Another magnifico Wednesday Writiner’s Blog Hop Photo-Prompt Flash Fiction challenge hosted this week by the intrepid Leanne Sype at: Writings and Ruminations!
The rules are simple: The photo below and all five words must be featured in the piece that is to be no longer than 500 words.
Satellite Buoy Check Lawyer Rescue
This seemed a simple photo (certainly far different from last weeks heavily charged pic!), but still it drew a story from me immediately. It goes to show that everything has a story to tell. ; )
Rhymes With You Decide
Yesterday they erased my hopscotch diagram from the windowpane, and took my markers. I had others hidden. I drew another miniature hopscotch board for Unus before he woke, and made an exciting arrangement of letters for him to “hop on” and spell out his word of the day for my deciphering.
He spelled abrictsobotiblegugaplnrtudhege this morning. I’m still working on an anagram that makes sense; “robot satellite bicron gauge” is what I immediately saw … leaves me with p, u, d, h, & g”. Tough one to be sure…
Be that as it may, I am glad my one-legged pigeon was feeling energetic this morning and hopped about a lot on the colonnade below . I do love a challenge.
They think this actually means something to me, instead of just a way of passing the time. What do they expect, I wonder? I’m here indefinitely. I’ve already read every book in the library. I can either do as other bored incumbent lunatics do in this place—cut myself and throw feces about—or I can watch Unus, my one-legged pigeon, hop on my superimposed hopscotch board and spell out anagram riddles for me to solve. The latter tends to buoy my spirits, the former does not.
The orderlies erased my hopscotch board again. This time I suffered the indignity of a disturbingly enthusiastic, and, if I may say so, rather in-depth body search from which all my markers were discovered.
“Viva le Crayola!” I shouted, but no révolutionnaires echoed my call to rise.
I’ll tell my lawyer, of course … that is, whenever I see him. Sometime between a yawn and receiving his check from Mother he’ll contact the hospital and make papier-mâché demands that my psychiatrist will patronize and share with the staff via speakerphone. Later they’ll all have a laugh, while somewhere in Manhattan—at La Grenouille perhaps—my lawyer will have an involuntary chuckle as well, never knowing why, and caring even less. Oscetra Caviar being of far greater importance than my desperately needed emotional rescue.
Save one’s self is the only way to free one’s mind in such times. Relying on others breeds despair the way trench warfare breeds dysentery. Licking my fingertip and using it as my new marker, I wrote my calculations upon the panes: kinetic energy (joule, J) = 1/2 mass (kilogram, kg) x velocity2 ((meter/second)2, (m/s)2) — KE = 1/2mv2.
Having gone over it and feeling correct in my calculations, I decide to follow through; I sprint the eleven-step length of my cell and hurl myself against the window. It takes seventeen strikes rather than the fifteen I estimated, but I finally break free and sail through the reinforced glass and out into the open air.
It’s cool for September. I can smell precipitation; a thunderstorm comes. The shattering of glass makes me think of the tinkling of crystal from the Czar’s great foyer chandelier.
All I can do is smile.
Unus looks up, and I wave as I plummet down towards him.
I think he’s smiling too.
Word count: 499