Friday, 11 April 2008

Drabble – a challenge for the weekend: The Rules:

1) 100 words, no more – no less. Numbers written “27” are one, punctuation/bullet-points don’t count. Hyphenation is 2 words
2) Topic “1st place I’d go in a Time Machine”
3) No clichés/changing time – no standing on a grassy knoll in Dallas, 1963 and yelling “Duck!”
4) Deviation allowed, but not deviants!
5) You can use Word to count for you
6) As many people as possible

My entry includes these rules, giving me less time – so straight to the point:

I’d go see Talking Heads on Stop Making Sense tour. Why? Looks like a damn fine concert from the DVD!


Pixie said...

As a pixie of renown I'll want to go somewhere in my time machine that feeds me. After all hunrgy pixies do not make for good companions and might just turn you into a toad. Or perhaps it's witches that do that either way I need chocolate, so I'll go get some instead of time travel.
Or I will go to the ball in a long floaty frock and drink champagne and eat canapes.

Liz said...

I’d go to the moment when my mother told my father that she was expecting me. I would listen to his reaction. When his horror became obvious and he suggested illegal abortion or told her he never wanted to see her again, I would tap him on the shoulder and say, ‘Look at me. I am your daughter. I am a fantastic human being. See what you are willing to miss?’ And then I might just punch him hard. So hard it would make my knuckles hurt and his face bleed.

Honour said...

isn't that interesting, ... i too would want to go back in my own history. A la "back to the future" -- I'd love to go back to when my parents met. Unlike most immigrants, my parents met here in Canada. My father portrays a scenario where he swept my mother off her feet with his charm. My mother claims that until the day she married him, she wasn't really sure why she dated him at all. And that he was a snobby, arrogant sort of man. I'd like to see where the truth lies.

A. Stageman said...

1922, Paris, France, 2 Rue de l'Odéon: I’d like to walk, back and forth, between bookshelves in Sylvia Beach’s “Shakespeare and Co.”. Mr. Hemingway and other members of his “lost generation” spent much of their time getting lost in her bookshop; and, eventually, while I would be lost in some train of thought, I would bump into Ernest. I would ask him to think about how many pages he’s crumpled and thrown; how each of those pages has helped rid him of his mind clutter. He would have already thought about it. He knows the meaning of one true sentence.

Don't Feed The Pixies said...

Beautiful comments so far - Pixie, great to see another pixie out there. Liz - i don't know what to say, beautiful but painful. Honour - that is such an interesting idea - the truth is dependent on our own viewpoint.

A Stageman - congrats, exactly 100 words and your soul is pure poetry. More comments please and i'll say more on my next blog

Jenny said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
Jenny said...

V. Torsås, 1990: My mom took a difficult decision about leaving my white trash father. I wish I could have been there and given her support at this time. She had it very tough getting a job cause she had recently moved to Sweden. She took all the jobs she could get. My white trash father on the other hand didn’t just take any jobs, and he had his business that didn’t bring any profits. Soon my family had big debts. Mom made the decision to leave my father, so she could get social allowance for her and her children.