The Iron Writer Weekend Quickie #13

Melissani Cave in Greece

The Iron Writer Weekend Quickie #13

One Image!

One Prompt!

One Emotion!

200 Words

A garden cave

A Cyclorama (use the first definition)

Enchantment

Please add your story in the comments below.

 

6 thoughts on “The Iron Writer Weekend Quickie #13

  1. I stepped into The Grotto and took a look around.

    It looked like your typical gentlemen’s club but with a theatrical catch. Surrounding the club floor was an imitation stone cyclorama containing, a concrete channel filled with chlorinated water, a fountain with colored light arrays, and gaudy silk tropical plants.

    By day The Grotto’s charms were but harshly illuminated cheap facades. At night it was transformed into a glowing, mystical place of lust.

    I knelt and looked at a blood stained flyer advertising Enchantment at The Grotto, last night’s titty show. It lay next to the body of our vic, shot twice in the chest by a small caliber handgun, sometime after closing.

    I put on my latex gloves and rolled the body, looking for his wallet.

    “Mr. Jimmy Armstrong,” I said aloud.

    My partner knelt down next to me and said, “Why do we always get the seedy ones?”

    “I dunno,” I said.

    “I mean, way I see it, one scumbag kills another, he’s done us a favor,” he said.

    I grunted.

    “Come on Joe, we don’t get paid to philosophize.”

    I didn’t like it any more than he did. But like it or not, it was our job.

  2. Revisited…

    I know now we should have let him stay there, instead we thought only of ourselves, our own selfish lives, responsibilities and future schedules. We should have allowed him pass away on Kefalonia, among the nymphs of Melissani cave.
    “I am back, Lucy, back!”
    “Yes, father, you’re back.”
    How could we have not foreseen this? Did we not see the new shine in his eyes while we were there for real, revisiting the place he had loved as a younger man full of vigor, strength and a lust for life?
    “I can see them, Lucy. They are so…enchanting.”
    “Yes, father, yes, I see them.”
    Luckily Tom had taken a panoramic view of the cave and was able to have some custom wall-sized prints made up to fit the spare room. A few fake rocks, shells and a shallow tray of blue Mediterranean-looking water placed in the foreground made up the cyclorama. After one slow drive around the block, followed by a nap in the car, I was able to convince him that he was in the cave when he woke up.
    “Oh Lucy, the nymphs, they are singing!”
    “Yes, father.”
    He closed his eyes, leaving a smile on his face.

  3. After the Tumunu Session

    I found my great-grandmother Lil’s diaries. Her husband Wilf had been an irritable so-and-so until something happened. Afterwards, he was kind and considerate till his dying day. He adored me, his only great-granddaughter, and I him.

    Here, Lil bares her soul – it’s 1932 and Wilf is still irascible – Lil uses this diary to vent. After a trip to the Cook Islands (where Lil was born), Wilf changes. All he tells Lil is he’d gone for a walk after a South Seas bush-drinking tumunu session with some of her relatives and found himself in a cave that seemed as fantastical as a cyclorama.

    An ethereal voice called to him, the words echoing around the cave. ‘Wilf, your life is about to end. Do you have anything to say in mitigation to being such a misery to all who know you?’ A comely maiden in a grass skirt and flowers around her neck stood high above him.

    Wilf fainted. Afterwards, he said he had been enchanted by a Polynesian goddess – quite literally – and his world view had changed.

    Lil had made a cryptic note to herself in the diary. ‘Send MO to cousin Milly.’

    MO? A money order.

    Seems to me she couldn’t have made a better investment.

  4. The Undoing

    Ever since John Smith experienced “the cave” it was as if a spell had been cast over him. There was something about the sense of isolation; the feeling of being protected from the storms outside that made him feel safe. The place was idyllic. It had enough sunlight to support tree growth. It had fresh water, animal life, and a seemingly consistent temperature range. Life here would be … predictable; controlled; pleasant.

    From that moment on, John began to build his own “cave”. He wasn’t aware of it himself, but every decision he made served that end. He bought the most utilitarian house he could find. He streamlined all his chores so they were efficient and productive; even his personal habits were studied and scripted, and he modified the garage into a workshop/living room space he would seldom need to leave if he didn’t want to. Now he was beginning to feel more secure from the unpredictable and uncontrollable effects of the outside world; surrounded by this beautiful “cyclorama” of his own construction.

    But the spell deceived him. No matter how much effort he put into the pursuit of his utopia, it wasn’t actually obtainable for, invariably, something always crept in he couldn’t control; pain, frustration, and sorrow.

    He spent the rest of his life “trying to catch the wind”, and was never truely satisfied.

  5. Once a Fool…
    Danielle Lee Zwissler
    “Cliff,” mom yelled from the bottom of the steps, “It’s them! Pick up your phone!”
    Excited, I ran to my room and hurriedly picked up the handset. “Hello?”
    “Yes, Cliff, this is Janet from the Moroccan Theater Company.”
    “Yes, hi, how are you?”
    “Oh, I am great. Thanks to you. Do you have a moment?”
    “Yes, thank you.” I couldn’t believe it. The woman sounded like she had good news, and I really needed it.
    “Your artwork is just superb. We want to buy your Cyclorama and use it for all of our Broadway plays, specifically Oklahoma!”
    “Holy….that would be awesome,” I said, nearly blowing my big chance. This was the deal of a lifetime, and I was going to be the one reaping all the benefits.
    “Do you think you could come down here and show us your portfolio? You said you had an expanded one, is that right?”
    “Oh yes.”
    “Then how about you come down tonight?”
    “I can do that right away!”
    “See you then.”
    “Thank you so much!’
    I hung up the phone and ran down the stairs, hoping the enchantment of me finally selling my art would never go away. My mom looked at me with a big smile on her face.
    “Mom, you’ll never believe it! They called, the Moroccan Theater Company! They want my designs. I’m finally going to get out of… they called!”
    Mom caught my last little slip up and smiled sarcastically. “We want to buy your Cyclorama and use it for all of our Broadway plays, specifically Oklahoma!” she copied the woman’s voice to a t.
    “What?” I said, my eyes bugging out.
    “April Fool.”

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