Microfiction Monday #63

Susan from Stony River, welcomes us to Microfiction Monday,
where a picture paints just 140 characters.

If you’d like to join us, stop by Susan’s, pick up the picture prompt,
compose your story in 140 character (or less), post it,
and sign in at Susan’s place, then commence in the sharing!

“We’ve waited for years. How long until our ship comes in?”
“I asked the oracle. He said, Nevermore.”
“That old raven always says that.”

28 thoughts on “Microfiction Monday #63

  1. Hi Quilly,
    that’s a funny one, I guess the raven is messing with their minds, haha.

    LOVE your hair by the way, it’s very pretty. I wish my white hair looked that stylish. I only have short white hairs. Maybe when it grows the same length as the rest of my hair it will look nicer, but for now, I just have to keep hiding it.

    • Maria — thank you. My hair is one of my favorite features. I am blessed to have natural gray hair that looks like I paid a fortune to have done “just so”. Part of it I credit to my favorite Avon hair products, part of it I credit to my wonderful hair dresser whose name is Maria, and part of it I credit to genetics.

  2. Those birds are in for a loooooong wait, as the oracle had no business soothesaying. He was a fake who wanted nothing but the bright lights. Forging a psychic’s identity, he bilked future-wannaknowers out of enough cash to buy a guitar, voice lessons and, then, later on, a female-style wig and a recording contract to make it big-Big-BIG! And he/she did. Er, perhaps you’ve heard of Sheryl Crow???

  3. I’m reminded of a joke that Jake Gittes (Jack Nicholson) told in the movie “Chinatown.” I’m not going to repeat it here because we’re in mixed company.

    (So the raven always says that … What is she doing with the raven ALL of the time?)

    • Hear the loud alarum bells –
      Brazen bells!
      What a tale of terror, now, their turbulency tells!
      In the startled ear of night
      How they scream out their affright!
      Too much horrified to speak,
      They can only shriek, shriek,
      Out of tune,
      In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire,
      In a mad expostulation with the deaf and frantic fire,
      Leaping higher, higher, higher,
      With a desperate desire,
      And a resolute endeavor
      Now -now to sit or never,
      By the side of the pale-faced moon.
      Oh, the bells, bells, bells!

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