By Gypsie-Ami Offenbacher-Ferris (Flash fiction in 100 words exactly.)
Gardening is my relaxation. Flowers are my heaven. I love the little critters that arrive in spring. The anoles, the crickets, snails and slugs. The birds and fireflies. Turtles sometimes and frogs always.
Hop hop hop. Right over my flip-flopped foot.
“Oh, hello!” I exclaimed.
Hop hop hop, he stopped. I followed. More hopping. I kept following. He took me to my lovely porcelain, vibrant blue bird-bath water fountain and waited. Thinking he wanted water, I lowered my hand and he hopped right in. Once on the edge, he turned to face me.
They felon had been banished to the back-country. The chilling trip was an unknown, yet he had heard stories. UuikPinpricks of information came down the in-house communication network dubbed, ‘the slithery string,’ about the place unmanageable inmates like him were sent and never heard from again.
He had tried to miss the deportation wagon by hiding out in the laundry room, but the lid of the basket she had stuffed himself inside wouldn’t close the right way and in the end, he had been discovered.
Now he was handcuffed to ithe seat in front of him on what looked to be a dilapidated but school bus with two beefy prison guards on either side of him to insure he stayed put.
They bounced around uncomfortable in the semi-darknessz, dusk had just fallen. The old bus made a sharp right turn, hit several potholes and finally stopped. Before the bus stopped bouncing from the rough ride, the guards were manhandling him down the stairs and out of the door. He looked around confused, until he uh wedHuhis brain processed what his eyes were telling himo. A rickety yyuiold sign hung above the abandoned graveyard, but the words were still legible. ‘The WeBack-Country’ was painted across all yyyuuoooooooooookookokkvery Different dry and broken piece of rotting timbery. His distraught scream went unheeded.
He was positive he’d ordered his new boat in nautical blue. After waiting nearly a year for its completion, how disappointed he felt when they rolled it out of the marina on its trailer.
What was this? A bright, neon bluish green monstrosity of a sailing vessel! Normally a genteel man, considered quiet by most, he could not stop his repeated utterance of “oh noes!”
The ship builder’s bewilderment and surprise were evident. He had never disappointed a customer is his thirty plus years of ship building.
He asked his paying customer what was the problem? The new owner explained he had specifically ordered his boat in nautical blue. The ship builder answered emphatically that this was nautical blue.
They argued about it for a short period of time and then the new owner said to the ship builder, “Let’s take her out for her test run and I’ll show you nautical blue.”
Once past the docks and slipping through the canal following the buoy markers, the new Captain took the ship builder and his son into deep water.
After some test maneuvering and checking that all of the gauges were working, the Captain pointed straight ahead. In the distant, the ocean was so blue as to be almost black.
“That,” the Captain said with satisfaction, “is nautical blue.”
“Ah yes my good friend, you are correct. Now if you would, please examine the exterior of your new craft.”
He leaned over to examine the hull to find it gleaming a very rich shade of bluish black, matching perfectly the nautical blue of the deep rolling ocean they sailed upon.
Anti-gun lobbyists and pro-gun lobbyists stood face to face, nose to nose outside the White House where President Biden watched with half-hearted, feigned community interest.
Taunts were yelled back and forth. Threats made. Slurs slung. Anti-lobbyists held up peace sign symbols. The pro-lobbyists, being more organized and well-funded, held up petition signs worthy of any protest petitioner.
The crowds appeared evenly matched, no give in any quarter. A small man hobbled out of the angry, milling crowd. Staff in one hand, long flowing, weather-worn robes blowing in the perpetual breeze swirling around his thin, muscle-less legs.
Raising both hands, the Dalai Lama squatted and stated softly, “Now we shall compromise.”
Gypsie’s Wonderful World of Words 