FUTURE HERALDRY

A prompt response for Inspiration Monday ~

ANGEL INVESTOR

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FUTURE HERALDRY

by John Yeo

      Horace Weatherall was an extremely successful industrialist, a man who had made millions from his own efforts. Now Lord Horace, since he had received an honour from her Majesty the Queen, he wished to fulfil a need to pass on something special to his children.
  At a meeting of the brightest minds in his organisation he laid out his plans to procure and institute a brand new heraldic presence, for his family’s future.

    “The design must be technologically perfect, something that will stand the test of time and never date!” Said Lord Horace emphatically.

    “OK Boss, I will get the finest minds we can find on the job and see what we can do.” replied Steve. “It could be expensive as the designs will be extensive and intricate, some of these so-called creatives charge the earth for the simplest of designs.”

   Steve Smithers his project manager spoke for the whole brainstorming team present on this occasion.

    “Now look here Smithers , money’s no object to me! Just get the design together, I want my heraldic fingerprint to resound through time forever.”

  “Yes Sir!”

  Six months later in May 2017, in a field in Kent in the garden of England several new heraldic designs were on display awaiting judgement from Sir Horace for the finest most futuristic design. A design that would adorn the industrial battlements of the Horace Weatherall foundation. Every item connected to the company would be adorned with the future company crest.

  The Knights were awaiting the signal and soon they paraded before his Lordship colourfully adorned with the most incredible heraldic livery.

  Thumbs were firmly down, for design after design, as Sir Horace dismissed almost every creative idea, until just two futuristic knights remained. Both knights were in such fabulous attire they reeked of historical futuristic significance, yet bade fair to make an illuminating lasting mark on the immediate future.

  “I find it impossible to make a decision, both designs are equally suitable. I suggest a bloodless jousting tournament between two sets of knights defending their colours. May the best side win and I will offer much gold to the victor and the designers.”

  Cheers resounded around the Kentish field as the tournament began.

  Black and Gold, versus White and Sapphire.

  Soon a silence fell as the match began and the first chess pieces were silently moved across the board. Knight after Knight toppled the pawns and the Bishops on either side as the battle was waged.
Then the final joust as two knights remained on the field. Soon the White and Sapphire knight thundered towards the opponent and it was all over. Sir Horace put his thumbs together steepled his hands in a gesture of pure admiration for both Knights.
    “I choose both heraldic designs, to be flooded throughout the company. We will alternate the designs on a biannual basis. Checkmate on both sides to commemorate a drawn match.”

   At the end of the day the two designs were amalgamated to become one fantastic work of heraldic art that lasted until the sun set on the last day of the future.

 

Copyright © Written by John Yeo ~ All rights reserved.

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ANGEL INVESTOR

A prompt response for Inspiration Monday ~ ANGEL INVESTOR 

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ANGEL INVESTOR

by John Yeo

   Billy tightened his coat against the biting cold wind. Winter winds were blasting the trees on the avenue, leaving a trail of leaves and small branches all over the pavement. Billy pulled his knapsack over his shoulder, he wouldn’t be sorry to get to shelter today.
    Billy was officially homeless now, a person of no fixed abode.
Whenever he was asked his address by the innumerable officials and interested parties he would sullenly reply, “NFA.”

    Billy lived in the basement of a large crumbling mansion just outside of town. The locals avoided the place, considering it to be haunted. Rumour had it the mansion’s owner lived abroad. An eccentric millionaire who had bought the place with his wife, who died shortly after. The owner had disappeared and left the place to rot.
Billy seemed undisturbed by the rumours and stayed put, sheltering from the elements in the basement.

      The Postman, Tom Banks was the first to be curious about the empty house, he delivered innumerable letters there and they were mysteriously collected. Once he had bumped into Billy after he had delivered the mail.
“Hi! I guess you have a forwarding address for the owner?”

   “No sorry!” replied Billy. “A chauffeur comes to collect the lot every now and then.”

“Oh! they allow you to stay here rent free then!”

“Yes!” Was Billy’s monosyllabic response.

 An old newspaper blowing down the road caught Billy’s eye. ‘Hey something to read, he thought.’

  The headlines screamed about an unknown startup company that had just patented a new product that would provide endless cheap energy to feed the starving millions in the vulnerable parts of the world.
Billy smiled inwardly as he continued to read the story. Apparently an unknown investor working through a third party had financed the whole deal. Profits from the investors stake were paid into a Swiss bank account. Curiously no one knew who this third person was.
Several new and thriving ethical businesses had received finance from this mysterious investor and the curious business world was desperate to get any information. Apparently rewards were on offer for information.

 Down at the local pub around the corner from the mansion, Jim, the local policeman was chatting to Tom, the postman.

   “A tramp you say, collecting the mail you deliver! Doesn’t sound quite right to me, I might just keep an eye on the place for a while. Let me know if you bump into him again.” said Jim.

   “Sure thing, Jim.”

   Several days later a large 4×4 car with blacked out windows roared up to the old haunted mansion and to the amazement of the hidden watchers. An unkempt old man climbed aboard and the car roared off.

   If the locals were interested before they were openly curious now and a large party gathered at the gates to the mansion with the intention of questioning anyone who came and went.

    Of course no one was ever seen coming or going again and the mystery is still unsolved.

   Six months later the crumbling old mansion was put on the market by a local estate agent and quickly sold for a price well under its market value.

Copyright © Written by John Yeo ~ All rights reserved.

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SOMNAMBULANCIA

A prompt response for Inspiration Monday ~ THE CITY THAT ALWAYS SLEEPS

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SOMNAMBULACIA

by John Yeo

  The airship landed with a series of bumps that shook the passengers as they were drifting in and out of a querulous doze.

     “Follow the illuminated signs to the customs and the check out points.” suggested the friendly steward.

   As the passengers landed and filed down the steps leading into the terminal they became conscious of an eerie silence. There wasn’t a sound to be heard, even the wind seemed to be holding its breath.

   The first thing that caught the attention was a huge notice that welcomed visitors to the Silent City of “Somnambulancia.”

   The Captain of the airship arranged for some pods to be offloaded to an awaiting fleet of robot controlled vehicles. These were the passengers who were booked to be taken directly to isolation sleeping areas. The remainder of the passengers were in a permanent state of deep somnambulant alternative consciousness.
These citizens were returning to their homes to continue with their lives of total hibernation. Never actually waking but loving, eating, breathing and reproducing in a permanent state of somnambulance.

   This was the inbred way of life for this planetary society. The children were born with the sleeping gene and sleepwalked their way through life, becoming adults in a state of permanent semi-consciousness.

   Yet these people were the fiercest fighters the known universe has ever seen. Living life in a dream they had no scruples about how they looked in reality. Pain is never felt quite in the same way when you are asleep.

    Storms are not experienced ……

      “John!”

  The heavens speak a different language in the land of Somnambulancia…

        “John! Wake up you’ll be late for work…”

   The airship had suddenly disappeared as if one reality had swallowed up another reality.

          “John, get out of bed at once and eat your breakfast, or you will be late.”

        “Morning Mother!”

 

Copyright © Written by John Yeo ~ All rights reserved.

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MUSICAL CHAIR

A prompt response for  Inspiration Monday ~ MUSICAL CHAIR

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MUSICAL CHAIR


by John Yeo 



The natural sounds are music to my ear
Resounding round my comfortable chair,
My life will begin and end as I sit here.

The magic of the sound swirls far and near,
Harmony soaking through melodic air;
The natural sounds are music to my ear.

Smooth melodies drifting sweetly clear,
Sounds around my chair answer a prayer;
My life will begin and end as I sit here.

Life becomes love becomes music clear;
A dreamy soulful symphony where
The natural sounds are music to my ear.

Trance becomes a pre-hypnotic tear,
Memories sing of a future I will share
My life will begin and end as I sit here.

The music with my chair wings steer
Mind to crystal clarity without care.
The natural sounds are music to my ear
My life will begin and end as I sit here. 



Copyright © Written by John Yeo ~ All rights reserved

UnCOVENTional Infiltration

A prompt response for  Inspiration Monday ~ CONVENT INFILTRATION 

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UnCOVENTional Infiltration

by John Yeo

   “The child will be better off getting looked after by the nuns in the convent. St. Mary’s has an excellent record of taking care of the sick. I know Sister Mercy well; we have seen some extraordinary sick children walk away from the care they have received within those walls.”
    The Rector smiled as he uttered these words, knowing how distressed Mr. and Mrs. Brown were at the news that little Chloe was suffering from an incurable palsy.

   Wiping away visible tears with a paper tissue. The weary Mother looked hopeless and acutely distressed. Then turning her worry-lined face, in a broken voice she sniffed and said..

   “Father; we have been told by the medical staff that the disease will slowly get worse. Whatever can they do in the convent that the Doctor’s are unable to accomplish in hospital?” Asked Mrs. Brown.

   The Parish Priest answered in a reassuring manner with a voice that was full of the sure strength of a firm belief, he said…

  “The convent is a peaceful private area dedicated to the worship of God. The power of prayer is an incredible strong force. We have seen some amazing cures of children, written off by conventional medicine leave those walls.”

   “Father! My daughter has never been away from my side in all the ten short years of her life. Would it be possible for me to stay with her in the convent to provide emotional support?”

    “I’m sorry Mrs. Brown that would not be possible. The convent is run on severe lines, they just haven’t got the facilities to cater for guests. To the best of my knowledge the only people who leave the peace of the convent are the children who have been taken care of by the nuns.”
     The Rector hesitated for a moment after this statement; then he said,
   “I can introduce you to young Mary Stevens who left the convent five years ago after a cure and a period of rehabilitation from a serious disease.”

    Mr. Brown then interrupted with a loud response.
   “Yes please! I would like my wife to be absolutely reassured that our daughter Chloe will be in good hands and taken care of. Where can we find this young lady?”

   There was a pause before the reply came from the Rector.
“She became a nun. You will meet her when you take your daughter to the convent for treatment.”

   Mr. and Mrs. Brown looked at each other and left together. As they reached the door Mr Brown turned and said..
  “Sorry Vicar, we have another appointment with the Doctor. We are sure Chloe will be better off with us at home.”

Copyright © Written by John Yeo ~ All rights reserved 

NOISE MIRAGE

A prompt response for ~ Inspiration Monday: NOISE MIRAGE

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NOISE MIRAGE

by John Yeo

    “Mr, Eagleton, I am afraid your hearing is well below par and deteriorating rapidly. My advice to you is to take advantage of one of our superior hearing aids, and enjoy what little hearing you have left.”
  The Consultant looked grave as he uttered these words solemnly. “I understand you are a professional musician and your hearing is extremely important to you. Sadly I have to inform you of the fact that you will be profoundly deaf within months.”

  Charles sat stunned in the surgery, unable to move, replaying the words over and over again in his mind. Like the sounds of a funeral dirge, marking the end of his career and his livelihood.

     “Is there no hope of any form of treatment that will counteract the diagnosis? Anything at all, I would even consider a double ear transplant. Please, Doctor; I will pay anything for the chance of a cure.”

     “I’m sorry Mr. Eagleton, there is nothing to be done. My advice is to enjoy every sound you hear as if it is the last sound you will ever hear. Sadly anything you seem to hear in future will be chords and musical passages from your lifetime of musical memories. Something of a noise mirage. Memories of music replaying in your consciousness forever.”

  Charles Eagleton allowed this news to penetrate to the centre of his very being.

     “May I use your toilet please Doctor?”

   “Of course Mr. Eagleton, you know which door by now.” replied the Audiologist, smiling.

    Charles Eagleton locked the door of the large well-fitted disabled toilet and morosely sat on the seat cover. ‘There’s no point in going on; I can’t forever rely on music by mirage! I had a feeling this would happen, good job I thought things through. Vincent Van Gogh was right. What good are ears if you can’t hear anything, I might as well cut the useless appendages off. Maybe I will be able to get some hearing on the other side.’

  He pulled a large sharp kitchen knife from his attaché case and stood before the bathroom mirror poised to cut his ears off and perhaps he thought, ‘I may die of the pain and loss of blood.

   Suddenly the beautiful melodic sound of Beethoven’s seventh symphony resounded through his consciousness, filling his mind with the power of the music.
‘Of course, Beethoven was profoundly deaf at the end, yet he still produced such beautiful music. Perhaps there is something in the theory of a noise mirage, taking the form of beautiful music.’

 He quickly replaced the knife in his briefcase and walked into the consulting room.
   “Thanks Doctor for being so frank; I can see I will have to make some life-altering plans now.”

   “Of course Mr. Eagleton; we will be here to help in every possible way. Make another appointment with my secretary, and we will work together. Goodbye!”

“Thanks, Doctor, I will. Goodbye,”

 

Copyright © Written by John Yeo ~ All rights reserveddu

HIDDEN STRINGS ATTACHED

A prompt response for ~ Inspiration Monday: Puppet Army

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HIDDEN STRINGS ATTACHED

by John Yeo

    General Waters controlled the forces at his disposal with a great deal of enthusiasm. The enemy were scattered, spread out in the hills, difficult to attack using conventional methods.

    “I want all available troops to be arrayed in an attack formation.” The General announced to his staff. There were murmurs of surprise and a shocked reaction to this plan.

  The second in command, Captain Myers stepped in and quieted the murmurs of dissent.
   “Hold fast there the next sound will result in a court martial! Is that clear?”

 There was an instant moment of quiet in the ranks as the men obediently did as they were instructed.

 Then suddenly a shot rang out as a sniper took out a man in the ranks.

     “Take cover! Fire at will!” Came the order, and every man dived for the floor, some of them loosing off shots and firing as they took cover.

    “CUT!” Shouted the director from the stalls “I’m not ready for total wipeout yet; I want to see more of a build up before the enemy opens fire. Perhaps we can have that General killed by the sniper’s bullet, then chaos reigns before the Captain takes command and starts pulling the strings.”

   “Well Mr. Solomon I didn’t write the script and you didn’t write the script. Perhaps we ought to seek advice from the author. We have an army of people behind the scenes.” Came the retort from the assistant of the assistant producer.

    “Who the hell are you?” Yelled the exasperated director.

   “I am an advisor. I represent the advertising moguls who control the finances for the movie. I will have to consult the money men before we can go any further.” Replied the young bespectacled whizz kid.

   The wise old producer coughed and spluttered a reply. “What part of this invisible army pulls the strings on my movie. I refuse to be treated as puppet of some mysterious entity who happens to have money.”

   The Great Puppet-master sighed as he arrayed his planets in synchronised formation. “When will they ever learn it is I who pulls the strings around here.”

Copyright © Written by John Yeo ~ All rights reserved