The Starving Activist is the sometimes-home for words. AR Neal (that’s me) finds them, cultivates them, and leaves them here. Enjoy.

Inspiration Monday: The Gang's All Here

Uncle Imar was my favorite. Actually—and you mustn’t tell—he still is my favorite. His conversations had a cadence that a metronome would envy. You could set your watch to him. In fact, that’s what gave me the idea to turn him into one. A watch, that is. He wore an extra-long cravat all the time so I decided to make him a pocket watch. See, here he is; can you see his face in the engraving on the intricately latched lid? It’s right there, to the left of that flower. Well, I’m sorry you didn’t bring your magnifier; trust me when I tell you that he’s there. Anyway, I carry him everywhere.

Mother had taken too much of a liking to those lovely crème puffs from the bakery down the hill; her hips had gotten quite round and she often complained of how they stuck in the sides of our kitchen armchairs. She’s the lovely Cleo Mantel in the sitting room there, just in the center.

Father was something of a challenge at first; I couldn’t decide how to combine his stately regency with that deep melodious voice. He sang baritone with the church choir, you know. So I decide to go with a Haverford 294 for him. Yes, you passed him in the entryway. You should be hearing him momentarily since it’s just gone noon; oh, you’ll get a wonderful show—all nine of his bells chime at noon and you can watch the moon move in that great round face of his.

Oh yes! I almost forgot Sister. She was always the most awful and brash thing, wasn’t she? I only bring her out now when I need a good waking up. I made her a well-used red Phinney-Walker; you know the leather travel alarms that fold up and you can tuck them neatly away when not in use? Yes, right: the ones that have to be wound to work. Why red? Well, she loved to be gaudy, you know. Anyway, I figured if I made her a plug-in model she’d spout off whenever she pleased. Can’t have that. I take her out when I go on those dreadfully long trips and need a good loud wake-up to get into the time change, you understand.

What? Why did I do all that? Well, you know what they say: Time is a relative.

A 395-word bit of frivolous fun for this week's InMon. Click below to choose a prompt (mine is in bold and underlined; you have a few from which to choose) and add your link.


Write Now! Prompt, 30 April 2013: New Friends

Ten Little Christians