Happy Thanksgiving to all my pals in the United States of America, and to those people who follow this tradition around the globe.
Little Timmy cried, a Tantrum, a squall,
because he’d wanted, for Christmas, a ball,
but when it arrived it was far wider than tall
It was oblong in shape and wouldn’t bounce off the wall.
His mother said, “Look” and she shook her head,
“why can’t you play rugby instead?”
“I can’t bare all your noise, this loud caterwaul,
be thankful and grateful you’ve got one at all.”
copyright: Kristian Fogarty 22/November/2018
PHOTO PROMPT © Roger Bultot
Before the story:
The past few weeks I have been taking part in a competition run by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields called the Friday Fictioneers. She posts a different picture every week, usually on a Wednesday and the challenge is to write a story is 100 words or less (not easy when you are as verbally verbose as I am). It is a fantastic challenge and the people that take part are really friendly and welcoming.
If you are looking for a little challenge where the emphasis is on feedback and creative support, then give this one a try. I don’t think you’ll be disappointed, I know I’m not.
Click the link here:
26 October 2018
If you want to read the story I wrote last week, it’s here:
Her Last Ball
She closed her eyes and remembered that glass ceiling and her last ball in that grand room.
That was many years ago now, before the war. Before their world had been torn apart.
Their opponent had won. There would be no more balls, laughter or beauty anymore.
Only bombs, oppression and the sword.
Opening her eyes, she saw again the shattered glass on the floor and the hole the last bomb had made.
Picking up her broom, she returned to her designated task and began sweeping those fragments away along with her treasured memories.
Copyright: Kristian Fogarty 5/ October/2018
FOWC with Fandango — Opponent