Music Challenge — Midnight at the Oasis

8AA12469-70CF-497B-B6AB-8D539E6B5D2CIt was kind of late, but James walked into the Oasis Bar to grab a beer before he resigned himself to spending yet another night alone. He was surprised that the place still looked exactly as it did six years ago, when he first met his wife, Sara, who was tending bar there. It had been two years since their divorce and this was his first time back at the Oasis since then.

James took a stool at the bar and asked the bartender for a Heineken. When the bartender brought the beer to James, James asked him how long he’d been tending bar at the Oasis. The bartender thought for a moment. “I started in 2015, so around five years,” he said.

“Did you know Sara Hart?” James asked the bartender.

The bartender wrinkled his brow. “I may have met her, but I think she left shortly after I started. If I remember correctly, she married some regular customer at the Oasis, a real asshole they say.”

“Yeah,” James said. “I’m that asshole.”

“Oh, man,” the bartender said, “I’m sorry. No I didn’t really know her and definitely not you. You seem like a decent guy. How’s Sara doing these days?”

“That’s a good question,” James said. “We split two years ago.”

The bartender reached down and pulled out another Heineken from the cooler. “This one’s on the house, pal.”

James and the bartender chatted amicably for about half an hour when James looked up at the clock behind the bar. “Jeez,” he said, “it’s almost midnight.”

The bartender smiled. “Yeah, midnight at the Oasis,” he said.

James let out a big sigh, got up from the bar stool with a look of melancholy on his face, and said, “That was Sara’s and my song.”

Written for the Music Challenge from Jim Adams over at Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie, and for Fandango’s One-Word Challenge (resign).

Uncontrollable Nonsense

A11C4E23-BAC7-4B77-8CA0-F86D6BE8745CToday’s Sunday Writing Prompt from Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie is “uncontrollable nonsense” and we are tasked with “writing something that is actual nonsense, means nothing.”

So I decided to do something Teresa Grabs used to do on her old blog. She would let the word auto-select feature on her smartphone, I presume, pick the next word. So, in the example below, the next word would be “with.”36A91B7F-CDA2-44FC-96ED-CEEEE389C7BAI did “cheat” a little, in that the words in italics were words I used to get the conversation going. Otherwise, what follows is purely uncontrollable nonsense for about 90 words.

This is nonsense and it’s not so good. I don’t think we have any questions or comments about the topic. I’m glad you enjoyed the time last night and the day before when you were going on to the next week.

Forget about what you mean by the end of this world. Nobody knows how much they have been fooled by the way they have worked with their faith. I don’t have any other choice, but if I’m going through this anyway, I’ll let you know when I’m done.

So, how was that for a little bit of uncontrollable nonsense? Why don’t you give it a try?

Tale Weaver — Getting Lucky

EC71AA2B-2C6C-44DF-B3DF-BA0D37C40C64Steven was pleasantly surprised when Annie agreed to come up to his apartment after only their second date. Maybe tonight I’ll get lucky, he thought. They arrived at Steven’s second floor walk up and he unlocked the door, opened it up, and gestured for her to go in. “It’s cozy,” he warned her.

“Oh, it’s a studio apartment,” Annie said, looking around the single room.

“I told you it was cozy,” Steven said, letting out a nervous chuckle. He noticed a confused look on Annie’s face. “Is there something wrong?” he asked her.

“I’m a little surprised,” she said. “You told me that you’re an avid reader, yet I don’t see any bookshelves in your apartment and there’s not a single book in sight.”

“Yeah, well, when you have a small place, you have to make certain accommodations,” Steven said, a bit defensively. “I obviously don’t have room to store hundreds of books in this small apartment.”

“So do you get your books from the library?” Annie asked.

Steven took out his iPhone, pulled up his home screen, and then handed it to her, pointing out the Kindle app.D30B5B1E-7817-4965-B898-920211493549“I download all of my books to my Kindle app,” he said. “It’s great because I have hundreds of books on the app and they take up no physical space whatsoever. It’s really convenient, you know.”

“It’s not the same,” Annie said. “I like the feel of physical books, the heft, the smell. Reading ebooks on a device like a smartphone or tablet is not the same experience.”

“Are you that much of a purest that it bothers you that my book collection is on my phone instead of on bookshelves in my small apartment?” Steven asked.

“Actually it does,” she said. She picked up her phone, tapped her screen, and said, “I just ordered an Uber. I think we have a compatibility issue.”

“Gee, for someone who thinks that reading on a smartphone is bothersome, I’m surprise you’d use your smartphone to arrange for a ride rather than going out onto the street to hail a taxi the old fashioned way,” Steven sarcastically said.

Annie gave Steven a dirty look and exited his apartment. Well, I guess I’m not going to get lucky tonight, he thought.

Written for the Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie Tale Weaver prompt.

Photo Challenge — Never Mind

4EBFBB4B-8D4E-473B-8154-A2D14E15DA4F“Look,” Emily said to Jim, holding her hands out for him to see.

Jim got a confused look on his face. “Why do you have those white flowers between your fingers on both of your hands?” he asked.

“Because, silly,” Emily said, “I’m excited about our trip to San Francisco this weekend, where the girls wear flowers on their hands.”

Now Jim was even more confused. “What are you talking about, Emily?”

“That song,” she responded. “The one about San Francisco where the lyrics talk about going to San Francisco and wearing flowers on your hands.”

Jim shook his head. “I think you’re a little confused,” he said. “First of all, the lyrics say flowers in your hair, not on your hands. Second of all, that song was written back in the hippie days in 1967, Emily, almost 30 years before you were born. People don’t go around with flowers in their hair anymore, even in San Francisco. And definitely not on their hands.”

Emily meekly turned to Jim and simply said, “Never mind.”

Written for the Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie Photo Challenge prompt. Photo credit: cottonbro on

Dissociative Identity Disorder

80EE98FC-6E68-463C-BAE1-C5AB88E27100“I’ve never seen anything like this in all of my years as a psychiatrist,” Dr. Reginald Philpot said. “Elizabeth has 16 unique personalities that I have personally identified and been in contact with each one of them. This has to rank near the very top of such cases.”

At the risk of sounding pedantic about, I know that there have been other cases of more severe dissociative identity disorder than this one,” Claudine Murray, a graduate student pointed out. “There is a woman in London, a painter, who has more than 100 separate personalities.”

“Well, that may be the case, Miss Murray,” Philpot said, defensively, “but I still believe that my unique therapeutic techniques and methods of my Elizabeth, with her 16 personalities, have been truly effective, and when I publish my study, the response will be nothing short of lavish.”

“What is it, doctor, that makes your therapeutic techniques so unique and effective?” Claudine asked.

“I’m so glad you asked, Miss Murray,” Philpot said. “It involves a high degree of intimacy.”

Claudine raised an eyebrow and glared at Dr. Philpot. “By ‘intimacy,’ doctor, you don’t mean….”

Dr. Philpot interrupted Claudine. “Yes, that’s exactly what I mean, Miss Murray. “I’ve had sex with each and every one of Elizabeth’s 16 personalities and it’s been the best sex I’ve ever had…by a factor of sixteen.”

Written for the Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie Photo Challenge. Photo credit: Andrea Piacquadio on Also written for these daily prompts: Word of the Day Challenge (contact), Fandango’s One-Word Challenge (rank), Ragtag Daily Prompt (pedantic), and Your Daily Word Prompt (lavish).