Sunday Photo Fiction is a weekly challenge presented by my old friend Al Forbes.
The idea is to write a short story (200 word max) inspired by what you see in his picture (below).
Flowers often take me back to that simpler time – the 1960s – when the world was young and idealistic.
A generation of people preached peace and brotherly love, then grew up to exploit the banking system and bring the world economy crashing to its knees.
And, in passing, to invade Iraq, Afghanistan and a host of other sovereign states.
Click on this link to enter your tale, and see what others have written.
Copyright Al Forbes
She’s a Lady
My favourite song is an old hippy anthem.
She’s a Lady, by John Sebastian.
It tells of a fleeting but perfect encounter with a girl who is ‘floating along with a whimsical twinkling in her strange green eyes’.
And of the feeling that, some days, ‘it was raining daisies’.
Real sixties’ flower power.
And now, in my own sixties, I am still looking for that special lady who I will love forever.
You see, I am a romantic.
I still believe in true love.
I still think I will find her.
That perfect partner who I won’t get bored or irritated with.
Who makes me feel it might yet, some day, rain daisies.
Who, unlike all the others, I will never have to kill.
Sound Bite Fiction 
I loved that song. Takes me back to a time more innocence and definitely more peaceful. Well, the world may not have been more peaceful, but then I was a bit more oblivious when I was young. I enjoy how you express yourself. A poetry I can understand. I loved Scotland when I visited in the early 90s.
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Thank you for your very kind words, Lissa.
If I had written that song, I could die happy.
It is often my favourite.
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Surely a romantic still. Eternally looking…
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Loved the song. Remember it well. 🙂
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Remember it well!
DJ
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With your initials, you should remember lots of music!
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They just shouldn’t let cynics take on romantic imagery.
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Agreed, Dave, it is ‘their’ fault!
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Oookay… daisies are good — even raining daisies. But the last line? Hmmm LOL I think I’ll steer clear 🙂
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Boy, some of you ladies really are sooo sensitive!
I’m quite a nice guy, honestly…
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LOL I’m sure you are. After all, you’re a Scot 😉
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What a charming response, thank you.
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Nothing ventured, nothing gained…just keep trying and it just might come about! Life doesn’t end until you take that last breath!
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Now that is the sort of mature understanding I get all too seldom!
Thank you, LJC.
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As I was reading this, my thoughts were:
“Oh, isn’t this sweet. Different to how the oth… oh” lol
It’s awesome
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Good grief, Al, you really should know better!
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I really enjoyed this. It is clever how you wove idealism and realism to create this.
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Thank you, Francesca.
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Oh wonderful ending. Reminds me a bit of a couple Robert Browning poems especially “My Last Duchess.” Excellent job!
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Wow!
Wilde and Browning on the same post, I am ecstatic here!
‘Paint must never hope to reproduce the faint
Half-flush that dies along her throat’
Magical words, way above the talent of this poor scribe.
I am delighted that you found something of worth here.
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Well… I do have green eyes but M. Ayr, your “Lady Killer” reputation is a little intimidating! A gentleman who so consistently misplaces his paramours might consider keeping that “personality quirk” off his bio. Perhaps chatting with the debonair, suave and always top of the “World’s Most Eligible Elephants”, Sir AnElephantCant; might provide you with some useful err… tips! 😉
❤
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Ah, Karin, your eyes are the least of your worries.
I admit to having had the occasional unfortunately terminated liaison, but surely you will not hold that against me.
Nobody is perfect, and certainly not Pinky!
Do you not read that stuff he pours out every Saturday?
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I do believe that Mr. J. Bond could take lessons from you M. Ayr! It’s possible that my petticoat may just have been shaken, not just stirred. I must however, disagree with you about the esteemed Sir Elephant. He is in the company of Mr. S. King, beloved by many, skewered by the few and I must confess, his Saturday offerings afford me the use of my delicately embroidered hankie – or a roll of paper towelling – whatever is closer to hand!
😉 🙂 ❤
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I really don’t know how he does it!
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Good song…great post! Yes, I think many of us romantics have that same notion.
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Thank you, sir.
Glad you liked my story, and the song is a work of art, I think.
Is your notion really kiss ’em and kill ’em?
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No, sir. What I meant was the notion that “she’s always a lady to me.” Kinda the idea that she treats you badly, but likes me more. No, I didn’t go any further into analysis. Thanks for asking – that was important.
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Classic last line!
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Thank you, Niki, glad you liked it.
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I like the path through this post to the last line. I was a young witness to the make love not war generation. And it’s true, something went wrong with that simple smoke yourself into peace ideology. We became the usual destroyers of empires and societies. I didn’t interpret the last line as a serial killer but in more of the sense of Oscar Wilde’s, The Ballad of Reading Gaol, where he writes, “…each man kills the thing he loves.” He goes on to list the hows. We often start with romantic intent and end with something a bit less than romantic. Great job on that twist.
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Glad you enjoyed my little tale, Hyperion.
And let me say what a nice change to see some more classical allusions here.
I love that poem, so rich, so painful.
My favourite line was always ‘I never saw a man who looked with such a wistful eye…’
But it is a magnificent piece of work, that we mortals can only dream of aspiring to.
Thank you.
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I fear that hate can only come out of such love. It’s a dangerous pursuit.
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Love is indeed a dangerous pursuit.
That is what makes it so thrilling.
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Reading along, foolishly thinking, yes! he is a romantic, searching for the ONE. Then whammo! Last line brings me back to reality. His kind of romantic is deadly.
Good one, Mr. Ayr!
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Et tu, Dale?
Last line reality is where I live, you should have sussed that by now!
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Don’t I know it! But you could have surprised me by going against my expectation! !
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Surprised you, Dale?
Chance would be a fine thing.
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Smiling…
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Before you ask, no I don’t want a date thank you!
Rosey Pinkerton’s blog
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Go on, Rosey, live a bit, why don’t you?
You are going to snuff it eventually, so why not enjoy the trip?
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I hope he finds his true love who he doesn’t have to kill. I’m sure this guy already has a boneyard filled with women. I have a feeling when he finds her, she will kill him.
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Don’t they always, Joy, don’t they always.
The female of the species…
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It seems you are down on the female human species.
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Au contraire, Joy, au contraire.
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Vos histoires nous ont toujours mis bas .
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Surely you are joking, Joy.
It is never my intention to demean anyone, and certainly not the smart 50% of the population!
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It is just something I have noticed in your stories lately CE. To be perfectly honest, I started becoming uncomfortable reading them because of it. I’m not trying to be demeaning or anything, just something I wanted to bring up and hopefully find out the truth.
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Who knows, you may find the perfect lady, and she might get bored of you. 😉
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Unthinkable.
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Oo, that sinister turn in the last line took me by surprise, and suddenly casts the rest in a new light. A nostalgic, romantic serial killer sounds even creepier than your average garden variety. I definitely would not want to see this man when he’s bored or irritated!
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Excellent!
Sinister surprise in last line was my goal here.
Thank you, Joy.
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dear C.E.
I fear no woman is going to live up to this man’s standards, at least not for long. (Aw the days of flower power…I remember them.)
Well done.
Shalom,
Rochelle
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I think you may be a bit harsh here, Rochelle, and he is actually a pretty easy-to-please kinda guy, just somewhat unlucky in love.
Maybe?
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we die a thousand deaths each time we love…
Brutal last line.
And then I think about it and as you can imagine, analyse it to death. 😉
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And are reborn 1,000 times.
Or, if we are unlucky, only 999.
But try not to overthink it, Em, it is only a story.
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Reblogged this on anelephantcant and commented:
AnElephantCant pretend he is a big success
Some say he is a blatant under-achiever
He cannot work in a forest
Or ever be a fun florist
His trunk is all red because he suffers dreadfully from hay fever
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