Planning To Play + Memories Of Youth (Throwback Thursday)

Prompts = Blanket, Field, Somersault

Story New — Planning To Play

Photo by Mike Mitchell on Unsplash

‘We can go to the park! Maybe it’s a waterpark! And I can do cartwheels! And somersaults! And…’

That’s my very excited daughter answering my question of what we should do today. She looked outside and saw crystal clear air, with nary a cloud in the sky. No blankets of snow or threatening skies, which is what our hometown, a couple of hours away, has had for weeks.

She sees a field of opportunity to enjoy the sunshine and play.

But I’ve seen my weather app; the outside temperature is negative a lot — so cold it scared the clouds away.

Story Old — Memories Of Youth

 

Photo by Timotheus Fröbel on Unsplash

Memories of youth, memories of Spring. The Spring of Youth, of days gone by. Memories of somersaults and skinned knees, of picnics under the shade of a solitary apple tree, growing alone in a field of unkempt green. Memories of laughter and bright sunny days. Sweet memories of a first kiss — memories of the first blush of adulthood to come.

The tree is older, more majestic, producing ever sweeter fruit. The same can’t be said of the body housing me, cancer-ridden and dying. My last breath should be of apple blossoms and fresh grass.

And so it shall be.

Links to other sites where I publish:

Blogger = https://onehundredwordsbyparz.blogspot.com
Medium = https://medium.com/100-word-or-less-stories
YouTube = https://www.youtube.com/user/parzivalsattva

And a link to where my Lovely Lady Love (who also operates the camera) posts her art: https://www.youtube.com/user/recyclinggoddess

Ze Finalize Treatment

Prompts = Finalize, Grease, Blanket

Photo by Ayurmana Ayurveda on Unsplash

‘Bonjour Meezeez Thompsun, how is your treatment so far? Verrie pleazing, I hope?

‘For zis last treatment, we must moove to zaa different room, ver vee keep ze vats.

‘Pardon? Ah, oui, I did say “vats”. For zis finalize treatment, you vill recline on zah sloped bed az ze finest varm oil is poured ever so gentlee over vous. A delightful blanket ov ze senzations, n’est-ce pas?’

In truth, the oil was whatever they could get on the cheap. If it was greasy, it was good. 

Same with employees: cheap was good. A good fake French accent was better. 

Blanket, Field, Somersault

Memories of youth, memories of Spring. The Spring of Youth, of days gone by. Memories of somersaults and skinned knees, of picnics under the shade of a solitary apple tree, growing alone in a field of unkempt green. Memories of laughter and bright sunny days. Sweet memories of a first kiss - memories of the first blush of adulthood to come.

The tree is older, more majestic, producing ever sweeter fruit. The same can’t be said of the body housing me, cancer-ridden and dying. My last breath should be of apple blossoms and fresh grass. And so it shall be…