Flying Eyes – Day 343 – Eye painting

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This painting has been in my house for years and it’s blurred into the background- I almost don’t see it anymore. But today I looked at it in a new light- it could be my story trigger!

The flying eyes can be deadly and watch out for their fight whistle, my mum tells me after dinner.

I ask for seconds. She gags into my beak for a while, but she can’t bring up anything. She tells me I’ll have to start collecting for the smaller ones. She can barely find enough food for me as it is. Her wing is hurt and she can’t fly far enough. I look around the nest at my unhatched siblings.

A week later my siblings emerge and I know it is time. Gliding around is wonderful, I take a dip through the clouds. As I emerge, I see an eye ahead and hear the whistling. I fly beneath the cover of clouds for a while hoping to get rid of it. A moment later the whistling gets louder and it flies straight through the cloud nearly knocking me over. It slows and begins to dig in the cloud as if it is earth revealing a nest. There are tiny eyes in it that remind me of my siblings.

They open their mouths and blow at the big ones belly, now I can see it is filled with tiny tubes that make noise when the wind passes through them. The big one unloads some food from it’s arm and the little ones eat. It looks delicious, I sigh, wishing I had some. Suddenly they all look at me. The big one speaks.

Are you hungry?

Yes

Then take some, fellow eye. There is more below in the valley, I can show you where to go.

 I’m not an eye, I’m a bird.

That whistle you made just now, it sounded like a call.

I sigh again.

That’s it. You’re a natural.

Why do you whistle? I thought it was a fight call.

Because we are blind. We find each other by the whistle our bodies make as we fly. The eye is just there to keep predators away.

She shows me the best place for food and my family is never hungry again.

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Just One – Day 290 – Tweet

She painted thousands of paintings and left them around the city. Just small ones- they’d fit in the palm of your hand. She left them in the middle of the night. Most of them were cleaned up or went unnoticed. But a week later when she got on a train, she saw a young boy who had pasted it to the front of his note book. That was all she needed, just to know that one person enjoyed it.

Today I received one of the best tweets ever. I love the idea of someone being inspired by a story I write. Sometimes I forget that people are actually reading them.

The Last Forest – Day 205 – Erin’s Favourite, Max Ernst

Erin sent me her favourite piece “The Last Forest” by Max Ernst:

The moon is a forest. If you slip under a crater, you’ll see it. Giant blue luminous plants thriving and giving off eerie green light. When the Earth was used up, we moved here. It had been under our noses all along. Not everyone survived the trip. Which is just as well, the moon is small and cramped. Some complain about the strange damp smell of the forest or the dark blue mud that cakes our boots. I am just glad there is a forest left in the universe that will take us. 

Eclipse – Day 161 – Kate’s Solar Crushing Experience

I got this from Kate:

“So, I missed the lunar eclipse but i was so happy because there was a solar eclipse the following week – but then I got so excited that I looked directly at it and my eyes burned so bright that it blocked all the world out and then the sun disappeared behind the mountain before I had a chance to regain my full sightedness. I lost. I lost both times.”

Hopefully this story makes your feel a little better about it all Kate…

Painting fueled the fire that lit up her eyes. The sun made them burn the brightest. She must have painted it thousands of times, but she never quite captured the movement or the energy. It had started in her house but eventually sunrays spilled out into the street and burned their way through the streets.

She’d start painting during the day and continue through the night, the image of the sun seared into her retinas even in the dark. One night she closed her eyes and painted by feel, looking at the negative of the sun projected onto the insides of her eyelids. Finished, she opened her eyes, but nothing changed. All was dark. She never saw again.

The painting now hangs in the city centre and is known as her best work. People ‘oh’ and ‘ahh’ wondering if the paint is moving or if the canvas really is glowing. Some sit in front of it for days and have to be shooed away by security, but she will never set eyes on her masterpiece.Some say once she captured her subject there was nothing left to fuel the fire in her eyes, others say don’t look into the sun.

Childish – Day 156 – Ben

I do agree Ben, in fact, there is one childish act that runs in my family which I really dislike. So I thought up this story.

Once there were two brothers. They took it in turns to look after their little sister Cari. The first brother would set up nest eggs in Cari’s name and park her in front his oversized TV. The second taught her to skip everywhere, just like he did, and bought chocolate milks that would sticky their fingers. One day when the second brother dropped Cari off covered in paint with tangled frizzy hair, the first brother lost it.

“You’re late again. Look at her!”

“I know, she looks so cute. We had a coloured water bomb fight.”

“The state of her hair.”

“I was the last one to the car last night, so she was allowed to pick our outfits today. She calls it witchy-chic.”

“She’ll never grow up with you around. You’re so childish! I’m taking her for two weeks this time.”

“But-”

The brothers argued in unison, “She likes it better at my place!”

The second brother grinned at Cari, “Jinx! Can’t say it back!”

The first brother grabbed Cari’s hand and walked silently inside, as the second called out.

“C’mon we’re brothers I don’t want to fight. It’s Cari’s life, shouldn’t she have a say?”

But the door closed and remained that way every time he came back to talk. The second brother left phone messages, letters, flowers, and even an expensive digital watch that he thought his brother would like. But there was no reply.

Inside the house, the first brother had made a pile of these letters and was trying to stuff them into the bin. Cari watched.

“You’re being childish,” she said.

“He’s the one… he was hogging yo-”

He stopped on hearing himself, “what should I do Cari?”

And so she devised a plan which involved screaming into pillows, painting their emotions, and drinking chocolate milk. When they had finished they went to the second brother’s house, covered in paint with sticky chocolate fingers.

“Cari says we should shake hands and say sorry.”

The second brother smiled and extended his hand.

“Ew sticky fingers! Seriously though, who’s hiding the chocolate milk?”