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Archive for the ‘3WW’ Category

Lost for words

I ‘ve been having a bit of a break this week, after the massive effort to complete 30 poems in April. Here is an American Sandwich, using the words from 3WW.

He specialised in placing cryptic clues in recesses around the house.

His wife flashed messages in Morse to tourists lost in the labyrinth.

They both stopped, wordless, after the villagers started to malign them.

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3WW CXXX

As it’s almost another Wednesday, I’d better post last week’s episode of my continuing short story.

The prompt words are earnest, layer, reactive.

By now it sounded as if the mob would soon reduce the shop door to splinters.     Pierre’s response was reactive. ‘There’s an outside toilet in the yard. Go in there and lock the door, but first you need do unlock the back gate. I should be able to fool them into thinking that you ran straight through.’
Her earnest expression relaxed. ‘God bless you,’ was all she said.
He had just pushed her outside when one  voice rose above the others, ‘Open the door and give us the slut.’
Pierre wiped the layer of perspiration from his forehead before he replied.

You can read the previous episodes here and link to 3WW here.

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3WW CXIXX

I am writing a short story, using word prompts from 3WW and adding only 100 words each week. As it’s some time since I last posted, I’m including the first two posts as well as the new one.

Pierre stumbled downstairs. The knocking on his shop door was insistent.

‘I’m coming! I’m coming! Keep your shirt on,’ he cried.

She was leaning against the wall, shoulders hunched forward as she gasped for breath, her clothing in disarray. At the end of the street the rabble’s uproar was swelling.

‘You’ve got to let me in.’

‘No got to about it. I don’t know you from Adam…or Eve,’ he replied.

‘Oh I think you do.’ She was more composed now. She looked him straight in the eye.

‘Don’t you remember when I had to validate who you were?’

He stood eyeball to eyeball.

‘No I don’t remember, and to be candid, I really do not know who you are.’

While he was talking, she had levered herself off the wall, slithered round the door post, and neatly ducked under his outstretched arm, taking refuge inside the shop.

‘Come in and shut that door,’ she hissed.

His impulse was to drag her outside again, leaving her to the mercy of her assailants who were approaching fast; instead he obliged.

It was as if she could read his mind. ‘All the risk I took for you, you lily livered coward. It’s Camilla, as if you didn’t know.’

burden, natural, ubiquitous

Pierre was in a quandary: should he admit that he had been lying or should he continue to bluff it out; denying all knowledge of her had seemed the natural thing to do. Unwelcome memories surged and threatened to swamp his consciousness; memories of a time when he, Pierre Sauvignon, was an ubiquitous presence in the town. Of course, he had been known by a different name then. He was a fool to think that he could drop his guard: he would never be completely safe; the burden of his past was too great. She said was right: he was a coward.

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3WW CXXV

I thought it would be fun to continue the little story I set up last week.

He stood eyeball to eyeball with her.
‘No I don’t remember, and to be candid, I really do not know who you are.’
While he was talking, she had levered herself off the wall, slithered round the door post, and neatly ducked under his outstretched arm, taking refuge inside the shop.
‘Come in and shut that door,’ she hissed.
His impulse was to drag her outside again, leaving her to the mercy of her assailants who were approaching fast; instead he obliged.
It was as if she could read his mind. ‘All the risk I took for you, you lily livered coward. It’s Camilla, as if you didn’t know.’

For more posts at 3WW please click here.

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3WW CXXIV

Pierre stumbled downstairs. The knocking on his shop door was insistent.
‘I’m coming! I’m coming! Keep your shirt on,’ he cried.
She was leaning against the wall, shoulders hunched forward as she gasped for breath, her clothing in disarray.
At the end of the street the rabble’s uproar was swelling.
‘You’ve got to let me in.’
‘No got to about it. I don’t know you from Adam…or Eve,’ he replied.
‘Oh I think you do.’ She was more composed now. She looked him straight in the eye.
‘Don’t you remember when I had to validate who you were?’

(Apologies but I can’t get this post to indent!)

Click here or on the icon for more 3WW fiction and poems.
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Ceremonies

A Fairy Tale

Once upon a time, a long time ago, two peoples lived together in a magnificent land. They were alike in every way apart from their eyes: the Aristians had blue eyes and the Proliens had brown eyes. Some Prolien elders also claimed to  discern a difference in the cadence of their voices. The Aristians lived in the most fertile parts of the land, where the resources were most plentiful whereas the Proliens were concentrated in areas where the land was poor and there were few resources. Their children received little or no education.  Eventually, most of the Aristians lived inside the walls of the cities where the Proliens were only allowed in to work or on ceremonial occasions. The two peoples lived separate lives.

Life was hard for the Proliens but hope was kept alive by the prophecy that every mother passed on to her children. One day, a mighty prince would rule over the land. He would have brown eyes like them and he would rule with love, wisdom and justice. “How can this be?” the children would ask. “The Aristians keep us outside the walls. We will never be powerful enough to overthrow them.”

One day, the Aristians were celebrating a royal marriage, when a Prolien woman pushed through the crowd and sat down in front of the royal carriage as it passed through the streets. The king was beside himself with rage and had her thrown into prison. The Prolien people were also getting angry: they were tired of being humble all the time. This woman was an inspiration to them. They started to demonstrate in order to voice their grievances. To their surprise, they found leaders amongst their numbers. One leader’s eloquent speech gave them a dream of a better future, hardening their resolve. They won concessions. One  Aristian king finally agreed that the Proliens should receive a proper education alongside their Aristian peers.

Aristian kings continued to rule over the land: some were good and some were not so good. When Princess Aurora announced that she was pregnant, she received the best care available. However, as the time for her confinement drew near, she became more and more withdrawn; there was a mysterious expression in her clear blue eyes. When she gave birth to a son, everyone was delighted until the midwife noticed the colour of his eyes: they were brown.

In the months that followed, many wise men put forward as to why the young prince’s eyes were brown. Maybe he was a throwback to many generations earlier and the king’s line was not as pure as he had claimed. Maybe her husband did not have a pure Aristian pedigree. The princess listened to all the arguments going on around her with the same mysterious look in her eyes as when she was pregnant but she kept the truth to herself.

And so the prophecy came to pass. The prince grew up to be gracious to all his subjects; both Aristians and Proliens, with whom he  mixed with equal ease. When the time came for him to marry, he chose a Prolien woman. This shocked his grandparents at first, but such was his charm that he won them round.  What they didn’t know was that a well as his brown eyes, and the cadence of his voice, discernible to some of the elders,  a big part of his heart belonged to the Prolien people.

Postscript
My perspective  on the inauguration of Barrack Obama, as the 44th president of the United States of America is affected by having a mixed race grandson. Most of us have mixed ancestry but this shows up most dramatically when one parent is black and the other is white. I see iObama as resolving the binary opposition between black and white. He has identified with the black community by marrying a black woman, a descendent of slaves, but he also owes much of who he is to his white mother and grandparents.

I’m aware that what I’m presenting here is too simplistic. I’ve glossed over the question of identity and colour isn’t the only thing that divides people; language and religion are also a source of conflict.

The following poem was in my first ever blog post on 24.09.06.

To My Grandson

Slung between cultures, your cradle is rocked
Between two islands half a world apart;
Your Taiwanese grandmother’s shaken and shocked;
Her daughter’s betrothal has broken her heart.
Forsaking tea houses where your forbears fled,
You may come to England to make a new start;
She makes chicken soup to counter her fear
Whilst I long to hold you and play a small part.

The tribes of Europe have mingled and merged
Through conquest and change of location;
Shamrock, flamenco, a Russian Jew’s smile,
Bed down with developing nation.

The future belongs to small people like you,
As east meets with west you’ll surely win through.

(Rupert Sebastian or Kai Chiang was born in Taiwan on November 3rd 2002. He now lives in Switzerland where he is being educated in French.)

Blue Mink – Melting Pot

Ceremonies is the prompt at Totally Optional Prompts and cadence, humble and resolve are the words at 3WW

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