged to a giant.

The giant Haldor was running late for the yearly Giants Together meeting. As he trod over a village, ignoring the fleeing of little people far below him, he drew out his pocket watch and checked the time. Seeing, he was going to be very late indeed, he hurriedly put the watch back into his pocket.

However, he missed and the watch hit the floor. Angrily, he bent to pick it up and swiped down two cottages as he did so. Hurrying on, he didn’t notice that his pocket watch had broken in the fall.

Years later, a shepherd lad was searching for a lost lamb when he came across the back of the pocket watch. He stared up in awe at the huge wooden circle then spotting his lamb nearby, he hurried to collect her. When he returned home, he told his father about what he had seen, for the lad was too young to remember the giant Haldor. His father clearly recalled the day though.

And that was how the myth of the giant’s pocket watch began.

 

(Inspired from a prompt from; https://rochellewisoff.com/2017/03/15/17-march-2017/ with thanks. PHOTO PROMPT © Jennifer Pendergast)

Waiting

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Time had long ago stopped in the castle. The dust lay thick and the silence heavy. Small animal bones scattered the floors and abandoned spider webs clung to the walls. In a stairwell, a forgotten suit of armour and a clock stood waiting to be used again. And in the rooms where people had once lived and worked, sharing a life now lost to the past, there were only echoes of ghosts.

(From a prompt by; https://scvincent.com/2017/01/26/thursday-photo-prompt-waiting-writephoto/ with thanks.)

Ticking Down

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Her eyes were constantly watching the numbers on the clock change. Time was passing so slowly and she felt so bored. Today was the perfect day to sit and write. She was home alone until her parents arrived back and she wasn’t at her actual job till tomorrow afternoon. She had also done all her Christmas shopping and more beside.

Listening to the pounding tones of some classic rock music, she tried to focus on the blank page before her. Well, it wasn’t really blank because it was her blog and there were tool bars down one side and also the internet tool bar at the top of the screen. She pulled a face and flicked through the other tabs she had open. Google, Facebook, Pinterest, Amazon before going back to WordPress where the empty page sat still waiting for her words.

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard and she tried to think of anything to write. Nothing came into her head, it was like all the characters and settings had packed up and left. Pulling a face, she looked out of the window next to her. She had left a gap in the heavy curtains to let the natural light in, not that there was lot of it.

The early December day was cloudy and dull. The sky threatened rain or worse snow. Most of the frost had now vanished, but some of the cars still had a dusting on their metal bodies. It looked cold and she wasn’t in the mood to put on a load of layers and go for a walk.

Her eyes looked back at the computer monitor clock. It had only gone up by a few minutes. Sighing, she give up and decided to walk away. Nothing else could be done. Stopping the music, she took off her headphones and got up. Walking into the living room, she saw the family’s old dog curled in his bed. Leaving him to sleep, because he was becoming more and more grumpy about being woken up for no real reason, she turned on the TV.

Really, she should grab one the writing books that lined the bookcase next to her computer or  go upstairs to her room and pick a new book to start reading. Instead, she flicked through the TV channels and settled down to watch some daytime TV, which was a dull as the day outside.

Post It Note #28

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She didn’t know what happened, but somehow she’d lost a day. She knew it had something to do when the clocks had gone back at one am because of the post it note in her hand which told her to change her watch. Other then that though, there was nothing else to tell her what had gone on, but somehow she just knew that instead of a hour gained, she had had lost twenty-four hours.

Travel Book

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I want to take you away with me. Not just in your imagination but in your heart and soul too. I want to take you to lands that don’t existed and perhaps they never did and lands that will existed in the future, but even your children will never know them. There’s no need to be afraid or to pack your suitcases, in fact all you need is a comfy seat and some light.

I want you to meet people who have never been and yet always have been. They will tell you stories you won’t believe and take you on adventures which will always stay with you. I want you to feel every emotion to the core of your being and know that your tears are not wasted. For each bout of sadness keeps our heroes and heroine live for longer.

I want you to remember that even as you close the covers, the end doesn’t happen. You can visit these places and those people as many times as you like. For they are always going to be with us because they and their stories have been immortalized.

So what are you wanting for? Go and pick up a book right now and travel where ever it takes you too.

Dreams

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There was always safety in dreams. Logic didn’t have to apply and fantasy ruled. It didn’t matter what the adventure was or who was a part of it, just that it was happening. One night I fought the grim reaper in a sword battle and won. The next my friends and I were tripped in a church whilst zombie animals tried to get in. Then there was that one time when I had to save a beautiful woman and she invited me back to her bedroom…then she turned into a vampire and tried to bite me.

The best dreams though are the ones that only make sense of dreams. Like the time I wrote the world’s best novel ever. I was sitting in a cafe and was working on the final drift, but this old man kept interrupting me with his ideas which then I ended up writing into the novel and the old man got his name on the cover instead of me! Or the time I came across a group of kids who had a time machine that was an massive acorn.

Of course, Nightmares are the worse, but there’s always some kind of get out and it’s only your mind playing tricks with you. My nightmares always have a graveyard or cemetery in them, which is odd but it’s how I know it’s a bad dream. I’ve been having this repeating on lately. I’m being chased by something, it’s like a dark shadows that take on long human and animal shapes. I’ve no idea what they want, but I hide in this old cemetery, which seems to go on forever. Then I always come to this cliff edge, which is well hidden by large statues of like Romans.

I always try hard to stop myself from falling, but then I always do. On waking, I know I’ve just died in the dream and it takes me awhile to realise I’m alive. I hate those kind of dreams. What do you think it means? That I’m going to die tragically? That I’m trying to run away from something I can’t let go of? I just don’t understand it. I prefer the happy dreams.

Do you think that’s why I’m here, Doc? ‘Cause my dreams are making me insane? I didn’t even know that was possible, but I guess anything can be…Like they say dreams can come true, so I bet nightmares come real too, don’t they?

Postcard #16

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Phone Call

She picked up the phone and for the first time in twenty years called him, ‘Dad?’ she whispered.

The Last 24 Hours

The numbers were displayed wrong, yet my brain told me they were right. I hummed, pulled a face and shook the clock. It was in the shape of a tennis ball, but made of hard plastic with some blue oily liquid inside. The clock mechanism and display were in another ball which floated freely in the blue oil sphere. The numbers spun around then settled in front of me again; 11:11.

‘No!’ I said too loudly that my cat shot me an evil look.

I stuck my tongue out at Misty and watched her curl back to sleep in her hammock. I settled back in my beanbag bed and shook the ball clock again. The numbers spun around, blurring before becoming stable. The same numbers flashed by.

‘It’s broken,’ I uttered and placed it back on my bedside table, ‘How could I have lost twenty-four hours?’

Misty made a small snorting sound.

I looked at her and decided there was no point trying to talk to her. Instead, I searched though my blankets and dug out my screen. Waking it up, I watched the home menu and spotted the clock at the top of the list. The clock was 11:12. Scrolling on to the interactive network, I waited for the pages to load and looked at the latest newsfeed.

To my shock most of the headlines read: World Lost 24 Hours. I skimmed down, not really reading further then the top line. Finally at the end was an advert. I fingers automatically began sliding back up. God. Everyone seemed to be talking about and my doubts about my time problems begin to feel bigger.

Maybe it was all just an adverting stunt, like Cola’s We’ve Officially Discovered Aliens. I shook my head and decided to see what my friends made of this. Looking through ConnectX, I saw that a few had comment saying they believed. A few others claimed it was a lie. My shoulders sagged and I flexed my fingers.

We’d probably never know. The government was so tight lipped about everything and everyone knew it was going to collapse soon. Maybe they’d fixed this stunt? I rested the screen against my knees and looked at Misty. She was sleeping and didn’t seem effected. Animals couldn’t really tell the passage of hours though.

I got up and went to the bathroom. Looking in the mirror, I tried to notice anything different about my eighteen year old male body. Nothing looked different, though my hair needed cutting. I ran my fingers through it and tried to flatten it down. I got some hair gel and did it that way instead. There really was nothing different.

I went back to bed and arranged the blankets and pillows. Was it really so bad? I wondered. What did twenty-four hours matter in a life time? Granted a lot could happen, but the loss of it? How does that work? I leant back and looked at the ceiling. I guess we wouldn’t know until it happened.