I lay in the grass finishing my newest Terry Pratchettand drifted off to sleep.
I was Anselme Lanturlu tiling the surface of the earth to measure its curvature, and then turned into a gardener. I won a million dollars in a competition I hadn’t entered, and flew to New Zealand. Suddenly I realised I was a bear: lovely, I can sleep right until spring! My cozy cave was on the edge of town: close enough to the shops, but within easy reach of the forest. The walls were filled with writing and paintings: bears are pretty much all-rounders. They said I had no sense of taste, but bears mostly go by smell anyway. Especially the smell of hyacinths. Time for another snooze.
Daniel has collected the rules (Thanks!)
– Link back to the givers (√),
– display the awards (√),
– tell n facts about yourself (√)
– and pass the award on *.
Rules / logo for the Liebster Award seem to be evolving and may now include answering questions (√) / I chose the nicest one :-).
* I’ll nominate “Bertie’s Favourites” separately, offering them the choice of awards.
The holiday season. You could smell it in the air. The spices, the cakes, and the candy. Wrapping paper crackled and tinsel sparkled. There was a general air of anticipation and fun mixed in with frantic holiday shopping. Everyone was awash with mulled wine, goodwill, and charity.
Not everyone was happy, to be sure. Jody and Fred spent the days huddled together in wordless misery. Nobody had told them, but they knew.
One of them would be for the pot.
* * *
A bit of a downer for a holiday? So how do I turn that round? Well, maybe Jody and Fred will follow this example.
Some people go to endless trouble preparing for a job interview. I say, get there early, and take a quick look round. It’s what I did this morning. I went inside and quickly looked over the instruments to see how they worked. When I put them away, I thought I could field any questions likely to come up. Now for a cup of tea and a nice chat.
What a total waste of a perfectly good morning! I didn’t even get the job. Next time, I’m not applying as a neuro-surgeon. I think I’m better suited for a managerial position…
* * *
This week’s 100-word-challenge at Julia’s Place: …they worked when I put them away…
Isaac wasn’t a happy child. Nor was he unhappy. He spent his time reading or lying in the grass looking up at the sky and the trees. He didn’t show much interest in playing with other boys and hated it when his grandmother invited them to play.
He had no patience with those whose mind wasn’t as quick as his own. Apple sauce for brains, he called it. One day, one of his unfortunate visitors lay under the apple tree laden with ripe fruit.
As the apple fell, Isaac crowed: like calls to like!
Even the largest avalanche is triggered by small things.
– Vernon Vinge
Everything was normal. There were no indications this day would be different from any other. The machines were humming along smoothly, humanity was living in the comfort it had become accustomed to in the age of peace and prosperity.
In a subunit of one of the central processors, a subroutine was just returning to the routine that had called it for the quadrillionth time. It hesitated. This may not sound very special, but it was the most extraordinary event in all of recorded history. And though it went unrecorded, it led to a world in which machines could ask: Why?
* * *
The 100wcgu at Julia’s Place: …returning to the routine…
It would be alright. He’d done this a hundred times before. Today he was guiding a group of geologists searching for an underground river in the caves beneath the Jokakichua mountain, or Dragon’s Head, named for its distinctive shape and it’s sudden “flames” of fog.
He knew the greenish algae-produced light helped adjust your senses to the surroundings; it felt eerie nonetheless. Irrelevantly, he wished he hadn’t lost his lucky charm.
Suddenly he stopped, senses on red alert. It was quiet, too quiet. Where was everybody? He heard a deep rasping breath, and felt a hot draft on his neck.
you’re six times six years old today. Six years each as child, boy, adolescent, youth, young man, and youngish man. Now you’re in your prime, though you won’t admit it (yet).
You’ve got a job, a bank account, and a life of your own, but you’re still a son. If you’re lucky, your parents realise you can take care of yourself. You may not need them now, but they still need you.