Session February 1 2014



http://www.commoncraft.com/china-week-strange-translations

“Less is more, she told him with a smirk.”

By AD

“Help protect the cultural relics, help protect the railings,” Azula read on the sign in bold red lettering. A smug look crossed her face; she was lost in thought. “Why do people try so hard to protect this?” Azula was a member of a group of atheist assassins and terrorists, whose goal was to kill all religious leaders and destroy sacred buildings. Though it wasn’t known, it was their leader who was behind the assassination of Gandhi. Their goal today was to destroy a Buddhist temple. She climbed over the gate with her partner and set out for the Buddhist sacred shrine. She gazed at is as they approached. It was a statue of the stereotypical Buddha: A fat, happy, bald man with tranquil eyes and a joyful, wan smile. The statue was made of silver and adorned with gems. On his belly was a swastika – not the one used by Hitler, but the true one – Swa Asta Ca, ones with life and soul. She wondered what the words meant. As she gazed at the figure in its splendor something in her changed. She wanted serenity, she wanted peace, and she wanted forgiveness. Her partner was trying to loosen the statue so they could topple it. “Less is more,” she told him with a smirk, and plunged a blade in his back. She dragged his body away from the holy figure and cast it away. Twelve months passed. She was now a Hindu, a Christian, a Muslim, cleansed of her past sins for the first time in her life. She was happy. Then she died in a car accident. Later, her brother was happy to greet her as she walked through the golden gates.




http://ankaberger.blogspot.com/2011/03/himalaya-reloaded-2011-15th-day-phortse.html

“They were both unwell but didn’t want to admit it.”
By RC

It had been a very long, hard trek. They had not fully conceived on starting out the level of difficulty involved, and now it was beginning to tell. Besides all the other natural difficulties of getting themselves and three mules down the steep, winding grades of the gorge, they had this additional problem: They were both unwell, but did not want to admit it. Peter had begun this trip with a mild head cold – one that he could easily ignore. Joe had awakened that day with a headache. Not your garden variety headache, but a real whanger. He felt that someone had been beating him with a cane while he slept. But he was not about to admit defeat and put off his trip with Peter. They had planned too well and had made too many sacrifices to stop now. They were going to get to the mine, and they were going to dig out the gold that he knew was there, and they were going to strike it rich – or die trying. And that was that. So on they went, cursing the mules each time they balked at a particularly difficult turn. Perhaps that is why they didn’t notice the slight, oh-so-slight gap in the trail where some of the rocks and soil had fallen down the slope. Joe was riding on the lead mule while Peter brought up the rear, and he could not understand why the dumb animal would not continue. It was not the mule which put its foot down in the spot where the ground had slipped away, but Joe. Yet his hold on the reins of the mule assured the fatal accident which meant that he would never see the gold he so longed for, and had invested everything to acquire.



http://photoblog.nbcnews.com/_news/2012/06/11/12163199-help-sought-to-solve-civil-war-photo-mystery?lite

“No more wine, he told himself. He would stick with whiskey.
by PV

Theodore Moreston opened the miniature with shaking white-gloved hands. Even before he did so he had a bittersweet foreboding. Clicked open, it revealed a picture of his great  grandmother, Eloise, when she was 6 years of age during the Civil War. He knew this – he knew with a gut-wrenching intensity. His dream last night, before sorting through his grandmother’s estate, had led him here. He even remembered the sounds of Sherman’s assault on Atlanta shortly after. The screaming outside had rattled through the studio windows as the photographer  dutifully bundled up the plates to be developed later. His grandmother had said it was chaotic. No more wine, he told himself. He would stick with whiskey.



http://designyoutrust.com/inspirations/friday-photography-inspiration-53-machoarts/

“Skeptical by nature, he kicked it, sure it was a fake.”

By CC

Ted learned to walk when he was a tadpole. Other frogs tittered when he tottered by, but he didn’t care. They said, behind his back, that his grandmother had human blood – which was a terrible insult – but Ted was oblivious. He just walked on, striding over lily pads, tripping across the tops of logs, mincing over mudflats. One day when he was much older, he set out across a wide field where cows had been grazing. He came upon a large mound on the grass. What could this be? He heard a cow moo. But – this couldn’t be that? Could it? Skeptical by nature, he kicked it, sure it was a fake. Bam! His foot sunk in. Hey, it was warm! But it was disgusting too. He hopped down and headed back to the pond, shaking his foot and dragging it over the grass as he went. What a day. Too bad nobody would believe him.



http://www.fws.gov/refuges/refugeupdate/julaug_2012/Q&A.html

“I have a terrible earache, she told the doctor.”

By TT

The birds landed on the backyard and looked at him as though they expected something from him. He went out from the screen porch. The door banged behind him. He expected the sound of the banging door to fluster or displease them. It did not. He walked carefully through them trying not to step on them. They were picking at feathers and waddling around quietly. They looked at him as if he were their leader or a zookeeper. Where did they come from? Why didn’t they fly off? Finally he sat down on a rock among them and smiled for the camera.  His daughter had set up the camera to photograph them with her father. She wanted to send the photo to the newspapers and also to find out what kind of birds they were. But yesterday she said, “I have a terrible earache, I told the doctor.” The noise of the squawking birds bothered her, he supposed. It didn’t bother him. He was deaf. And all the bird guano was going to be great for his garden, so he didn’t mind.



http://listverse.com/2013

“He hadn’t felt well since they ate dinner the night before.”

By LD

Suddenly feeling as though there was a transition taking place, the peacefulness of the land begins to become the most important value of experience. A deep desire to breathe and lift his arms upwards in a gentle formation was a sensation that allowed him to deal with his rapidly changing body alignment. Although he hadn’t felt well since they ate dinner the night before, he was pleased with his decision to go out to the desert to experience this Extraterrestrial event.