Dough! – Day 147 – Bakery

Sitting outside the bakery on my way to work.

Boris the baker wasn’t practiced at romance. He’d tried to woo the shop front girl several times, but always chickened out. This morning he decided to leave her a message in dough on the back counter that read “You are perfect.” Unfortunately, by the time she got to it, it had expanded and now read “You are defect.”

Code of Practice – Day 146 – Dentist

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From the dentist. Just had my teeth cleaned and I’m always confused by the secret code the dentist and hygienist use to speak to each other. It sounds like another language, so I started imagining this:

Hygienist: Is P 15 upper looking good? (He’s a looker)

Dentist: L 21 lower may have some troubles (garlic breath)

Patient: Sorry I was so late, just came from work. Had to deliver some puppies.

Dentist: No worries at all Mr. Bruns. Actually L 21’s not so bad (never mind about the breath)

Patient: I always think the code dentists use sounds like your playing battleships.

Dentist: Nothing on M 12 upper (not another battleships joke)

Patient: Sometimes I use vet code to talk about owners at work to my colleagues. But you guys probably have more sophisticated ways to get through the day.

Dentist: Haha ingenious, we’d never think of something like that.

Grundtal – Day 145 – Forestdale

Coming to you from forestdale in Logan. I did a quick google before I started writing and apparently the suburb is prone to bushfires and “dale” means a man who lives in the valley. That plus the awesome forest tunnel road I drove through inspired this:

Smoke pools in the valley. Grundtal sprints through the trees, trying to escape the roars and screams of the burning trees. He is a mere blur of scruffy hair and muddy feet as he jumps over logs and hops through gaps in the thick undergrowth. But he’s no match for the fire. It spills around him. Trapped, he assumes defeat, but then he sees a clearing. Grundtal streaks toward it.

As he reaches the entrance he realises its a tunnel of trees with a smooth earthy floor. Grundtal stops in his tracks, he’s lived alone with only the valley for company since he was 10 and never seen anything like this before. A loud crack reminds him of his pursuer and he speeds off into the dark tunnel.

Minutes later and with the fire still hot on his tale, Grundtal sees a glittering mass up ahead. As he approaches he realises it is a lake. With one final leap, he shatters the glassy surface. Moments later he sees animals appear from every side of the lake, each emerges from a similar tree tunnel. More splashes and the lake fills with small fury valley residents. They float along side him, watching their home burn. But Grundtal can’t help but smile, he never knew the valley was so smart, and so strong. He is convinced now, the trees can rebuild.

PS. I tried to take a picture of forest tunnel road, but my camera phone and night time roads don’t mix well.

Sculpture – Day 144 – Rock Climbing

From rocksports where I went climbing today.

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My hands are dust, grated by the cliff. My arms shake like an earthquake, and my feet slip like loose gravel. I cling to its face like a long lost lover. I look down through the clouds. My ears pop, the pressure unbalancing me. But curiosity pulls me on. Precariously, I haul myself up, barely making every stretch. My body is cold as stone. My jaw is set like concrete. I’m determined to be the first to climb the tower of rock and discover its secrets. Questions settle on my brain, weighing me down like sedimentary rock.

I see the top, it juts out, forcing me upside-down. Luckily there are plenty of good holds. I grab one which looks almost like a hand. As I pull myself up I realise the hand is attached to a body. I don’t think I’m the first person to do this climb anymore. Looking around I can see the entire rim of the cliff is made of stone people, all clambering over each other. Its a sculpture of panic, a graveyard of curious souls like mine. I scream, loosing my grip. But I don’t fall. My hands feel tight and my body hardens. Then I am gone. 

Sea Side – Day 143 – Wellington Point

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Coming to you from the sea side. I’m really quite scared of waves and tide, so I decided to mix things up.

The sea side

The sea sighed

The sea guides

 

So I confide

In the swelling tide

I ride astride waves so wide

And high I could have died

Until my body and the shore collide

 

The water never replied

I’m exposed with nowhere to hide

But there’s something only sea can provide

My worries subside

And now I’m ready to decide

I wear salt on my skin with pride

Ready to try the untried

Fractures – Day 128 – UN Day

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Today I wrote my story at “UN Day” (my old high school’s cultural fete). I saw my old history teacher, Kristen Bell (the kindest, most passionate teacher you could hope to have), and asked her for a prompt.

She said the renowned journalist, Peter Greste, used to be a student at Indooroopilly and they’d had his mother in that morning to talk about his imprisonment in Egypt. It had made a big impact on her and she suggested he be a character and the story be about tolerance. I looked at a few news stories and saw in an interview he said he decorates his cell by pushing little bits of packets into the cracks in the walls. Looking at the colourful fete, I wrote this:

He’d always been complimented on his hunger to observe and learn. So he traveled the world recording the stories he found. Now he was imprisoned because of it. Deprived of books and pens, the days blurred into endless streams of meaningless consciousness.

But stories can’t be stopped, they seep out the cracks. He would roll up empty food packets and push them into the fractures in the walls. The light would catch the colours and spray them across the otherwise stark cell. This time, telling his own story, of vibrant characters and far off lands.