Mike’s Musical Monday – Baby Won’t You Please Come Home?

Baby won’t you please
Baby won’t you please
Baby won’t you please come home?

I was always living for tomorrow
Tomorrow doesn’t matter anymore
Baby won’t you please
Baby won’t you please
Baby won’t you please come home?

Whatever I did, I’m sorry
Whatever I didn’t do, I’m sorry too

Baby won’t you please
Baby won’t you please
Baby won’t you please come home?

Flash Fiction Friday – The Broken String

What happened was the string broke. Shit like that happens all the time. Everything is held together by things like strings, and glue and pins and nails and stitches and hinges and belts and affection and respect and friendship and love. And they all break or wear out at some point. They all get stretched too far or grow brittle with age. They rust.
This particular string was put together well back in the last century, back in the heady halcyon days of rock’n’roll. It had already gone above and beyond the call of duty but Steven had taken for granted the notion that it would never break, or at least that he would before it did.

It was probably wound too tight. When he was young it had been pliable and slack and he’d tossed it around with abandon. It was strong enough to hold together many disparate young ladies with himself. It was flexible enough to bind the female flesh to him while his own skin remained unmarked. But in time it stiffened and tightened, as such things will, and it dug into the tender muscle of heart. It was females at the center of it all. His wife and his daughters and the one who excited him more than all the rest put together.
Steven married Cynthia to bind her to him and it worked so well that there were soon more girls, little Jessica and Ashley, and the string bound them all together while the girls grew. Then, when the storms had passed, after it had given stability that nothing else could, the string snapped. Cynthia was the first to see it happen. Steven went limp. His arms couldn’t hold her. His knees buckled under his weight. He came completely unwound.
Egg shells are known for their fragility. Shotgun shells, not so much.

Merry Music Monday – Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas

Here’s a song performed with and sung by my brother James.

Have yourself a merry little Christmas
Let your heart be light
From now on all our troubles will be
Out of sight
Have yourself a merry little Christmas
Make the Yuletide gay
From now on our troubles will be
Miles away
Here we are as in olden days
Happy golden days of yore
Faithful friends who are dear to us
Gather near to us once more
Through the years we all will be together
If the fates allow
Hang a shining star
Upon the highest bough
And have yourself a merry little Christmas now.

Flash Fiction Friday – Snowflakes

They say every snowflake is unique but they all looked the same to Denise.
She looked at them very carefully, trying to find their distinct characteristics.
There weren’t any.
Chloe, on the other hand, saw each flake in its individual glory.
It wasn’t just their shapes and sizes but also their hue and flutterability that were distinguishable.
And she also saw Denise.
Denise was a block of hardened clay, impenetrable save by fear.
Denise saw a woman in the mirror growing older and stiffer each day.
Chloe saw a snowflake.
Chloe saw a woman in the mirror refracting a never-ending variety of light.
Chloe saw in Denise a fellow angel whose wings were limp from disuse.
Chloe wanted to see Denise fly.
So she flapped her own wings just to make Denise laugh and wonder and float
And cry and begin all over again, with all the hard work that entailed.
Denise saw the snowflake.