Friday Fiction

Plain Crashby Beth LaBuff -- October 2011

A zephyr swept savanna's plain.
The African sun blazed.
A crash* of rhino's searched for food,
Their grassland overgrazed.

A league of scholars heard their plight
And since it's common knowledge
That "Information holds the key,"
They rallied at their college.

They formed, to raise awareness,
The Rhino-Smarts Foundation.
They gathered funds for laptops--
Tax deductible donations.

The rhino boasts keen hearing,
Though poor eyesight overall.
It's also common knowledge that
His brain is somewhat small.

An herbivore with thick gray skin,
Each foot displays three toes.
He's none too bright, quite comical
With horn atop his nose.

The Rhino-Smarts Foundation
Presented to the crash,
A laptop for their personal use,
With giga-memory cache.

The rhinos, grateful for the gift,
Began appropriation.
They plotted ways to ascertain
Some prudent information.

With keywords, "vitamins" and "grass,"
Each word spelled with precision.
They searched which grass variety
Would boost their feeble vision.

They googled which would strengthen
The horn atop their nose
And which would banish athlete's foot
Between their triple toes.

They also searched for recipes
To turn the grass to mash
That promised thick-skin softening—
Grass lotion for the crash.

Just as they sought to google
Specific grass locations –
Their laptop flashed a message,
Caused arrhythmic palpitations.

"Warning! Virus Warning!"
Spread confusion like a flash.
Poor vision, plus their pint-sized brains—
A virus struck their crash ? ! ?

They googled, "virus symptoms."
They yahooed, "rhino pain."
Resultant—"rhinovirus"
Confused their rhino brains.

It started with a sniffle, then
Progressed to horn congestion
"The virus" rampaged through the crash—
The powers of suggestion.

While virus through the laptop spread
To giga-memory cache,
The monitor went haywire then
Their laptop system crashed.

Sometimes a little knowledge
Can misdirect the brain.
The ailing, fevered rhinos crashed
And burned upon the plain.
***
*crash—a herd of rhinoceroses

***

Friday Fiction is hosted by
Rick @ Pod Tales and Ponderings
Head on over for links 
to more inspirational Fiction.

The Christmas Goose

Fiction Friday is hosted by Patty at Patterings
Be sure to head over there for some new and some recycled fiction.

The Christmas Goose

The old farmhouse exuded glee –
Unbridled expectation,
While youth and elders strategized
Their Christmas celebration.

The merriment that overflowed
Infected fowl and beast.
In the barnyard peace ensued
And acrimony creased.

Except… that is, one envious pig
Got up his porker dander
When he observed the peacock strut
Of one illustrious gander.

The gander overheard the cook,
Whose silvered-tongue was loose,
That if he plumped-up, he’d become
This seasons Christmas goose.

The whole farmhouse, both young and old,
At once began to pander,
Feeding this and bits of that
To fatten up the gander.

To be the Christmas goose MUST BE
The wish of every gosling.
For every inch his waistline grew,
More lustrous grew his goose dream.

With each applause and patted-back
And lofty gander praise,
The pig’s hate exponentially grew
For all the gander’s ways.

Pig quipped, to put him in his place,
“They’re going to cook your goose.”
Then added, while his nose-ring bobbed,
“You’ll simmer in your juice.”

And then to emphasize his point
They waddled to a window.
From underneath they overheard
The children’s voices flow.

With sing-song voice they patty-caked
A chant that made him shiver.
“Pluck the fowl, discard the tail,
Take out his goosey-liver.”

“Add peppercorns, season to taste,
Then truss him up with kite string.
Cook will roast the Christmas goose that’s
Crammed with chestnut stuffing.”

Then goose-bumps on the gander flared.
His face grew flushed, then paled.
A plan began to formulate
So he’d not be de-tailed.

With not a moment left to spare,
He donned clothes from the clothesline.
When cook went out to dress the fowl,
He hid behind the grapevine.

The cook, with kids and jealous pig,
Searched far— all o’er the place
What started as a hunting crew
Wound up a wild-goose chase.

With nary a gander sighting
Of hide, nor hair or feather,
Cook then whipped up a Plan B –
The children thought ‘twas clever.

Epilogue

The gander near the window crept,
When deemed the coast was clear.
The children’s chant – a second verse?
Was music to his ears.

“Green-bean casserole, candied yams,
Pumpkin pie, and custard.
We’ll pig out on Christmas ham
That’s spiced with cloves and mustard.”

written for a FaithWriters.com writing challenge
Topic: Christmas Cooking/Baking
© Beth LaBuff -- October 2008

Carol of the Bulls

Carol of the Bulls
by Beth LaBuff
Topic: Christmas carols/caroling

They sheltered in the weathered barn,
Their custom at end of day,
Added scents to mingle with
The stover and baled hay.

A microcosm of barn-life
That mirrored humanity,
Spats and greed festered and fostered –
Livestock disunity.

Like pots that called the kettle black,
Hogs beefed about the sheep smell.
They claimed their stench was nigh unto
An overflowing landfill.

The chickens hatched their plan for nests,
Pulled wool over sheep’ eyes,
Nests within the feeding troughs,
To hoard the hay supplies.

Old rooster was a barnstormer,
Who flew and goosed the duck.
The pig who watched these birds in flight
Had dreams of fowl potluck.

Then at the darkest midnight hour,
Since evil’s head had reared,
Though the window of the barn
A Christmas star appeared.

In that magic mystic moment
A lowing sound occurred.
It started in the pen where bulls
Milled near the cattle herd.

Then added to the lowing bass,
A countermelody.
A newborn lamb released his voice
With guileless harmony.

Their carol grew to a crescendo,
Livestock dissension ceased.
Lion and lamb peace resumed
For feathered fowl and beast.

In the barn a song arose
With mixed creation flavor,
A tonal sacrifice of praise,
A fragrant-smelling savor.

inspiration from:
Hebrews 10:4-7
4because it is impossible for
the blood of bulls and goats to take away sins.
5Therefore, when Christ came into the world, he said:
"Sacrifice and offering you did not desire,
but a body you prepared for me;
6with burnt offerings and sin offerings
you were not pleased.
7Then I said, 'Here I am—it is written about me in the scroll—
I have come to do your will, O God.'

written for a FaithWriters.com writing challenge
© Beth LaBuff -- October 2008

Serengeti Subterfuge

Fiction Friday

Fiction Friday is hosted this week by

Hoomi at Pod Tales and Ponderings

Be sure to visit for avant-garde fiction.

Serengeti Subterfuge

by Beth LaBuff

Topic: Charade

In the darkness rife with night sounds,

‘Neath an umbrella tree,

Crouched young Paka* of the woodlands –

Serengeti sovereignty.

Paka Leopard was courageous

As he thrived upon the plain.

In Serengeti’s rank he neared

The apex of the food chain.

He hoped for an appearance,

Kept his respirations quiet,

Craved a meal that conformed to his

High protein – low-carb diet.

With the tardiness of dinner

And scratching of the bramble.

His thoughts began to wonder

While his brain began to scramble.

Paka had a revelation,

“My spots are so cliché,

I’ll change my spots, expunge them

To blend in among my prey!”

He borrowed spot remover

From a clean safari guest,

Who’d hoped to spot a spotted cat

While spotless on his quest.

With spots obliterated,

Spotless Paka formed a plan,

To mingle with the monkeys

And blend in among their clan.

In order to pull off this hoax

He learned some monkey antics

Like eating ripe bananas

And monkey speech semantics.

With just a smidge of exercise,

Plus a scoop of guile,

He practiced swinging from the trees

His tail — faux prehensile.

The whole charade was scrutinized

By a watchful gnu,

Who faithfully transcribed it

From his hidden gnu’s eye view.

The gnu was an informer

To the Brotherhood of Apes,

Who voiced their stern distaste on

How events had taken shape.

The monkeys weren’t bamboozled

By Paka Leopard’s cheating.

They called each head of household to a

Monkey business meeting.

The Brotherhood of Apes

Then posted union views,

Saying “Leopards can’t be monkeys

‘Cause they pay no union dues.”

And with the union’s statement

That was posted in a hurry,

No hakuna with matata

Made Paka start to worry.

To reverse a spot remover

Became his chief concern.

And all the wishful thinking

Wouldn’t make the spots return.

Accounting of this tall charade

Might be a bit askew.

We asked around before we found

Just what the old gnu knew.

It seemed that Paka Leopard

Then simmered in a stew,

Till he found a place that could replace

His spots with ink tattoos.

*Swahili for cat

Inspiration from:

Can the Ethiopian change his skin or the leopard its spots?
Jeremiah 13:23 (NIV)

written for a faithwriters.com writing challenge

© Beth LaBuff -- August 2008

Le Curator of the Shed

Fiction Friday

Fiction Friday is hosted by Patty at Patterings

Be sure to stop there for avant-garde fiction.

Le Curator of the Shed
by Beth LaBuff
Topic: A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.

‘Twas just an old abandoned shed
Decaying in the dell,
Inside were treasures of all sorts
That time had bid farewell.

Objects d’art were hung with twine
And carefully displayed,
Buckets, leather harnesses,
Steel plows, and rusty spade.

Then the pièce de résistance
In room’s center could be viewed.
It was most carefully guarded --
Le sac of dry cat food.

Asleep within this gallery
On sculptured hay bale bed
Was the steward of these items --
Le Curator of the shed.

At first glance he appeared to be
Chat noir -- a cat of black.
The second glimpse revealed to all
A white stripe down his back.

Few animals dared to trespass in
Le Curator’s domain,
Especially if their nose could smell
And they possessed a brain.

‘Twas greed that gripped Le Curator
With plans to boost his stash.
He snuck up to a refuse heap
To sift through other’s trash.

That’s when the fracas happened,
A thief came forth to steal,
He had a mask and banded tail
And planned to snitch a meal.

Time the brigand bided when
Le Curator left his shed,
The bandit came and havoc wrecked
Then in the dark he fled.

Grievous sight met beady eyes,
There’d been a bold incursion,
And Le Curator regretted
His scavenger excursion.

The thief defaced the gallery
And through the twine he chewed.
He kicked the buckets out the door
And stole le sac of food!

Inspiration from:
The thief comes only to steal... John 10:10 (NIV)

written for a FaithWriters.com writing challenge
© Beth LaBuff -- January 2008