Wednesday was the anniversary of my 29th birthday. On that hallowed day in 1984, prophets, tea-leaf readers, and a certain televangelist from Tulsa, had predicted time, as we know it, would stand still.
The catch was, to get your name on the list for the individual, anti-aging, time freeze, the envelope containing your donation to Jacob’s Ladder Prayer Tower Fund had to be postmarked by midnight on the 15th. Fortunately, mine was stamped at 11:58pm.
Flash forward to 2016 and you’ll see that I’m still the same dashingly handsome, modest, and extremely humble, boy-genius from days gone by. The product has retained its classic originality, only the packaging has been updated to lock-in freshness and appeal to a wider, global audience.
If you are new to Friday Flash Fiction, the Marketing Director who posts fresh photo prompts each week, is Lili Von Shtupp Wisoff-Fields. To learn how to participate in this weekly exercise in madness, head over to her blog for instructions. To rent a booth in the FFF Hollywood Squares Authors Block click here.
Born the result of a one-night-stand between a Double Bass and a French horn, Chantelle never fit in.
Rejected by orchestras, marching bands, and traveling gypsies, she found herself relegated to serving sour notes at a third-rate comedy club.
Her range spanned seven octaves, but her voice was always slightly off-key. Musicians debated whether she was a wind, or string instrument, while the comedians thrived on cruel jokes about her f-holes.
An odd-looking rich man saw her act and booked her for an outdoor event on January 20th.
“You’re a perfect fit,” he said, “to play Hail to the Chief.”