WordPress Daily Prompt: Companiable

Head to one of your favorite blogs. Write a companion piece to their penultimate post.

Look, here I am heading to one of my favourite blogs at the local station in Solothurn, Switzerland. You do not know which one I am? I had already found a seat in the train. Now it was quite exciting, on a trip to a favourite blog.

We do not take trains to our favourite blogs? Of course not, but I happened to find this photo that I took last week when I was in town and decided to use it. Personally I do not even have a favourite blog. All blogs are my favourites until I read what and how it is written. It might be on that day in the penultimate blog, the blogger is not inspired, does not have the ghost of Scott Fitzgerald or Charles Dickens in his computer, so his blog is not worth finding a companion for.

Sometimes WordPress has funny ideas for its daily prompt. I always judge by the amount of daily contributions appearing to see how popular the theme was. Some of us prefer writing fact, some fiction, which has an influence on the amount written.

Yesterday seemed to be a “miss” with only 26 links. Today seems to be going the same way with only 13 up to now. I just like to write, and appreciate having a prompt to write. I might not even follow the prompt, but it is an encouragement or whatever in my finger tips and so I conjure something from somewhere.

I sometimes think WordPress is trying to ignite a fire of togetherness amongst its bloggers/followers. This is a good thing, it sort of unites us in our efforts to blog, but today it sort of backfired with me. Not that I am not companiable. I love meeting new people, exchanging news, but each one of us is an individual with our own style and preferences in writing and I would not dare to engage myself in a writing a companion piece (quite honestly I do not even know what that is).

Anyhow today is a bit of a rainy day in my part of the Swiss woods, although the sun did try to poke through for five minutes this morning. My cats have given up and each one of the infernal trio is sleeping in a quiet place with a “Do not Disturb” sign in front of the cushion written in Meow which only I and my felines understand. When I have finished this epic piece of literature I will partake in one of my photography groups in Blogger and afterwards begin to cook a Chilli con Carne for the evening meal. Have a great week-end everyone and I wish you success in your search in the penultimate blog of your favourite blogger for a companiable script.

And here is a photo of the houses opposite the main station to conclude this memorable blog.

Creative Challenge 242: Waiting

Waiting for the train at the busy station, she noticed him. He was tall, dressed like a business man, but had an interesting appearance. The long belted coat emphasised his size even more and he was wearing horn rimmed glasses. There was a deja vue. It was the same gentleman that was at the station a month ago. She glanced around and saw his partner.

The partner was dressed in blue jeans and a cheap leather jacket. He looked a bit scruffy with his greasy hair and cheap leather boots with run down heels. This time she was prepared. The train entered the station and there was the usual scuffle of people at the stairs. A mixture of legs, arms, suitcases and handbags. It was the handbag that she focussed on and hoped so much that it would work.

Suddenly the tall business man was on the stair, pushing behind her to get into the train compartment. Scruffy was standing on the platform with one foot on the stair. Businessman glanced down to the platform and nodded and Scruffy nodded back and then it happened.

Businessman stretched out his hand with his long fingers and dipped them into her bag. He was flink and quick and he soon felt the leather of the purse.

Businessman screamed, a piercing, painful scream. He withdrew his fingers from the handbag, not clutching a purse but having a mousetrap clamped over his fingers. It was then that he tumbled down the stairs onto the platform and lay on the platform clutching his ankle which had just received a piercing blow from her high pointed stiletto heels. Scruffy ran over to the business man.

“Where’s the purse?” he asked.

“Forget it” she said and gave him a large dose of pepper spray in his face, which did not improve his appearance, as he now had fire red eyes to match his black greasy hair. Scruffy was now also laying on the platform, rubbing his eyes.

She was happy. Those self defence lessons had paid off. After being robbed of her purse and all her credit cards a month earlier by the same men, she had decided to be prepared the next time she took a train journey. He husband had been with her to see her off at the station the first time and saw the men quickly board the train and leave quickly again. The next he heard from his wife was when she called from the next station to say that her purse had been stolen.

After a report to the police, nothing was achieved, but now she was ready. That would not happen again. She knew they would be stupid enough to try it again. They might be clever with their fingers, but intelligence was not their special gift. People’s faces were not important for them, only their possessions.

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