Philosophical Fridays

Danny James Photography

IMG_0584 Photo Credit — Danny James

                        Clambering up the Cold Mountain path,
                        The Cold Mountain trail goes on and on:
                         The long gorge choked with scree and boulders,
                         The wide creek, the mist-blurred grass.
                         The moss is slippery, though there’s been no rain.
                         The pine sings, but there’s no wind.
                         Who can leap the world’s ties
                         And sit with me among the white clouds.


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This post is in response to the Daily Post Daily Prompt of “Conversation”.

“Do your little bit of good where you are; it’s those little bits of good put together that overwhelm the world.” ~Desmond Tutu


Photo Credit ===Danny James

The Bear

This post is written for Friday Fictioneers.


PHOTO PROMPT © Kelvin M. Knight

I woke to the sound of fabric ripping. The sound of an angry bear accompanied the next slash. Evening light streamed through the opening. The front of the tent suddenly collapsed to the right. The sight of the huge animal filled that void. Suddenly it stood and the blood red eyes focused on the remains of the meal I had just finished.  I desperately tried to find the zipper on my sleeping bag. I realized I did not have time to escape. I quickly covered my head and slipped as far down as I could. The first blow was lethal.

You can lose your head for that.

This post is submitted to Friday Fictioneers.


PHOTO PROMPT © Danny Bowman

No trees grew in this desolate part of the country. He knew this area well. Every year he made this trip to collect taxes due the King.

“You know this place?” his companion whispered.

“Oh, aye, I know most places through this part of the Highlands. Wouldn’t wander here cept tis’ the King’s brother-in-law who needs to pay his share.” 

“ What fate awaits him if he refuses?” his companion asked.

“His Majesty has a wee bit of a temper and doesn’t take well with those who displease him. One Royal Lady lost her head when she offended.”



Time Stands Still

This post is submitted to Sunday Photo Fiction.


© Eric Wicklund

John entered the forest at precisely 11:17 a.m. on August 2, 2016. He knew this by double tapping on his new fitbit bracelet. He tapped again and was informed he had taken 1,257 steps so far this morning. He planned this walk to reach his goal of 10,000.

After an hour on the trail he noticed an interesting looking tree. The large branches formed what looked like an eye socket with a missing eyeball in the center.

Climbing in he was amazed at how large the enclosure was. The eye socket he was now standing in was huge. He went to the edge of the socket and stood up and still did not reach the top of the arch.

Looking out he saw a scene like something out of Jurassic Park. Hugh animals of all descriptions ranged the landscape as far as he could see. Sounds of animal welfare, sounds so loud they made him fear for his life.

He felt the need to return to the trail and quickly. Somewhere were everything made sense.

Raising his left arm to check his progress in reaching his step goal his fitbit indicated the date was December 19, 2021 and his step counter read 103,254,615 steps.

Luv Betty

It took her two hours to clean up all the blood. She was getting better at this. The last time the clean-up took almost the entire day. Practice, practice, practice she mumbled to herself. The apartment had to be cleaned and repainted when she left anyway but she still prided herself on her attention to detail.

She had rented the room for three weeks to accommodate her killing schedule. A low rent, run down, rat infested room costs her $185 for three weeks. It was ideally located near the airport so the sound of overhead jet engines would muffle any screams that may escape during her ritual routine of mutilation and ritual beheading. She had memorized the major airlines landing schedule.

Her tool of choice was a DEWALT 15-amp 12 inch sliding miter saw with rolling miter saw stand. It cut right through bones with little resistance.  This model allowed her to put her victims on their back for easier access. She thought it was a pretty good deal at $599. She had made sure she kept the box it came in so she could repack it so the movers she would call to move her furnishings would not be suspicious.

What was left of Bill oozed out of the large trunk she had purchased from Ebay. You’re getting sloppy she said to herself. Perhaps, she thought, she should contact the seller and write a review of how the trunk needed a better liner and post it on line. Now that was crazy!  But Betty was slowly drifting in that dark direction. A path that she knew would end up in her own death. A death that she no longer feared. A death indeed she desired.

Most of her friends thought she was crazy anyway. She knew she was crazy! She knew she was crazy before she sliced Bill up into pieces with the large butcher knife that he had given her on her birthday. Now what kind of fool buys his girlfriend that type of gift on her special day. Just for that he deserved to die. But he had to die for more serious infractions than that. By the time her rent was up and the movers had arrived all the bruises and welts on her face and the ugly purple circles under her eyes would have healed. But not the memories.

“Join the crowd Bill” she hissed as she moved the trunk across the room setting it beside two other similar trunks. “Love Betty”, she murmured.

Well the gang’s all here she said aloud to herself.

Carol was neatly packed in the middle trunk. She spotted a small drop of blood on the floor beside Carol’s trunk. Have to clean that up before she called the movers. Good old prissy Carol. Killing that bitch actually made her feel good. Little miss know it all. Tell her a sad story and she would one up you with a sad story that was even more a tear jerker. But she was her best friend. Or WAS her best friend. She started talking to the trunk.

“Carol, you stupid bitch. Did you really think I wouldn’t find out that you were having an affair with someone else? And a guy on top of that. I lived for your touch. The memory of our first kiss still thrills me. You hurt me Carol. You really hurt me. That’s why I cut out your heart first. You broke mine so I’m taking yours. “Love Betty,” she murmured.

Darrell was in the last trunk against the wall. Darrell who thought he was God’s gift to women. Think again Darrell. After all his hype and macho moves he was a big disappointment when it came to actually performance. The sack where’s it’s at baby and you ain’t got it bucko. “Love Betty,” she murmured.

******       ******       ******

She started her prison sentence today in Jacksonville State Prison. She still remembered the jury foreman in his ill-fitting suit, a suit that had to be thirty years old, loudly proclaiming “guilty on all three counts.” She had declined my chances of a plea bargain. How could twelve people of my “peers” find me guilty of pre-medicated murder? But they did Betty, she said to herself. They did and now you will die a dried up an old angry prune.

“Peers.” She had no friggin peers. She had glanced up as each juror was polled and each said in turn “Yes” when the judge asked if they did indeed find her guilty of the three murders.

Walking down the corridor of “B” wing in the prison she noticed how noisy it is. Inmates shouting vulgar sayings. The rapping of tin cups on the bars. She is escorted, more like pushed, inside her new home for the remainder of her life. Ten feet by six with an open toilet with no lid. Everything is made out of concrete. A little cut out section in the door where they pass your meals to you. A bare bulb about ten foot off the floor gave off the only light. No sunshine in here. No sir!

She turned to the right and saw the blood red writing that said, “Welcome to the rest of your life.” Love Betty!

You Picked a Fine Time to Leave Me Lucille

This post is written for Friday Fictioneers.



PHOTO PROMPT © Dale Rogerson

The words of the old song were now becoming an ear worm that echoed within his emotionally damaged brain without end. Except her name was not Lucille and he didn’t have four hungry children and a crop in the field. But close. His hunger now filled by the need for more cocaine was making him wander dangerously in the fields of some very nasty figures. From mingling with the starts to eating pizza in a low rented hotel room all the result of chasing a beauty and her whims. Take me back country roads.