I often find it interesting what people get passionate about. I’ve seen people get into loud verbal fights over a topic they’re each passionate about, heard of fisticuffs over the same, and all too frequently murder (manslaughter) because someone is so passionate about something they believe they are the only one who is right.
I’m not saying I don’t get passionate about some things, but I’m always willing to listen to the other party’s views. I think sometimes it infuriates people that I do that because I refuse to get in a fight, especially over politics or religion. Sadly, I’ve had people unfriendly me on Facebook because they don’t agree with my stance on a political issue. *Shrug* Their choice.
I do get passionate about my Dallas Cowboys. I have my favorite players, of course, and when they are out of the playoffs (as they are this year) or not in the Superbowl (been too long) as far as I’m concerned football season is over. I’m a true diehard fan, win or lose. But let a troll start bashing my ‘Boys and I’ll wade right in – up to a point. Even then, I acknowledge when I’m helping them achieve their goal of stirring up trouble and I disengage.
“Drama? I don’t need no stinkin’ drama!”
Actually, the only “drama” I’ve had in my life lately is the upper respiratory and sinus infections I’ve been battling since a couple of days before Christmas Eve. I’m still just a little muzzy-headed and have a rough voice, but I’m determined to get back in the swing of things with my blog, starting with JusJoJan.
In general, I don’t have much tolerance for drama other than what is in movies and on TV. I don’t know if that’s because of my hardscrabble country upbringing, but I just have never been able to stand being around people who, to me, are so desperate for attention that they create drama out of everything.
I came across this blog post today and felt it was very much worth sharing. Since there wasn’t a “reblog” button, I’m hoping you’ll take the time to follow the link and read it.
Please Stop Calling Suicide Selfish
“Mère, I’m tired,” the little boy whined as he deliberately dragged his feet and kicked up dust around them. “When will we get there?”
Belle looked down at her son with loving hazel eyes, ruffled his soft red curly hair. “Ah, mon petite, why are you always in such a hurry? However, we are here.”
“But there are only some old steps and a signpost here.”
“Yes, that’s what it looks like, but you must climb the steps to find what we came here for.”
“There’s nothing at the top,” the boy argued.
Belle smiled indulgently and urged her son forward. “You’ll be surprised when you reach the top.”
Reluctantly, the boy stepped forward and began climbing the steps. Belle took one last look to make sure nobody was near and also began the climb. When they reached the top step a castle appeared before their eyes and the door swung open.
Belle put her hands on her son’s shoulders and said, “Prince Adam, may I introduce you to your son, Alexander.”
[NOTE: The premise for this story comes from the story of Beauty and the Beast. My story line is that Belle became pregnant soon after Prince Adam became himself again. Fearing that his son might suffer the same fate he did, Belle and Prince Adam agreed upon his son’s birth that Belle would leave the castle and raise him as a commoner until his 12th birthday. The castle was then hidden from the world by a magic spell until the day that Belle and his son returned. }
Written for Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers. Thanks to J. S. Brand for the photo prompt.
The fallout of my overdoing it yesterday, in addition to the nasty weather, is the pain and fatigue I’m having today. That is life with fibromyalgia. You do what you can when you have the energy and then pay for it later.
Written for SoCS. Thank you, Linda G. Hill, for the prompt. the book I used is Fallout by Sara Paretsky.
“It’s really so sad,” Ginger said as she wiped her eyes with a tissue. “He had worked so hard on this project. And it took him so long to get approval from the City to do it!” she wailed. “Now it will serve as a memorial to him.”
“Does anyone know what really happened? He didn’t deliberately jump?” Benny asked.
“NO! He would never do that! He was really excited to see his dream coming to life.”
“Well, sometimes people hide their depression. Maybe this was his last hoorah. I mean, the project was nearing completion so he knew it would happen.”
Ginger hit Benny on the upper arm. “Don’t even think that!”
“Hey, guys,” Ellie said as she approached. “Can you believe Lonnie is gone – snap! – just like that?”
“Do you know what happened?” Ginger asked.
“They said a hawk came swooping down at him and threw him off-balance. They found a nest underneath the ledge.”
[Word count: 157]
Written for Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers. Thank you Grant-Sud for the photo prompt.
The man was of average height, of slight build, brown hair, there was absolutely nothing remarkable about him that would make anyone pay any special attention to him. Nonetheless, he looked around nervously before entering the White Horse Pub. This was his first job as a hit man and he wanted to be extra careful.
His instructions were to enter the pub, have a Guinness and wait. Someone wearing a blue suit with a gold lapel pin would meet him. While he waited, he surveyed the walls, which were white boards that people from everyone had signed or left notes. Silly twits, he thought.
Two hours and three Guinnesses later, he decided he had been had and gave up. If he had any idea who had called him he would pay them a visit. However, he would just have to place his ad again and see if someone else would initiate him into the world of hit men.
As he stepped onto the street, he felt steel bracelets clasp his wrists. With surprise, he looked at the policemen. Realization dawned as one of the cops grinned and said “Gotcha!”
Written for Sunday Photo Fiction. Special thanks to A Mixed Bag for the photo prompt.