POETIC BLOOMINGS

POETIC BLOOMINGS is a Phoenix Rising Poetry Guild site established in May 2011 to nurture and inspire the creative spirit.

IT’S FLASHY FICTION FRIDAY – 31 Jan 2014 : STARGATE?

The photo at the link and below is a piece of art that a city selected to plop down in a median between busy roads, in addition to a number of other interesting works throughout the city… Click on the link and write a little Flashy Fiction about it. Post your fiction at CREATIVE BLOOMINGS’ FLASHY FICTION FRIDAY

Remember to post a link to your blog and link back to CREATIVE BLOOMINGS so we stay connected.

You can write and post to the prompt all week. The badges on both the CREATIVE BLOOMINGS page and the FLASHY FICTION FRIDAY page are links to return to either site. So you’re never far from where your words belong! You know darn well, everyone has a “little” story to tell!

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5 thoughts on “IT’S FLASHY FICTION FRIDAY – 31 Jan 2014 : STARGATE?

  1. Anyone having difficulty posting your stories at FFF can post them here if you are so inclined. Or you can post a link to your blog or website directing us to your work! Walt.

  2. FOR THE SAKE OF ART

    Ed Nelson was not fond of traveling. He got seasick at the mere mention of the ocean. You’d never get him on an airplane. The pressure nearly made him pass out once. It seem that headache would never go away. Trains were OK, but they took too damn long. Having his choice, Ed would have rather stayed put.

    That’s why his colleagues found it strange that Nelson decided to drive to the consortium. It was cramped in his small compact car. And the drive would take longer than any mode available to him. Longer than even taking the train.

    Ed Nelson did alright for himself in his sales position. But he had run into a brick wall. He hadn’t advanced his station in years; though he’d have been made a full partner by now. Instead he found himself hauling ass down the interstate to cross state lines before darkness set in.

    Up ahead in a clearing he saw it. A Farris wheel, he thought. Or the maddening loop of one of those anti-gravity roller coasters. But as he neared the structure, Ed was sure he had no idea what it was. A sculpture maybe? He laughed loudly. It could be a Druid icon! What ever it was, it looked hideous on the side of the road.

    Between exits this monolithic doughnut stood, maybe fifty feet high – a monstrosity. Interwoven like a wreath, bars and crosses, spheres that appeared as heads of some civilization climbing to the heavens. He was so taken by the piece of “art”, Ed Nelson hadn’t noticed the line of people.

    Standing at the gaping portal were approximately 40 people dressed in white waiting their turn. On this grey and depressing afternoon, Nelson saw blue skies through the opening. There was sunshine. It was a beautiful day. But only inside the ring. He pulled to the shoulder of the road near the median and stepped out of his car to investigate. Apparently not dressed for the occasion, Nelson was stared at and ignored.

    Taking a place at the end of the cue, he tapped the shoulder of a pleasant looking older woman.

    “Excuse me Ma’am” Ed began. “What’s going on here?”

    “Young man, do you see this monument?” she said softly. “It is the way out of your despair. Through that opening… is redemption!”

    “Redemption” Ed Nelson repeated. It sounded nice. He was in need of a change. The “rat race” would have to carry on without him.

    But suddenly, the crowd stared to disperse. He stood confused.

    “HEY!” he called. “Where’s everyone going? What about redemption?”

    One man looked at Nelson and then back at the sculpture.

    “Redemption? It’s an ugly piece of art!” the man said incredulously! “Do you have any idea how much of our tax dollar are tied into this… this shit!”

    ‘Then why is it here?” Ed Nelson finally wanted to know.

    The elderly woman who have duped Nelson earlier overheard the question.

    “You moron, it’s art… for the sake of Art, you nabob!” she stormed away with the rest of the crowd. Ed Nelson felt foolish and greatly let down, standing by himself. He never saw the placard.

    “SPHINCTER” dedicated to the people of this Great State by Governor Art Decoupage.

    “Art for Art’s sake” he thought to himself. What a waste of resources! It was only fitting this piece was named after it’s patron!

  3. The Circle Thing

    I came across an oddity
    Something glowing in front of me
    I had to stop so I could see
    This oddity
    What could it be?

    I stopped along the highway side
    An interruption to my ride
    My curiosity would not subside
    I must confide
    I was mystified

    The cold air hit me like a brick
    The wind was strong, the air was thick
    I wonder why this spot they picked
    On which to stick
    This thing so slick

    I walked toward this circle thing
    It didn’t look like anything
    But pipes and balls and other things
    This circle thing
    Was baffling

    When I got close I heard a sound
    A sound that came from all around
    From left, from right, from up and down
    My ears did pound
    With this strange sound

    Then something happened suddenly
    The oddity grabbed hold of me
    I could not move; I could not flee
    What could this be
    A hold of me?

    Caught firmly in its force field snare
    My body lifted into the air
    It dragged me through the circle where
    I said a prayer
    To quell my scare

    What I found on the other side
    White beaches and an emerald tide
    Astonished look I could not hide
    I stood wide-eyed
    I thought I’d died

    I looked about to take it in
    Such beauty I could not begin
    To put in words what lied within
    That circle thing
    That sucked me in

    Then suddenly with warning none
    I found myself where I’d begun
    The cold wind like a BB gun
    It stung and stung
    And more it stung

    I wanted so to fly back through
    I walked around it and tried hard to
    Find that portal, or find any clue
    With no way through
    I sadly withdrew

    Back to my car I trudged once more
    Climbed back inside and shut the door
    Looked back at the circle thing once more
    Where it was before
    It stood no more

    What happened to this oddity?
    Or was it plain insanity?
    Had my brain played a trick on me?
    Did I really see
    This oddity?

    This happened many years ago
    With blowing wind and falling snow
    On a highway heading to I don’t know
    What made it glow?
    I had to know

    I’ve traveled many roads since then
    But soon my traveling days will end
    I hope my eternal soul They’ll send
    Once again
    Through the circle thing

    © 2014 Earl Parsons

  4. Loved this Flashy Fiction Prompt! I’m a huge Stargate fan – yes I’m a sci-fi geek and no I don’t go to the conventions. 🙂 Thanks for the prompt!

  5. William Preston on said:

    ALONG THE HIGHWAY
    copyright 2014, William Preston

    “What’s that, Gramper?”

    Sharon, Sy’s eight-year-old granddaughter, asked the question. She and Sy were driving through the grape country, on a divided highway. Ahead, still looking like nothing so much as big O, was a large sculpture in the median.

    “Oh, that,” Sy replied. “That’s the big wreath.”

    As they drove, the big O began to take shape, now looking like a large crown of thorns. In a little while it would resolve into something that looked like vines and leaves and grapes, though it was really a concrete concretion of sticks and orbs, if one could get close enough to see them. Few people did; the highway was a busy one, and the median was wide. The sculpture was enclosed in a circular hedgerow.

    “Wreath?” Sharon looked confused. Her curly brown hair fell into her eyes as she jerked her head toward Sy.

    Sy sighed. “A grape wreath, sweetie. You know, like your mom makes every fall.”

    “It’s grey, Gramper,” Sharon said. “Mom’s wreaths are brown and full of purple grapes and little orange gourds and autumn leaves.”

    “Well, it’s made of cement, honey,” Sy replied. Sy sighed again. He hated the thing. It really didn’t look like a grape wreath at all, in his mind, and the artist who made it had been paid thousands of taxpayer dollars. The the county spent more tax money when it erected the thing. And where did they put it? In the middle of a median along a highway where no one could stop to look at it. Sometimes people tried to look anyway, from their speeding cars. Crashes had happened. Sy had admired the late Steve Allen, and he thought of him now. “Steve had the word for it,” he mumbled. “Dumbth.”

    “What, Gramper?” Sharon asked.

    “Nothing, sweetie. I was just thinking.” Sy sighed again. He was a large man, and his sighs had to be heard; they were never seen.

    They came abreast of the concrete wreath. Vineyards stretched everywhere: grapes to the right of them, grapes to the left of them, grapes ahead of them in the shallow valley.

    “Why did they put it there?” Sharon asked.

    Sy smiled. Sharon was smart. She questioned everything, a quality Sy loved in her. He had been the same way as a child, and so had Sheila, Sharon’s mother. Sheila was a lawyer, and Sy though Sharon would be someday, too.

    “Well,” Sy said, slowly. “I guess they wanted to let folks know they grow grapes around here.”

    Sharon looked around her. She frowned. “But those are grapes out there, aren’t they, Gramper? Wouldn’t people know it anyway?”

    “Well, I guess some folks wouldn’t know they were grapes, sweetie,” Sy replied.”Once, when I was driving in California, I saw some plants that looked like they had snow on them, but it was summer. They were cotton plants. I had no idea; I thought cotton grew in the deep South, not California.”

    The wreath was receding now, looking much like a big O again. Sharon looked back at it.”Well, then, Gramper, do people have to know there are grapes here? Why do they have to know that?”

    “You got me there, sweetie,” Sy replied. “I really couldn’t say.”

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