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Rated: 18+ · Book · Fantasy · #2316938
All the GoT stuff, 2024.
Apparently this is going to be a load of writing of various types - stories, poems, reviews and, no doubt, just about anything else you can think of. I'll probably update this when I know more.
April 28, 2024 at 5:13pm
April 28, 2024 at 5:13pm
#1070037
Jimmy and the Bean

Jimmy Waites walking down the street, nothing in particular on his mind, hands in pockets, nowhere to go, nothing to do. A leaf floats by and lands just off the path. Jimmy walks by.

‘Must be autumn,’ he thinks.

One leaf does not an autumn make. Jimmy stops to consider the thought. How many leaves does an autumn require? More than one, at the very least. And this was a green leaf. Had no business falling off a tree at all in spring.

Is it spring? Jimmy looks around. Yes, it’s spring. So why was a green leaf falling off a tree in spring?

Jimmy turns around and walks back to the leaf. He remembers where it fell and goes straight to it. It is still there, lying among the grass stems and trembling slightly when the breeze brushes against it. It is green, that light green with a hint of yellow that new leaves have when they sprout from a tree in spring. A green that is no excuse for losing your grip on the branch and falling to earth at this time of year.

When Jimmy picks it up and examines it closely, he finds no reason for such a hasty departure of leaf from tree. No sign of cutting or biting, just a slight swelling where the stem joined the branch, as though it had somehow twisted itself from its socket.

Do leaves have sockets into which they fit? Jimmy doesn’t think so. But it looks as if this one did. Jimmy is about to put the leaf back where he found it when he notices that there is something that was hidden beneath it. A bean lies in the shallow depression that held the leaf between the shoots of grass.

Jimmy picks up the bean before replacing the leaf. He inspects the bean. It is a bean, there’s no doubt of that. It is kidney-shaped, a deep brown in colour, and shiny. There seems to be tiny writing upon it. Jimmy looks even closer.

It is indeed writing. In very small but neat lettering, it spells out This is the property of Jack. Jimmy turns the bean over but that’s it. There is no writing on its other side, just that smooth shiny surface that makes the bean a bit slippery to hold. He wonders if that is how the bean escaped from Jack’s grasp, sliding unnoticed from between fingers that held many more similar beans. Whatever the truth, it seems that Jimmy is now the owner of the bean, partly because Jack left no forwarding address, but also because of the ancient law of finders keepers, losers weepers.

Jimmy evinces no interest in continuing his walk in an unstated direction, for he rises, places the bean carefully in a pocket, turns and walks back the way he had come. There is now purpose in his stride and a goal in the direction taken. He is clearly a boy on a mission.

Predictably, Jimmy soon arrives back home, proceeds immediately into the back yard and heads for the shed. He emerges very quickly with a trowel and a small flower pot in his hands. With a quick scoop of the trowel he borrows some earth from the neighbour’s flower bed and pours it into the pot. Then he goes into the house, only to emerge almost immediately with a soda bottle filled with water. He marches around the house until directly underneath his bedroom window, then pushes the pot into the earth to ensure that it remains upright, and digs a little hole in the soil with his finger.

He retrieves the bean and drops it into the hole, covering it with soil that he pushes back over it. Jimmy dribbles a little water into the soil from the bottle.

Then he sits back a little and just watches the pot.

It seems Jimmy has deduced that there’s a chance that the Jack referred to on the bean is actually the one of giant killer fame. If that is so, then there’s no reason why the bean should not sprout and become a giant beanstalk, just as Jack’s other beans did.

Jimmy watches for a long time but eventually gets up and wanders off, having obviously concluded that the bean will grow overnight, just as Jack’s did. It’s the morning that will bring news regarding the magic or otherwise of the bean.

And now it’s up to you. I can confirm that, the next morning, when Jimmy went to check on the bean, he was confronted with a beanstalk that reached up to the sky. And I can tell you that he climbed up that beanstalk until he disappeared with it into the blue of its immense height. And I also have to report that he was never seen again.

But this is all hearsay. It’s up to you whether you believe it or not. And that, of course, is entirely a matter of choice.



House Martell

Word count: 829
For "Game of ThronesOpen in new Window. The North Remembers, Stolen Artifacts Task # 31
Prompt: Your character picks up a fallen leaf and can’t believe what they discover underneath it.
April 28, 2024 at 12:46pm
April 28, 2024 at 12:46pm
#1070013
An Unexpected Find

Lawford decided that it was time to redecorate the back room. It had been shabby when he bought the house and remained so as he put off attending to it week after week. He did not use it for much beyond storage and so it had slipped to the bottom of his list of things to do.

What finally gave him the impetus to get started was the old painting he had hung to hide the lighter patch in the wallpaper caused by a picture removed when the previous occupant had departed. Lawford had hidden the patch with one he had found in the cupboard under the stairs. It was dusty and unimpressive in subject but it was at least a temporary fix for the light patch in the spare room wall.

He took it down and left it on the pasting table while he scraped the old paper off the walls. The paper obliged by falling off in great strips, putting up very little resistance. Clearly, it was as tired as it looked.

Then Lawford prepared the paste and the rolls of new paper. He picked up the painting with the intent of returning it to the cupboard but had one last look at it. In a simple, undecorated frame, it depicted a field of yellow wheat, rather dirty with age, and splashed on to the canvas with such apparent abandon that it seemed to wave slowly as the wind stroked it in the sun. The sky too, washed out blue with darker streaks, was active in the energy with which it had been daubed on to the surface. And here and there in the field were blobs of colour, red, blue and a lighter yellow. Lawford presumed they were flowers.

In the sky, jagged marks in black gave the impression of birds flying from the painter. It was this last that set Lawford’s mind to thinking. It looked uncannily like a van Gogh he vaguely remembered seeing once. Not that he knew a great deal about painting but he had heard stories of work by van Gogh being found in England. For a brief time, the famous painter had lived in London.

It was not a very big painting but then, who knew how large van Goghs were? He looked for a signature. There was nothing that resembled one. He turned the painting over to look at the back. There were some marks scratched into the wood of the frame, top right corner. Closer inspection revealed them to be letters, crudely drawn as if in haste but legible.

They read V.V.G.

Lawford leapt to the inevitable conclusion. After all, it was a fairly unusual combination of initials. And quite a coincidence to be connected with a painting that might be by van Gogh.

“Vincent van Gogh,” he said, only he pronounced it as Gog.

Maybe it was his way of denoting his ownership of the painting and frame together. Unusual, yes, but perhaps he had good reason for departing from convention this one time.

Lawford turned the painting over to look at the picture again. This time it seemed very much like a van Gogh. How had he not noticed it before?

More to the point, how could he find out the truth about it? If he was holding a fortune in his hands, he needed to know. And that meant he needed an expert opinion. And he knew precious few art history experts who could advise him on the matter. None, in fact.

He might have to settle for someone a bit lower down the ladder. There was a little art dealer in town, for instance, which held the occasional exhibition for local artists. Maybe they had someone who could shed some light on the matter.

Lawford resolved to take the painting down there right now and find out what it was worth.

True to his decision, and wallpapering forgotten, Lawford was standing outside the art shop half an hour later. Orton Galleries announced the sign above its display window. A few unexceptional paintings lounged in the window, trying to attract the attention of passersby. Lawford ignored them and walked in with his precious cargo wrapped in a cloth.

There were more paintings and a sculpture or two dotted about the place and, in the corner, a desk behind which a bespectacled man was rising in delight at a new customer.

“Can I be of assistance?” he said.

“I hope so,” replied Lawford. He strode to the desk and placed his parcel in front of the man. “Tell me what you think of this.”

The man looked at it suspiciously. “What is it?”

“Just a painting I found in my house. I want to know what you think of it.”

Taking a corner of the cloth in two careful fingers, the man lifted the cloth and folded it back. Then, just as gingerly, as though the cloth might be contaminated, he removed the rest of it until the painting lay there to view.

“Hmm,” he said.

“What d’you think?” asked Lawford.

“Ah,’ said the man.

“Is it any good?”

“Good question.”

“Who d’ya think painted it?”

“Don’t rush me,” answered the man. “Could you turn it over for me?”

Lawford turned it over.

The man bent forward to examine it.

“Ahah,” he said.

Lawford was getting excited. “What, what?” he said “What do you see?”

“It’s as I thought,” replied the man. “See here, these marks in the frame. They spell V.V.G.”

“Yes, I know.” Lawford was in a frenzy of contained excitement.

“That settles it. Definitely no question about it.”

“About what, man? Just tell me who painted it.”

“Fellow named Vernon Valentine Ganley. Local man, I buy some off him occasionally, feel sorry for him, you know, absolutely hopeless however, but easy to recognise. He always signs his stuff on the frame like that.”



House Martell

Word count: 983
For "Game of ThronesOpen in new Window. The North Remembers, Stolen Artifacts Prompt 15
Prompt: Your character is redecorating and takes down a painting. They notice something strange engraved on the back of the frame.


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