Bad weather

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The lake was quiet on that day in November. The little ferry was only open one day a week so people could get supplies from the local village. It had been raining all morning. Grey clouds full of grey rain. The lake remained calm, placid, but the weather threatened to grow worse and the pressure was dropping.

They had caught the ferry earlier on in the afternoon and now they were making the trip back. Suddenly the wind whipped up. The water started to get choppy and white tops grew on the waves that were building up. Instead of the calm trip they were used to, the little boat was rising and falling over the crest of the waves, tipping and twisting. The internal lights came on and the ships captain announced that they were taking in a little water and that all passengers must remain calm, but they should all go to their muster points at the front and back of the ferry.

It was not far from shore when the propeller caught an old floating tree trunk. The forward motion stopped and the ferry lurched up and down. Waves were crashing over the prow, and the rain seemed to intensify.

When the squall passed the boat was gone. Only floating life rafts could be seen from shore. Of the twenty people on the boat 18 survived. The only two that were missing were an older man and woman. They were still holding hands when their bodies were found on the shingle beach in the morning.

Sweets

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I just chose a random photo from last year and I’m going to use it to base a very short story on.

Sandra was looking for a gift for her friend. Something simple to add to a birthday card and a bottle of wine.

Ornate wooden corkscrews, crocheted scarves, silver jewellery, pots of chutney. There was lots on offer. Then she saw a sign which simply said sweets. The woman standing behind the stall had clearly decided to dress in harmony with her confections. A multi coloured tee shirt with a rainbow silk scarf round her neck. The woman’s hair was striped green and red. On her head was a straw hat painted with stencils of flowers.

She looked at the stand of sweets.. Blue hornet gobstoppers, orange nectar jems, cherry and liquorice twists. Burnt toffee with walnuts, pear and apple drops. Marshmallow wrapped in rice paper. They looked delicious.

Try one? Asked the stall holder.. She chose a caramel fizz bomb. Just hold onto the handle, said the woman and Sandra saw one attached to the top of the stall. She grasped the metal handle.

Suddenly a tingle went from her mouth to her brain, her arm went rigid and a heavy weight seemed to descend on her shoulders. Then her head cleared, she could smell lilac scent. Her ears started to foam! After that the fizz bomb gradually eased to a sweet caramel gently tickling her tongue.

I’ll have some of that she said, thinking of how her friend would react!

 

Then I forgot

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I don’t remember anything after Saturday afternoon?

Who are you?

Where am I?

So many questions, I remember going to the park for a walk, I can see in my minds eye the youth on a motorbike, then I forget…. Its gone.

Who are you? A nurse? Who are they? My parents…..?

What did I do to get here?

Hello, yes I feel OK, just taking my pulse? My blood pressure….

Yes so you are my doctor?

There was a boy on a motorbike, I can see him in my minds eye. Where was that?

I need to sleep. Dreaming, remembering, she sees the park, the ducks running for the bread she was feeding them. The motorbike comes through the park gate, along the path, speeding, roaring. Breaks and skids to avoid the ducks and hits her hard….

Waking, the memory fades, she sees time reverse, only now she’s further down the path. The ducks are still on the lake. The sun is shining on her face. Heat. Her face is hot…..

Who am I?

Why am I here? I remembered, but then I forgot.

Nothing

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Couldn’t resist posting this photo.

On this site sept. 5, 1782 Nothing happened.

The day before had been busy, barges were loaded with pottery to take away on the canal, horses pulling the barges to distant towns along the trent and mersey canal…. . Seven days earlier a load of clay and ground flint had arrived. The pottery has been thrown on wheels or cast in slip. Then into the kilns so that they could be fired biscuit hard. The paintresses had decorated each pot with beautiful designs. These were the pots that were spreading out over the land now.

But today nothing happened.

Mable smiled at  Jeremiah, he smiled back, but nothing happened. Mabels father was not approving of Jeremiah, he was only a lowly saggar makers bottom knocker, making the bases for saggars. These were the pottery cases that fine pottery and china was fired in to protect it from the smoke from the coal. Jeremiah had no prospects. He was younger than Mable. She was the owners daughter.

All she could do was smile. All she could do was hope things would change. But today …

Nothing happened.

Maybe one day it would ..

First and last through the gates. #writephoto

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Image copyright Sue Vincent. From Sue’s #writephoto photo prompt.

This is my first ever ping back so I hope it works……

The stone gateway was imposing, the heavy gates looked too big to push open easily. The first time I walked through the gates I was 10 years old and very nervous. My grandma lived in the big house, but as we had only just moved back after several years abroad I had never met her. Seeing the gates and the stone gateposts made me think that someone very important lived there.

I remembered the long tree lined drive. The dappled sunlight warming the golden gravel. I wanted to know how far it was to the front door so I started counting steps, but lost track around 300. As I turned a bend in the path I saw  short, grey haired lady in horn rimmed glasses, she didn’t look as scary as I imagined her. She was waiting at the top of three steps made of grey stone. I wanted to run up to her, but mom had told me to be polite. So I walked up slowly and quietly said hello.

That had been 40 years ago. My gran must have been about 50 but I had thought she was very old. I remembered her putting a record on for me, a Beatles song. ” Help ” I think it was? From then on she would always play music when I arrived, some pop music, other times classical music like Stravinsky or Rachmaninov. Sometimes we danced together and laughed at each other.

Today was a sad day. The last time I would walk through those gates. I remembered all the happy times I had spent there. Afternoons after school always seemed sunny. Gran would give me a snack and Mom would pick me up when she finished work.

Now both of them were gone. Today I had to lock up grans house and hand over the keys to the estate agent. The funeral had been a week ago. I had her favourite music played at the ceremony.

As I left I shut the gates gently, knowing I would never walk there again…..

Boarded up

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He woke up in darkness, the window he has climbed through last night was now boarded up. He was alone in the barn, but his hands were tied behind his back. He heard a quiet rustling in the straw. A squeak and he realised there were either rats or mice sharing the space with him…..

Everything had been quiet when he had crept into the barn about 8 o’clock the previous evening. He’d been setting up the camera when something or someone had hit him on the head.

What the hell do I do now? he thought. I’m stuck.

He glanced about and he saw something black in the corner, an old scythe? Yes stck under some sacking. It was so easy in mystery stories. Just rub against the blade and escape…. Two hours later he’d got through one strand of rope, his wrists were bruised and cut and he was sweating with the exertion of trying to escape. If he ever got out of here he would have words with his mates…

This was not how a stag party was meant to go!

Witchery

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Old Belladonna Green watched as the moon rose. It was full and glowing tonight. Just the right time to be abroad for some witchery…..

She stood on top of the hill looking down at the old town. What enchantments could she weave to change people’s lives tonight?

She was a solo witch. A bit like solitary bees. Not part of a coven, but quietly making a difference where she could. The world was too modern for her really. No apprentice had been to see her for twenty years and her stock of charms had worn out long ago. Yes she could go to the local magic shop, but the stuff in there was mainly tat. Who wanted to buy a whoopee cushion to help indigestion?

And the Internet? It spread such falsehoods that no one knew what to believe anymore. When texting arrived she almost gave up. As it was she had to be very circumspect about what she did. All those satellites and droney things. She was good at weaving invisibility which she needed to keep out of sight of CCTV! More than once she had been forced to take the form of a black cat to avoid detection.

She looked over at Larch Street. A small row of terraces which were humble but cozy.

Oh yes. Mr Hughes, he needed some help, he was losing his hair rapidly…. She climbed up the drainpipe. She was still quite nifty at climbing even though she was 74… As she had thought, the bedroom window was open to let the cool moorland air in. She pushed the sash window open and deftly stepped through. Her soft shoes made no sound… She had a pouch of green herbs on her belt and she moved over to where Mr Hughes was sleeping. Gentle fingers massaged the green goo onto his head, he snored and turned in the bed, putting an arm round his wife. Belladonna stood back, approving her own work, then swiftly left the way she had come.

As the alarm clock went off the following morning Mr Hughes went into the bathroom. He was rather shocked to see in the his face in the mirror… A full head of hair…. But why was it blonde?

 

Eye don’t know…

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Something appeared on the cliffs above the village that night, but no one saw it till much later.

The wedding had gone well and the happy couple were now on their way to catch a plane to their honeymoon destination. The rest of the party were sleeping the evening off either in the hotels 6 guest rooms, or in the two bed and breakfasts in the old harbour.

Half of the village had been invited and were now dreaming of the festivities while the other half were either too young or too elderly to have gone.

A dark figure, about eight foot wide, was shambling along the path down from the cliff. It’s movements were jerky, like an accordion being played, several legs moved in a strange caterpillar like rhythm and gleaming eyes looked out in long rows along its sides.

Most peculiar of all was its gaping mouth. This was filled not with teeth, but with arm like protruberances which ended in long thin suckes. Each of about twenty arms could reach out of its mouth to either lift or pull objects. They were also able to grasp things and pull them inside the thing.

A feral cat was stalking a mouse as the strange being came round a corner of the pathway. The alien seized the cat with one of its suckers and pulled it into its mouth which snapped with an audible crunch as it closed.

As the light came again to the village open doors greeted the dawn. Most were torn from their hinges. Others wear ripped apart as if a chain saw had cut through them.

Of the villagers there was no sign, the guests who had come down from towns and cities were gone. There were strange gouged marks on the roadway leading to the harbour wall, but no sign of life. Even the sea birds had gone.

Only the lighthouse keeper further up the valley had seen something glowing and gleaming in the dark, but he was saying nothing.

(I seem to be writing more of these, I’m trying to work out how to describe things. To make up a story that is slightly different, not too derivative?) all writing and art copyright Christine Mallaband-Brown 2019.

In the grey

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It started with a fog that lingered, it did not burn off in the sunlight, in fact it got denser. The winds had dropped so there was nothing to blow it away. Looking out the window you could see drops of water clinging to the trees and bushes.

The weather forecasters tried to explain the phenomenon. More water in the atmosphere, a storm must come soon to clear the air, but that was months ago. Plants were not doing well for lack of sunlight and because there had been no rain to help the buds burst. Slimy mould was starting to cover some plants and others had a black fungus growing on them.

Then the reports of food shortages started  Crops had failed. Fruit was not swelling and growing but remained stunted.

People started to call it “the grey”, cars were banned as they were turning the fog to a thick smog. Satellite images showed the only parts of the world that had been left clear of the fog and mist were the larger seas and oceans. The grey clung to the edges of the land. Continents were visible only as cloudscapes.

Then the riots started…….

Coffee and cream?

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Hot coffee with cream, a slice of black forest gateaux. She sat and stirred the cup, hearing the spoon tinkle against it.

Only an hour ago she had been running to catch the bus into town. She’d told Al that she was meeting a friend….

This isn’t a trashy romance story, she told herself. Just a meeting with an old friend. But she couldn’t help feeling excited. He’d sounded just the same on the phone as he had all those years ago at college.

The cake was delicious, but she only tasted it, she was too nervous to eat. Too many butterflies in her stomach, too much anticipation and anxiety.

Oh god, she thought. I’m too old for all this, what will I say? Should I put some more lipstick on? She was also thinking about Al. How could she tell him about this. No it would be her little secret.

It was half an hour later, he was 20 minutes late… He promised he would be there. She remembered a tall young man. Long hair, a leather jacket and jeans. Black doc marten shoes….. Where is he? She thought.

Just then the glass door opened. She saw a once tall man, now stooped over. A bald head, what hair that was left was grey and in a ponytail. A walking stick, a gold medallion.

She decided not to say hello. As he walked into the room she went to the counter to pay her bill. On the way out of the door she felt mixed guilt and grief. Had she done the right thing?

She looked in the window and caught her reflection. Her once slim body was wider now, her hair not just grey, but white. Oh well she thought. At least I have Al.. …