Spider and the Fly

“Come into my parlour,” said the spider to the fly.

“Really,” the fly responded. “You’re going to go with that line?”

The spider hesitated, a little nonplussed. “Uh… yeah. It’s a classic!”

The fly rolled her eyes and continued with her business of preening herself. This was no ordinary fly, you see. She was beautiful in a way that no ordinary fly could come close to, and she was smart, graduating top of her class from Anisoptera Academy. And, of course, this made her far more dangerous than just any fly, and far more desirable.

“Aww, come on”, the spider insisted, pushing his luck once again. “You’ve got to check out my crib.”

“Crib? More like coffin!”

“Oh, come on baby! Don’t be that way!”

“I’ve noticed you around, you know.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. Noticed you with Hawker and Darter, Chaser and Darner. Even Scarlet and Percher seem to have fallen into your trap. But not me.”

“Trap? What are you talking about?”

“Oh, don’t play dumb. I know your tricks. Charm em and harm em as they say.”

“Harm? Me? Honey, you’ve got the wrong guy! I’m just looking for a good time!”

“Your good times and mine are a world apart.”

“What about one drink at my place?”

Spider motioned to his palace, and even fly had to admit that it was gorgeous. Intricately woven with diamonds spread throughout, fly couldn’t remember the last time she had seen anything so gorgeous, and she had looked in the mirror only moments ago.

“It won’t take long,” spider insisted, seeing that he had her hooked.

“I’ll look around,” fly agreed, “but I’ll keep my distance. And don’t you try anything on me!”

“Absolutely,” spider held up his hands declaring his innocence. “I won’t touch you! You can stay as far back as you like.”

Fly left her perch and took to the air, inspecting spider’s apartment from afar. She couldn’t see any warning signs from way up where she was, no hint of danger, and she found herself flyer nearer to have a closer look at the detail that had gone into putting the place together. Each thread was woven intricately to the next and diamond dew was scattered throughout. They were the largest diamonds that fly had ever seen, and they glistened brightly in the sunlight, drawing her closer and closer. She could see herself reflected in the sparkling gem, her beauty heightened beyond her imagination, and she was enraptured, not noticing that her wings were veering close to the web until it was too late.

“So glad that you could make it,” spider said as he glided towards her, floating along the web with so little effort.

Fly tried her best to drag herself away, but with every flap of her wings, she found herself more tightly wound. The threads were stronger than they looked, and the held her tightly as spider made his way over to her.

“Now… what was that I was saying….”

“Please,” she begged, but her pleading fell on deaf ears.

“Come into my parlour….”


Dippy Eggs

Dippy Eggs

Dippy eggs were not something that I had much as a kid. In fact, I am pretty sure that it was Grant who introduced me to them when I was 18 years old. But whenever I have them, I revert back to a childish state of giggling and messiness that is not my normal, pretty controlled, state of being. So I decided to revert back to that state for this short poem. I apologise in advance.

Flippy hippy sippy eggs
Wibble wobble in their holders
Slippy quippy whippy eggs
Waiting for my spoon
Nippy tippy clippy eggs
Oozing over everything thing
Zippy grippy dippy eggs
Cannot come too soon.

Four: Macro

Garden SpiderI had a lot of fun with this theme last weekend and got some awesome shots out of it, so I thought that I would share two of those today rather than just one. Both were taken at Settler’s Dam near Grahamstown, and neither really fall into my usual subject matter. I am terrified of bugs and have arachnophobia. So, as you can imagine, I was rather uncomfortable taking these, but was really impressed with how they turned out. My favourite is the one of the spider. Grant’s is the one of the dragonfly, which I why I thought that I would go ahead and include both.

I would hate to come across this in my garden.

Far more pleasing to my eye.

Three: Breakfast

BreakfastI rarely end up eating breakfast to be perfectly honest, though I suspect that I am going to be eating a lot more of it now that I’ve started gyming. So this week’s theme was a little difficult for me, but I managed nonetheless when we made dippy eggs for lunch. Dippy eggs is totally a breakfast thing, and it totally counts as breakfast when it’s the first meal of the day!!

Golden Ball of Sunray

I should note before I post this that, while I do consider myself a writer, I do not consider myself to be a poet in the slightest. This was just the first thing that came to mind when looking at this week’s picture.


Golden ball of sunray
Following the orb of light
Across the lightning charged sky.
Basking in the day
And prayig for the night
To sleep and grow ever high.

Two: Hot


So, this is very very late, and it is mostly because I had real trouble looking through my photos from week 2 and deciding on one that I felt fit the theme. In the end, I decided on this one. It is not really what someone would typically think of when they think of heat, but it is very much one that I associate with summer and the humidity that it brings with it.



Week #2: Hot

The theme for this week is Hot/Cold (depending on which hemisphere you’re in).

Being in South Africa, and it being summer, I naturally assumed that the theme I would be going for would be Hot, since it is Africa, and it is Grahamstown where it is usually ridiculously humid during the Summer season. But apparently I thought wrong, since the weather has just not been playing along. I have yet to take my photo for the week, and it’s already Friday!!

I have a couple of ideas that do not rely on the weather that I intend to play around with this weekend, and hopefully there will be a wonderful post of beautifulness waiting for everyone (or no one) on Monday.

The story to accompany the photo will likely come along later next week as well.

Egg Soldiers

“So what are we going to call it?” His voice, coming from behind, makes me jump. I thought I’d been alone. I’d prefer it if I were.
“Call what?” I genuinely have no idea what he’s on about, and I just want to get away as quickly as possible. Imagine if one of my friends drove past. Worse, imagine if anyone else from school did. At least my friends would get it. Anyone else might think that there was something else going on.
“It,” he says, pointing at the lump in my backpack. He’s walking next to me now, and I cover my face as best as my ringbinder will allow as a car passes.
“Oh God no.” It comes out before I can stop myself, and I see his face turn a deep shade of red. It makes the pimples that cover his cheeks seem a lighter pink in comparison. It’s disgusting.
“Look,” I stop and turn to him so that we are standing face to face, so close that I can count the freckles on his nose and see my eyes reflecting in his thick-rimmed lenses. It serves a double purpose really. He’s a lot better at hiding me than a stupid file is. “I just want to get this over and one with. I couldn’t really care less about the… thing.”
“Euch. Can’t we just call it an egg?”
“Great.” I carry on walking, as fast as I can, hoping that he’ll take the hint and let me head home in peace.
“Eggy?” The voice is coming from directly behind me again and it takes every bit of strength I have not to turn around and slap him through the face.
“No. Not Eggy. Not Benedict. Not Scramble or Fry. This thing… egg… doesn’t have a name. It’s not a pet. It’s not a person. It’s nothing.”
“It’s an egg.” I hold in the scream that is begging to come out.
“Yes. An egg. That’s it.”
“Our egg.” I stop walking, close my eyes, take a deep breathe in and let it out slowly. When I open my eyes, I see that he’s stopped too, maybe three feet away from me. “Okay,” he announces, hands up in a mock surrender, “I’ll stop.”
We keep walking together in silence, me still wishing that he would get lost, him still wanting to talk about it. I can tell. Every now and then, out of the corner of my eye, I will see him slow down ever so slightly and open his mouth, only to promptly close it and speed up again to walk beside me. Maybe he’s just decided not to try his luck. Maybe he’s scared that I’ll snap at him. He should be. I have a tendency to snap. The pauses become more pronounced and more distracting, until eventually I can’t take it anymore.
“Spit it out then!”
He stops, stares at me as though I’ve just popped out of thin air before him and shouted “Boogedy Boo”, his mouth hanging open in shock. And then he closes it, clears his throat and announces it in as confident a voice as he can manage, and I can tell that it’s not a voice that he’s used to using.
“Can I come over this weekend?”
I stare at him, dumbfounded.
“And what on God’s green earth makes you think that’sgonna happen?”
“It’s my egg too. For the next few weeks at least.”
“You want to come over… and see… the egg?”
And now it’s my turn to be astounded. Did he just…
“So I’ll see you tomorrow.” It’s not a question. I’d say that it’s a joke, but there isn’t a hint of a smile on his face. In fact, he’s looking more than a little nauseous. But he steadies himself nonetheless, squaring his shoulders and walking away from me at a controlled pace. It feels like he’s going to crack and start running any second, and I stare after him waiting for it, but it just doesn’t happen, and he doesn’t turn around. Instead, I am left standing in the middle of the street, looking more like an idiot than ever, watching him walk away from me.

“So, honey, how was school?” She is refusing to look me in the eye. I can see why. The blue hue of her eyeshadow looks just a little too natural.
“Just fine?Nothing exciting happen?”
“No.” I keep my gaze focused on my plate, deciding to play along with her game. If she wants to live in denial, I am more than happy to assist.
“Don’t bother.” It comes out as a whisper, but it’s loud enough for her to hear. She looks at me then, and there’s fire in her eyes.
“What did you say to me?”
“IT’S SHELLY, BABE.” She’s standing now, and I’m still trying my best to stare at my plate. “SHE’S TALKING BACK.”
“TELL THAT LITTLE BITCH TO SHUT HER FOUL MOUTH.” It stings, but not nearly as much as it used to. None of his words hurt quite as much as they used to.
“You hear that, Shelley. You’re pissing him off. You know what happens when he’s pissed off.”
I tear my eyes away from the plate and lock them with hers. I’m about to scream, about to fight, about to cause a hailstorm of shit that I know I won’t be able to take back. But I see it there. It’s hidden behind bruises and anger and blame, but it’s there. Fear. I can’t tell if it’s fear for herself or fear for me, but I recognise it, and it stops me in my tracks.
“Sorry, Ma. You know I didn’t mean it.”
“Yeah…” I can see her losing steam already, her body folding in on itself, her usual submissive demeanour taking precedence over her anger at her daughter’s defiance. “Well… it had better not happen again.”
“What the hell is going on in here?”
He stands in the doorway, observing us, and for a second I can see us through his eyes. Useless, weak and pathetic.
“Nothing, hon.” She strides over to him, all sweetness and smiles now, but it isn’t fooling him in the slightest. She leans up to kiss him, her hands on his arm firmly, trying to hold him back without really forcing him to do anything that he doesn’t want to.
“You going to let your girl talk to you that way?” A look of disgust plasters his face, and when he turns to spit on the floor, we both know that it’s got meaning behind it.
“It’s fine, sweetpea. All sorted now. Isn’t it, Shelly?”
I keep eating, trying to ignore it. I know that whatever I see will be seen as talking back, so rather not talk at all. But even that is problematic.
“You answer your Ma when she’s talking to you.”
He’s standing beside me now, with her in the doorway, her eyes begging, pleading with me. I can read their language. Don’t cause any more shit. Don’t make things worse. But it’s gone too far now. Nothing that I can do will stop him. I’ve just got to close my eyes and hope for the best.

I’m sitting on the porch when he arrives, soaking up the sun as best I can and gently rocking it back and forth on the ground with my bare feet. The shell feels cool and smooth against my toes. Every other inch of my body aches, but my toes are safe, and the movement is calming, peaceful, in stark contradiction to everything else that I am feeling right now.
He comes early, and I watch unseen as he walks up to the postbox, only to turn around again and walk the other way. He doesn’t get very far before he’s at the box again, this time even coming a little way up the path to the front door before retreating back to the street.  As he turns back a final time, I can see the resolve in his face, his glasses pushed hard against his nose, his stance of power taking over. He walks past the postbox, past the dead roses that line the path, right up to the front door and knocks hard once, slightly softer a second time and, his confidence quickly fading, barely raps his knuckles against the door a third and final time.
He turns to me, a scream frozen on his lips, fading as he sees my face break into a smile. He quickly composes his into one too. It breaks the tension a little and he comes and sits beside me on the wooden floorboards, not saying a word, but just staring, hypnotised, at the movement of my feet. For a few minutes, we sit in silence. I don’t know what runs through his mind, but my hand rests on my stomach as I picture a future of joy and beauty and happiness. It hurts. A tear travels down my cheek leaving a riverbed in its wake, and I flick it away nonchalantly as she opens the door and looks down at us, sitting together. I can see the thought jump into her mind: What the hell is Shelley doing with him of all people. But she’s quick to dismiss it.
“You kids want breakfast?”
He nods enthusiastically and stands up, wiping the dust from his hands onto his jeans and opening the door for me expectantly. I consider ignoring breakfast and sitting out here all day with nothing but the sun, the wind and the gentle rocking of my foot, but he’s watching me, waiting, and it’s ruining my fun. I brace myself for the pain and let my wrist take all the weight as I push myself up. Even though I’m expecting it, the intensity of it still catches me off guard and I let out a whimper of pain, not loud enough for anyone inside to hear, but too loud for him to ignore. He looks from my face to the swollen wrist, and it feels like he is really taking me in for the first time. I see his eyes widen as he notices the blotchy skin, my attempts at covering it up, and the faint shades of blue, green and yellow that lie beneath in different phases of healing.
“Please,” I whisper, my eyes meeting his, pleading. I have no idea what it is that he is thinking for a change. Usually I’m good at reading people, I’ve had to be with the life I’ve led, but a range of emotions is crossing his face, and all of them are unfamiliar to me. I step towards him and place a hand softly on the fist that has formed at his side. I feel his whole body tense at the touch.
“Please,” I repeat softly. I keep staring into the eyes of this person I hardly know, the only person who has come to realise the secret I’ve been hiding. The last person I would have told. The tension subsides slowly, and his fist releases to twine between my fingers until he is holding my hand tightly. His eyes never leave mine, and he nods his head ever so slightly before looking away and releasing my fingers from his grip. My hand tingles and the feeling spreads up my arm. I smile, a silent thank you, and walk through the still open door.
I take a seat at the kitchen counter, and he stands beside me, my scrawny bodyguard, but I don’t let that fool me. I can tell that in the state he is in right now, not even he is a force to be reckoned with. He doesn’t want to let his guard down for long enough to sit. She looks us up and down trying to figure out what is going on, but eventually shrugs and goes back to the cooking.
“Shelley, hon, pass me that egg?”
She holds out her hand without looking at me, and I hesitate, rubbing my finger over the smooth shell. Softly, he takes other hand, gently squeezing it as he takes the egg from me with the other. This time, he won’t let go.
“M’am, I’m sorry, but this is one egg that you can’t break.”


There are 52 weeks in any year, but since this year started mid-week, there are 53 themes available. You can take part in all 53, or only 52 of them if you prefer. I am going to say 52, giving myself one week off should I need it, or in case I won’t be able to take pictures on December 30th or 31st.

When looking through the list of themes, bear in mind that some of the last themes for each month may run over into the next month. The months listed are merely the months in which the theme will start. Each theme will start at the start of a new week (00:01 on each Monday) and you (or I) can post pictures on that theme until Sunday evening (23:59). Just because the blog is called 50two doesn’t mean that only one photo can be posted each week. There will be 52 themes, but hopefully the themes will inspire ideas and more photos will come rather than just the one a week that I am aiming for.

And so, without further ado… here are the themes for the year!


Week #1: Newness
Week #2: Hot/Cold
Week #3: Breakfast
Week #4: Macro
Week #5: Tired



Week #6: Sleep
Week #7: Body Parts
Week #8: Romance
Week #9: Spirit



Week #10: Vegetables
Week #11: Underneath
Week #12: Autumn/Spring
Week #13: Party



Week #14: Fools
Week #15: Excitement
Week #16: Work
Week #17: Growth
Week #18: Trees



Week #19: Mother
Week #20: Up
Week #21: Anger
Week #22: Temptation



Week #23: Looking In
Week #24: Father
Week #25: Youth
Week #26: Black and White



Week #27: Red, White, Blue
Week #28: Lighting Experimentation
Week #29: Family
Week #30: Winter/Summer
Week #31: Time



Week #32: Water
Week #33: Shadows
Week #34: Peace
Week #35: Defeat



Week #36: Sunset
Week #37: Spice
Week #38: The Kitchen
Week #39: Spring/Autumn
Week #40: Tools



Week #41: Colours
Week #42: Cold/Hot
Week #43: On The Shelf
Week #44: Memories



Week #45: Texture
Week #46: Wind
Week #47: Music
Week #48:  Gathering



Week #49: Beyond Reach
Week #50: Smiles
Week #51: After
Week #52: Summer/Winter
Week #53: Oldness


And that is it! I must be honest and say that I did not think of the themes myself. I found an Excel document at some point during 2012 and have used that as the basis for my project. Unfortunately, I cannot recall the source (sorry), but I have made one or two adjustments to the list to make it more SA friendly. It is by in large the same as the original, with just one or two changes.

So, who’s game to join me?!


Welcome to 50 two!! This is where the magic will be happening for my 52 week challenge of 2013. There will be a photo a week for 52 weeks, and I am hoping that they will end up being accompanied by stories on my writing blog as well.

I will be posting a list of the challenges tomorrow, but I was far too excited and keen to get started, so I have already completed the first challenge, which was Newness. Check it out here: https://evanescent50two.wordpress.com/2013/01/03/one-newness/. To celebrate the New Year, post a photo for the theme of Newness and share a link to it in the comments if you are keen to get involved with me.