There were two photos to reflect on at Write at the Merge. The creative prompt offers up…somethings…for your inspirational pleasure. The idea is to find where it intersects for you and write on. Sometimes it will be one, sometimes both.
For all you Scottish folk, I hope I have not embarrassed myself too much. I tried my best to get it right.
For your reading enjoyment, I present:
Alistair McBubble was born to Florrie and Hugh on March 14, 2013 at precisely 9:47:15 A.M. After delivery, Doctor McAlister completed a few preliminary tests and assured them that Alistair was indeed spherical in shape.
“Ur ye sure? Florrie asked. “Withit ‘at shape …weel…Ah dornt want tae…’at shape ensures he has th’ minimum surface energy an’ th’—“
“Lowest ratio ay surface area tae volume,” interjected Dr. McAlister. “A ken aw ay ‘at.”
Furrows formed at the bridge of Florrie’s nose. She peered at him with a look of consternation. “If ay min’ correctly, doctur, ye said ‘at affair.”
“Florrie! Dornt pinch yer foreheid loch ‘at,” Doctor McAlister commanded. Softening her expression, she looked up at him. “Florrie, ah test fur th’ Marangoni effect, if ‘at makes ye feel better.”
“It woods,” she retorted.
“Ah will gie Hugh.”
Hugh and Florrie remained on pins and needles—figuratively speaking—waiting for the results. When the doctor returned and told them that the surface tension on Alistair was stable, they were overjoyed.
“Och, Hugh, we finally hae a perfect McBubble.”
“Och aye,” rejoined Hugh, puffing his chest out with pride, “we dae.”
“Dornt gie carried awa’ thaur Hugh,” warned the doctor.
Hugh’s face took on a dismayed appearance that alarmed Florrie.
“Whit in heaven’s nam is wrang, Hugh?” she pleaded.
Speechless, he pointed to the location beside Florrie.
“Ack!” Florrie screamed. “He’s taken flecht.”
Alistair’s choice would have been to remain with his parents but his destiny was ordained the moment that gust of wind swopped him up and ushered him off.
As Alistair wiped away his tears, a deep voice startled him.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
Glancing back, Alistair saw two bubbles coming up quickly behind him. “An’, wa nae?” he asked, perturbed by this interruption.
“Because… it doesn’t matter now…you’ve already done it. I was just going to say it would thin out your surface.”
“An’, wa shoods ’at matter?” Alistair replied snootily.
“He doesn’t know anything, Albert,” giggled the girl. “He even talks funny.”
“Fa ur ye tois anyway?” Alistair asked, unable to hide his displeasure with her comments.
“I’m Albert and she’s my sister, Alicia. I can see you’re interested in what I’m doing.” He held up the miniature chalkboard.
Alistair nodded and moved closer.
“Not too close.” Pointing at his chalkboard he said:”It’s an equation.”
“Whit diz it dae?” Alistair asked with great interest.
“Oh!” Alicia interrupted. No longer giggling, she pointed at Alistair. “His color has changed. He was bluish-green when we arrived and he’s now more yellow.”
“We must get out of the sun.”
“What’s happenin’? Aam almost colorless.”
“The film that formed you is much thinner. That’s why…”
Looking at each other, their faces filled with anguish.
Albert pointed to the old castle below. “We must hide there until dark…maybe…”
POP! POP! POP!