Fairy Tale/Tale Weaver #150 – 14th December – The Prince Who Forgot

I like fairy tales, shame I used my reverse frog story a little while ago, but never mind!
Let’s see where the mind goes today.

It had started out as a laugh, then he’d croaked it.
He had been a young prince smitten by a surly princess with a sick sense of humour, but he loved her. And to prove it, he’d kissed her.
Now look at him.
Not everyone liked green. She certainly didn’t, and definitely not frogs, green or otherwise.
For ten years he’d watched her grow into a beauty and for ten years she had kept him dangling, teasing and tormenting him, knowing she alone had the power to change him back.
He wished he was one of his poisonous distant relatives, tiny and full of venom.
But that wouldn’t do, he didn’t want to kill her, but he didn’t want to stay like this either.
He hopped onto the front porch and started to sing.
A jewelled shoe came sailing through the air and caught him in mid bar.
He croaked, and began again. The matching one missed his head by inches.
Then, there she was, framed in the doorway, more beautiful than ever.
‘Oh, it’s you.’ She said.
His eyes bulged in longing, his webbed feet oozed with the stickiness of desire.
‘Guess we’d better get this over with.’
Closing her eyes and lips puckered, she pecked his slimy head.
He felt a tingling in his nether regions, and a warm fuzziness overcame him as he was returned to his normal self, just ten years older.
Her expression and attitude changed, suddenly wanting this lovely man constantly at her side. She lunged forward and he backstepped out of her clutches.
She fell flat on her face, and he stood there, frowning.
‘What’s the matter with you?’ she shouted.
‘Nothing,’ he replied. ‘Just can’t remember why I came here.’
And he simply left her there.


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His Destiny

Several comments suggested I should extend my story of Alex passing through the Portal from Sue’s prompt last week.
This is her prompt this week so here goes!

The room seemed strange now that the portal had closed.
It wasn’t that there was no way out, just that things were in reverse and a new doorway had appeared in the opposite wall.
His view through the window was far different to the street of his rented house.
Following the sound of laughter, he found himself in a large banqueting hall.

‘Alexander, my boy! Glad you could make it. Do join us!’
Somewhat surprised that he was known by this rotund fellow in an ill-fitting smoking jacket and equally bad toupee, he approached the fireplace.
As the evening wore on and he was included in more and more conversations, his previous life recollections dwindled in his mind and memories were replaced with current events.
Then She entered the room.

He recognised her, but didn’t know her name, and could not grasp where he had seen her before.
‘Hello Alex,’ she said, her voice velvet and gentle, those two words a caress on his senses.
Taking his arm, they walked out onto the veranda overlooking the grounds where the mist was teasing the distant trees beyond the road.
He stood mute looking into her sapphire eyes, brighter than any of the stars in the night sky.
‘Alex? Are you OK? Why are you looking at me like that? Do you feel unwell?’
‘No, just a little overwhelmed, that’s all.’
‘You had me worried for a minute. They’re waiting for us in the library for our engagement portrait, but I wanted you all to myself for a moment, to prove that Love never dies.’
She kissed him then, a kiss full of promise and eternal love.
He felt a little lightheaded and allowed himself to be led into the library through another door.
She sat in a studded leather chair, and as requested, he stood behind her, a hand laid gently on her shoulder. She covered it with hers.
‘I have you now,’ she whispered tenderly.
Suddenly he knew where he had seen her before, his beloved Elenora.
She was alone in this room, sitting in the very same chair, her expression one of acute sadness. The date was April 12th 1847.
It was the picture he had removed from the bedroom in his rented house and put downstairs in the dining room.

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Writespiration #145 52 Weeks in 52 Words Week 50

This week our challenge is to

Write about how Santa ended up on the naughty list.

It wasn’t his fault, and stemmed back to when the elves had played a trick on him for April Fool.
The Fairy Clock in his workshop had become confused and the alarm didn’t go off so he’d overslept.
Now he had to eat his supper alone as Mrs Claus did the delivery.


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Merry Christmas Baby

There is a lot of memorabilia for Baby’s First Christmas, Baby’s First Birthday etc, which is all very nice if you have a baby.
My babies have all had four legs, and at Christmas, they have all had presents.
Most of the time they don’t know about it, and when the Big Day comes and they are presented with ‘whatever’, they sniff it and take it into their bed.

In the Great Sort Out, most of Maggie’s toys got sent to charity by mistake, so each year we have bought her a little something and at the moment she has three babies of her own.
Continue reading

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Friday Fictioneers 15th Dec

This week’s image for Rochelle’s challenge is provided by Sandra Crook.

The medallion on the ironwork began to glow, a homing beacon for the invading force.
It had been in place for decades, one of many lining the street in the country’s capitol, just as thousands of others had been similarly placed worldwide.
The perfect viewpoint, unobtrusively blending into the background, they could monitor Mankind and at the right moment, when defences were low or in some cases practically non-existent, strike.
Dark clouds gathered on the horizons of the planet, moving closer to obliterate their targets.
This was no stormy weather front. It was the end of the world.

98 words.

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In Other Words, elf…

It’s a little daunting when you go shopping and are served by a six foot two Elf.
Such is the Christmas Spirit in the supermarket and I wonder if they draw costume lots.
I suppose it beats a row of Santas who would be forever getting their beards trapped in the till.
Written for Patricia’s In Other Words

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100 Word Wednesday: Week 49

Leaving on a Jet Plane.

Photo by John Luke Laube

He would remember this trip for the rest of his life.
As he would this drink, scotch on the rocks.
Neither were his first of course. But today was special and would never be repeated.
He’d had the choice of seats as he was the only one aboard. Finally no screaming brats to worry about or having to travel economy. From now on, it was first class all the way.
He smiled, wondering what his school mentors would make of the boy who wouldn’t amount to anything as he settled back to enjoy the first trip in his personal jet.

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