Short story – Page 3

Edgar – A FFfAW word challenge

Edgar stood looking up at the dark building stretching up into the night and thought how very much like stars the tiny windows looked, and he thought of his Grandfather.

The challenge was to write something using the photo using between 75 and 175 words. I came in at 173. You can see the challenge details here.

Edgar stood looking up at the dark building stretching up into the night and thought how very much like stars the tiny windows looked, and remembering his Grandfather he smiled. Even though it was so long ago he could still recall how he would sit on his lap and listen to the stories about the times before the stars went out.

In fact, before he was recycled he spoke of very little else, his mind frail and his memories just fragments of what they had once been.

In those last days he would sit on the small balcony overlooking the sprawling choking metropolis, his long empty flowerpots a reminder of a time when the sun still shone, and he would curse those that had thought only of themselves and had let this happen.

Still smiling he slowly climbed the cold stone steps for his own recycling appointment, his heart full of the memories of that wonderful old man, and wondered whether he might soon see him again where the stars still shone brightly.

More stuff?

Family #writephoto

Get well soon limericks

Deep and insightfully insightfulnessness

https://flashfictionforaspiringwriters.wordpress.com/

Photo courtest of Pamela Canepa

A generous portion of life – #Writephoto Challenge

For a while he lay there looking up at the light. “It really is quite pretty” he thought, “I should get one like that for the hall at home.”

I’m cheating a tad on this and using it for 2 prompts. I had the idea from Michelle’s writing prompt which I have decided to use to write about robots and such, but it never really worked until I saw Sue’s photo prompt.
———————————————

The first thought that went through Terence’s mind as he opened his eyes was “What a lovely light, it almost feels like I’m underwater.” This thought was soon followed by a second which considered why the devil he might be lying on the floor and a third one hot on the heels of the second which pondered where exactly he might be.

He attempted to move but nothing happened. His eyes seemed to be working just fine but beyond that nothing else did what it was meant to. Not one thing.

“Well this is just no good” he said to himself, “this simply will not do at all.”

He strained again but still nothing.

For a while he lay there looking up at the light. “It really is quite pretty” he thought, “I should get one like that for the hall at home.”

In an instant something about the word home triggered an explosion of memories and emotions inside of him. He was suddenly overwhelmed by a lifetime of experiences flashing before his eyes, and it all started with her. She was present in almost every thought and every memory. She seemed to have been there from the very beginning but for some reason he could not recall her name. He could feel her touch and he could hear her voice , and she was all at once a stranger and so very familiar.

There were children too, and grand children. Birthdays, holidays, Christmas and so so much love and laughter. There was a little house by the sea, and a dog that always barked when the gate creaked. Memory after memory washed over him as he lay there looking at the ceiling, and as they flashed by she became older, yet no less beautiful.

In between the laughter there were tears, and the cold darkness of solitude and yet always the laughter and the love would return and each time he would see her smiling face. A great sadness overcame him as he saw her laid to rest, her coffin laid into the ground on a cold grey day. Terence lay quite still and enjoyed the intensity of each moment until, at last, he remembered how he got here, where he was and why he was looking at the ceiling.

And then there was nothing.

The Engineer crouched over Terence and ran a scanner across his forehead. He spoke into a small receiver embedded in his grey coverall collar.

“Base 9, this is Henderson, I have found the synth and can confirm that shut down has completed.”

“And what is his Status?” came a response.

Henderson double checked the dial. “I can confirm that the unit has reached end of life cycle and his memories have successfully downloaded to central.”

“Good work Henderson” came the response, “We will format the content and pass it onto the family, seems the owner’s kids were pretty fond of the unit and have asked for the memories.”

“Copy that.”

Something else perhaps?

Illusionary Dreams: Writing prompt 13/9/2017

The end of times

I tried to say goodbye.

Charlie’s Journey – OWPC Challenge

Charlie did so enjoy elephants.

Each night Charlie’s dad would tuck him up tight in bed, kiss his head gently and with a “sleep well Charlie” he would turn out the light and pull the door almost closed, leaving it ever so slightly ajar to allow the light from the hall to dilute the darkness just a little.

Charlie would lie quite still until he heard his dad’s footsteps trail away and, unless he was particularly tired, he would grab his torch and his favourite books and head under the blanket to escape to fantastical other worlds and far away places.

Tonight, however, was different. Tonight Charlie was not under his blanket, instead he stood with his ear to the door, listening for the familiar sounds of his parents chatting in their bedroom until everything went quiet and he knew they were fast asleep.

As quietly as he could Charlie grabbed his rucksack from his wardrobe, and into it he pushed his Torch, a notebook and pen, his favourite teddy – Winston, a compass, some clean socks and the blue woolly hat his grandmother had knotted him for his birthday. “Perfect things for an adventure” he said to himself under his breath.

Quickly and quietly he dressed, and with his bag on his back and his shoes in his hands he tiptoed out of the room and along the hall until he came to his parents bedroom.

The door was open, and he could hear his father snoring inside.

He couldn’t fall at the first hurdle he told himself, there was an adventure to be had and he had been planning it for quite some time, at least a week. Dropping to his hands and knees, holding his breath, he crept along the floor as low and as quietly as he could to avoid being detected until he was past the open door without incident.

He breathed again as he slipped down the stairs, avoiding the creaky steps, and slipped into the kitchen. He took a small bar of chocolate from the treat drawer, 2 apples and a banana from the fruit bowl and a bottle of water from the fridge and added it to his bag and zipped it closed. That should do for a few days he told himself, just long enough for him to find more food along the way.

After slipping on his shoes, struggling a little to do the laces – mum always helped with the laces – he grabbed his coat from the hook near the door, pulled it on and then put on his now rather heavy backpack. He took a deep breath. This was it.

He reached for the key in the door, and was about to turn it then remembered the note. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small handwritten letter which was folded in half and on the front he had written “To Mum and Dad”. Inside it explained that he was going on an adventure, but not to worry because he was a big boy now and that he would be back in a few days once he had seen an elephant. Charlie did like elephants.

Charlie returned to the kitchen, popped the note on the counter top and headed quietly back to the front door. Turning the key ever so slowly the lock clicked and he pulled on the handle, not daring to breathe in case he was heard. He stood motionless, listening for any noise from upstairs.

No noise came.

He pulled on the handle, the door swinging just wide enough for him to pass through and he felt the cold night air on his face as he slipped outside, pulling the door closed as quietly as he could.

“This is it Charlie” he said to himself, “the beginning of a great adventure”, and with that he walked off down the garden path into the night. Reaching the old wooden gate at the end of the path he looked up, the sky full of more stars than he remembered seeing before. It was so very very dark. He suddenly felt rather alone.

Across the street Charlie noticed an old man in a long brown coat walking a small white dog. It was Mr Morley and Chops, the man who owned the corner shop. Chops barked eagerly when he saw him and Charlie was just quick enough to duck down behind the gate before my Morley turned to see what Chops was making such a fuss about.

“Calm yourself Chops” said Mr Morley as the passed down the street “People are sleeping”.

Charlie’s heart raced as he let out a long sigh. This was far scarier than he had thought it might be. “Come on Charlie” he said to himself getting up off the ground, “you want to see that elephant don’t you.” He stood at the gate and listened to the sounds of the night. Far off he could hear more dogs barking there was the unmistakable sound of a police siren not too far away.

Charlie wasn’t too fond of dogs. Or police cars, the sirens heart his ears.

Charlie scratched his head, then looked back at the house. The landing light shone gold through the upstairs window and he could just make out the familiar pattern of space ships on his bedroom curtains in the darkness.

With a sudden change of heart Charlie raced back down the path, and opening the door hurried inside and pushed it closed. He stood breathing heavily with his back to the door and then raced back upstairs, as quietly as he could, back to his bedroom – not stopping to crawl past his parents open door – and slipped into his room. With his bag still on his back and his shoes still on his feer he jumped back into bed and pulled the blankets tight around his ears, only his eyes peering out.

The light from the hall was suddenly obscured by the familiar silhouette of his father. “Are you okay Charlie” he asked, “what are you doing up?”

“I just went to the toilet” Charlie replied.

“I told you drinking that hot chocolate would have you up in the night” his father said and smiled, “back to sleep okay.”

Charlie nodded as his father turned to leave the room.

“Dad” he said.

“Yes charlie?” his father replied.

“Can we go to the zoo to see an elephant?” Charlie asked.

His father laughed. “Of course” he answered, “now get back to sleep.”

Want something a bit different? Try these…

Screw you, one and all.

Family #writephoto

99 Word Challenge – Sound

https://jennifernicholewells.com/2017/09/17/this-weeks-challenges-september-17-23-owpc-ww/

Faeries: The long winter

Kostromo stirred beneath the cold earth, it’s weight heavy on her chest and her bones gripped by the icy fingers of winter.

I’m mostly just exploring an idea here but thought I would share it. I found a quite fabulous photograph and wondered what I might make of it. I haven’t planned this out particularly – maybe I should – but I wanted to just see what might come of it if I just sat down and started to write. If I can get this thought out then perhaps I can take it from there…

Michael.

Kostromo stirred beneath the cold earth, it’s weight heavy on her chest and her bones gripped by the icy fingers of winter. Opening her eyes slowly she could see only darkness and the crisp smell of winter filled her nostrils as she stirred and struggled beneath the rich dark soil.

Everything felt wrong, surely it was too early to be awake if the ground remained cold.

Her breathing quickened as she pushed to free herself, heart pounding and fingers clawing instinctively. The earth relented unwillingly and she stretched out an arm and felt a thick tree root between her fingers. It was oak, old oak, and she could feel so many summers coursing through it but yet it slept, silent and cold.

With all of her will she strained, but with so little strength she could not free herself from the darkness. She called out to the oak, confused and desperate.

“Oak, awake from your slumber”

She felt him stir, but he did not reply.

She gripped the root more tightly “Old oak, hear me” she continued “hear my voice and shed your icy slumber.”

Oak stirred again, and she could suddenly feel his life in the earth all around her and it felt good. She felt more alive, less cold.

“Who calls to me?” Oak said slowly, his voice deep and rich “who wakes me from my sleep?”

“Do you no longer know my voice old friend, have you slept so deeply?” she replied.

“Friend?” Oak said, recognising her voice “we no longer call you friend Kostromo, it is too many years since we trees have felt your touch.”

Kostromo gripped his root tightly, and she could sense a deep pain. “I do not understand dear friend” she replied “It is still winter, it is my time to sleep.”

“For a season only Kostromo ” he responded angrily, “for a season only you were supposed to sleep but you did not return to us, and the wood has long suffered under the spell of too many winters.”

She was confused but continued. “My friend, I am so sorry” she said “I do not know why I have slept so long, but I am awake now, I have returned to you.”

Oak paused before responding, the anger now gone from his voice leaving only sadness.

“For many it is too late faerie, many of our kind who once inhabited this wood have passed into nothing so long have they slept. Birch and Beech and Sycamore have long returned to the earth in which you now lie.”

As they continued to talk Kostromo felt Oak’s life force flowing through her, warming her and giving her strength.

“I need you to help free me Oak” she said “I am no use trapped in the earth, will you not help me?”

“Because we were once friends I will help you” he said, his giant roots beginning to move ever so slowly shifting and loosening the cold earth around her. With a snap and crack of ice they wrapped around her and began slowly pulling her upwards. Slivers of light began to appear around her as she neared the surface, the weight on her chest now gone.

Oak heaved her from the ground and lay her gently on the cold snow in front of him. She could feel the sharp cold on her skin, and opened her eyes slowly, squinting as they grew accustomed to the light.

“Indeed it is you” Oak said, his tone now warm and soft “it has been too long old friend, too long indeed.”

Want other different stuff?

something terrible happens in this one

In this one there is a girl in the rain

and this might make you laugh but maybe you wont admit it

oh and this one i am rather proud of

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/inhabit/

One Word Photo Challenge: Hummingbird – Part 1

“Sorry sir” Henderson replied “but we drop out of FTL and go radio silent and now we’re locked in orbit at four times the usual distance instead of heading home. That’s not protocol.”

This was written in response to the one word photo challenge which I rather enjoy, and details can be found at the link below. This week I had to use the word “hummingbird” as inspiration. It had me thinking of thinking of things of a geostationary nature…

One Word Photo Challenge

In the cold of space, 80000 Miles above the Kazakh steppes the Hummingbird emerged from Faster-Than-Light and Captain Jenkins ordered it be placed into geostationary orbit. Shortly after a call went out across the ship-com for the vessels four most senior officers to come to the captain’s quarters.

“Gentlemen” Jenkins began, “take a seat please”.

The three men pulled up chairs around the table. Henderson, the Chief Engineer, waited for Jenkins to be seated before speaking.

“What’s happened sir?” he asked.

“What makes you think something happened Henderson” the Captain asked sharply.

“Sorry sir” Henderson replied “but we drop out of FTL and go radio silent and now we’re locked in orbit at four times the usual distance instead of heading home. That’s not protocol.”

Jenkins took a deep breath. “About 30 minutes ago, on approach to FTL drop out point, I received an encoded fragment of a sub-light notification warning us to stay away from Earth. Sub-light then went offline.” H paused before continuing. “When we came out of FTL I initiated a comms freeze override and engaged full shielding.”

Coles took off his hat and placed it on the table. “And we know nothing more Sir?” He was the eldest of his senior officers and a damned good Chief Navigator and the best Comms officer in the fleet.

Jenkins stood and began to pace, he didn’t think as well when he was sat down. “Not a thing Charles. I wanted to brief you all before we start full scans.”

“Sir, if I may” Coles interjected.

“Go ahead.”

“We’re ready to go Sir, we can initiate fulls scans as soon as you give the word.” he stood as if to leave.

“I need to know if we are visible” Jenkins asked calmly, still pacing. “I need to ensure that should we take down the shields to run scans we maintain minimal risk of exposure.”

Coles put his hat back on and straightened it. “Sir, From this distance we are pretty much undetectable with shields up. We will need to reduce shield strength to half to initiate full diagnostics but even with reduced shields we should be hidden from anything but a targeted scan”

Jenkins stopped pacing.

“Okay, let’s do it. Initiate full planetary scan.” he continued, turning to Henderson and Carter, who had sat silently throughout . “Gentlemen, all hands on deck please. We have no idea what is going on down there.”

Both men replied in unison standing. “Yes Sir.”

As the three men headed for the door Jenkins called over to Carter. “Let’s bring the rail guns online Master Chief” he instructed. “I don’t want to get caught cold”

“Yes Sir” Carter replied and exited after the others.

Jenkins followed his officers and headed to the bridge. He wasn’t prone to panic or overreaction, but something felt wrong. “Officers never run” he told himself as he settled into his chair, three large screens in front of him.

“Coles” he shouted out across the deck, “drop shields to 50% and initiate full Earth side scans please. And pinpoint the fleet for me will you.”

“Sir, yes sir” came a prompt reply.

Jenkins waited a few moments before the first results started to be returned. His screens lit up and a cascade of information began to filter through.

“Jesus Christ” he exclaimed as the information began to pour through. “Coles, are you getting this?” he shouted.

“I am sir” came Coles’ response. There was a note in his voice that made Jenkins uneasy. “I’ve validated outputs and there are no errors.”

“Shields back to 100%” Jenkins ordered sharply. “Henderson, take us out to 160 thousand miles full speed.”

“Yes Sir!” came a response “One hundred and sixty thousand. Initiating sub light engines.”

Coles walked across to the captain, his face ashen and spoke quietly “Sir, there are no mistakes – those transponder results are unmistakable – that is the entire fleet in pieces down there with zero signs of life.”

Fancy something similar? Try this, or this…

Photo courtesy of Stevebidmead @ Pixabay

Not a piece about Dr Who – Honest – Sunday Photo Fiction.

Actually, had Diane Abbott been cast as the Doctor I may actually have taken side with the crazies…

It’s hard to resist anything other than something Dr Who based on this.

I could write about how Tom Baker, Doctor of my childhood, remains my favourite though I will not because those memories seem far off these days.

I could also write about the ludicrous furore over the recently announced Doctor having a vagina. The fact that he has two hearts and travels through time seems far more palatable to many than the idea of someone with a uterus holding the keys to the T.A.R.D.I.S.

God forbid it had been a black woman, can you imagine the outcry. Trump and Brexit we can handle but surely not that.

Actually, had Diane Abbott been cast as the Doctor I may actually have taken side with the crazies. Her vagina is not something on which I wish to dwell. Jeremy Corbyn may however wish to differ.

I could also write about the shambles that was Christopher Ecclestone but the less said about that the better. Tosser.

Instead of writing I will just enjoy the memories I have of one of the greatest creative works to come out of this country and wait for next week’s challenge.

195 Words

End of days #writephoto challenge

Of life and death

Maleban the Elder stands alone, the last of his kind, remnant of all that was but that is no more. His people are all gone now, returned to dust, and the final fiery moments of this world are his alone to witness.

A slow ascent into a hungry sun is his fate, and as proud custodian of the memories of a once glorious people he stands and calls upon his ancestors, the long forgotten ways of his people and the gods of old.

Eyes closed and arms wide he embraces the end of all days as lifetimes past, present and future disappear and are lost to the universe forever.

Photo courtesy of Sue Vincent

Want something different? THIS is different and THIS is way different. This is …well you probably shound’t read THIS…

The girl in the rain

Just an idea about a girl in the rain. I worked backwards from the ending.

When he offered her a lift home she wanted to say no, but the weather was awful out and she really didn’t fancy a walk to the station in the rain. “Go on then” she responded reluctantly, “but just a lift okay, nothing more.”

James grinned that stupid boyish grin she had seen too many times before in married around the office. “Cool” he replied “I’ll grab my coat and we can get off, won’t be a minute.”

She watched him scurry over to his desk, throw his laptop into his bag and pull on a dark raincoat over his well fitting navy suit.

“Thanks for this” she said as he walked back over. He was an arsehole, she knew that too well after last year’s Christmas party, but he was an arsehole with a car and it had been a long day and she really didn’t fancy getting soaked.

“I’m parked in the exec section” he said smugly, “we can get the lift down.”

She followed him to the lifts and they stood saying nothing waiting for it. Once inside, doors closed he spoke again “So are you seeing anyone?” he asked “it’s been ages since we chatted.”

“It was the Christmas party” Sarah answered sharply.

“Oh shit yeah” he replied awkwardly. “Look I’m sorry about all that really I am – you know how it is when everyone’s had a drink.”

For a moment she actually believed him then remembered what had happened “How are the wife and kids?” She asked. It was a bit of a low blow but he deserved it.

He shuffled uncomfortably but didn’t get to answer before the lift stopped, the doors opening with a ding.

“After you ” he said, allowing her to get out before him. “I’m just over there” he said pointing towards a rather nice silver car. She didn’t know anything about cars but it looked expensive. He clicked his keys and the alarm beeped and lights flashed once.

“Nice car ” Sarah remarked, opening the door and climbing inside. A lot nicer than the bus she thought to herself.

He threw his bag onto the back seat and climbed in next to her. “You still up near the school?” he asked starting the car.

“Please” she answered pulling on her seat belt and clinging to her bag.

“Cool, it’s on my way not a problem at all.” He smiled again.

She had grown to hate that smile, he was so certain of himself, so confident. It hadn’t always been that way though, she’d been out with him and a few friend after work a few times after she’d first started working at the practice and he was never an arsehole.

“They’re all arseholes” her mum would tell her, “especially the married ones.” She really was not good at taking advice.

James turned on the radio as they drove through the rain heading up through the town centre. “So, you never answered my question” he said looking across at her.

“And you never answered mine.”

“Oh come on” he replied laughing “you aren’t still cross with me are you?”

“Are you serious?” She really wished she’d caught the bus.

“It was just a bit of fun” he insisted “you know how it is.”

“it really hurt ok, you shouldn’t have done that to me, not in front of everyone.”

“I know I know” he said turning down the radio as they left the business of town and turned onto the bypass. “I just thought you wanted to you know.”

“Jesus James” she snapped “I was drunk – everyone saw us!”

“Sarah, I know I was wrong okay, I’m really sorry.”

She stared out of the window watching the lights of the passing cars stream by, rain running down her window.

“Forgive me” he asked gently, looking across to catch her eye.

“Fine ” she said looking back across at him, she smiled. “You can give me a lift next time it rains as well” she joked “then we’re quits okay.”

“Deal” he grinned turning the radio back up a little “you can have a lift anytime you want.”

“Just next time will be fine” Sarah answered, for the first time loosening her grip on her bag just a little. “Take the next left” she instructed “it’s a bit quicker.”

“No problem” James replied indicating and taking the corner then pulling to a stop.

“What are you doing?” Sarah asked pointing up the hill, “It’s still a way up there.”

James turned off the engine. “Can I be honest with you?” he asked, one hand on the steering wheel and the other on the back of her chair.

“James, can we just go please” she snapped “I need to get home.”

“Just let me say this, ” he insisted “Ever since that night I’ve thought about you a lot okay.”

“Jesus Christ!” she exclaimed “are you serious?”

“Oh come on” he continued placing a hand on her leg “no one needs to know, it’s no big deal.”

Sarah quickly unbuckled her belt and slapped his hand away from her leg, grabbed her bag and climbed out of the car into the rain.

“You’re an arsehole!” she shouted, “an absolute arsehole!”

“Sarah, come back please” he shouted. She stood staring at him saying nothing, watching the rain fall onto the car seat through the open door. “You’re getting my car soaked!” he shouted “are you getting back in or not?”

He didn’t wait long for an answer and reaching across the passenger seat he pulled the door closed. “You mention this at work and I’ll just deny it!” he shouted through the still open window. “No one will believe you” he continued, his face angry and his eyes narrowed. Without waiting for her to answer he slammed the car into gear and roared off, leaving her alone again in the darkness.

Sarah pulled the belt of her coat tight, watching the red lights of the car shimmer in the rain and disappear into the night. This time, she decided, this time she wouldn’t cry.

Want to read more of my stuff? No. Don’t blame you, no offence taken.

https://afterwards.blog/2017/07/29/a-collection-of-miserable-limericks/

https://afterwards.blog/2017/07/14/probing-a-cautionary-tale/

https://afterwards.blog/2017/07/03/first-blog-post/

https://afterwards.blog/2017/07/14/we-unlikely-few/

Https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/shimmer/

Brothers #writephoto

Before he knew it Sam had punched him squarely in the nose. Tom fell to the floor clutching his face

“I dare you!” Thomas urged, pushing his brother in the back. “Go on, go in there – it’ll be fine, he isn’t home.”

Sam turned on his brother. Thomas was always so quick to volunteer someone else when it came to doing something stupid. “You go, I’m not going in there mum will kill me if I get caught”

“Big baby” laughed Thomas, the sun reflecting off his mop of yellow hair “I don’t know what you’re so scared of!”

“Shut up” shouted Sam, pushing his brother in the chest “you go in there then if you’re so brave!”

“Don’t need to, I have nothing to prove.” Thomas teased. He was 2 years younger but already an inch taller than Sam and the scar above his eye was proof that he wasn’t one for caution.

“And I do?” Sam asked “I’m not going in there. I’m not scared I just don’t want to.”

“No of course you aren’t” Thomas smirked.

“I swear Tom, you’re such an idiot.”

“If I am I’m an idiot who isn’t scared to go near old man Hopkins’ place!”

“You know what Tom” Sam replied, fists clenched. “Call me scared again and I’m going to punch you in the mouth!” This always happened – Tom would come up with some stupid game or dangerous idea then get everyone else to do it and wouldn’t shut up until something went wrong. It always did.

“Ha! I’m not scared of you Sam!” Tom teased, “You’re the scared one remember!”

Before he knew it Sam had punched him squarely in the nose. Tom fell to the floor clutching his face. “You absolute idiot Sam!” Tom roared, blood already trickling from his nose “why did you have to do that I was only joking!” He wiped his nose of the back of his hand, tears welling up in his eyes.

“Shit sorry Tom” Sam said reaching out to help his brother up “I didn’t mean to do that, honest!” He might be annoying but he was his little brother.

“Oh you swore!” Said Tom laughing, taking his brother’s hand “just you wait until I tell mum!”

“God Tom” Sam smiled, “you’re such an idiot! How about we go in there together”

“Go on then, I’ll keep you safe” he grinned. “Then we need to get home, mum will be worried if we’re late”

Photo courtesy of Sue Vincent

Scratch – Daily prompt

I’m going to share one from the archives. Think this only ever got 1 view as it was done before almost all of you started reading me.

Afterwards

Only theincessant scratch scratch scratch of quill on parchment breaks the stonysilence. Head down, failing eyes squintingthe gnarled hand grips the long gull feather with aching fingers.The thick leather bound ledger, with its yellowing pages, drinks in each slow and deliberate mark he makes. Each page filled with names, amounts, dates. Simple transactions in a ledger. A dark celebration of the efficiency of books well kept.He looks up as the door swings open slowly,wincing as the late afternoon sun streams through illuminating the room within.The scratching stops. Both the sunlight and the stranger are not welcome, and already he knowswhat happens next.

The dilapidated strangerstands before him, cap in hand and eyes filled with a sadness he has seen so often in so many men in these recent years.

“I am looking for my wife and children” he states quite calmly, voice trembling. “You sold them 7 years ago and…

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Passenger – An Armitage Tangent

Alex stood frozen. Looking across the empty lanes of the motorway he could see his brother’s red Mustang, crumpled and twisted, steam billowing from the radiator. His first thought was “Mum and dad are going to kill him!”, and it never occurred to him that everything wouldn’t be ok, because when you’re 15 everything usually is.

“Weird” he thought, scratching his head through a mop of dark curly hair, something was nagging at him, his thoughts very much a fog. “This is a dream right?” He asked himself.

“You know, that’s usually what you lot ask at this point” came a response out of nowhere “and then I tell you it isn’t” it continued, “and then you freak out”.

Alex turned to the source of the voice, seeing before him a small bald man with a warm smile and piercing blue eyes. He wore a sharp well fitted dark suit, crisp white shirt and a black tie tied with a Windsor knot and despite his stature had all the air of someone who could quite easily do you harm if you forgot to pay him for whatever you might own a man like him for.

“Calm yourself curly locks” he said, a thin smile breaking out on his face “I know this is all a shock and you want to run over and see what’s going on and blah blah blah but we really need to get moving”.

Alex indeed wanted to run over to the scene where a fire truck, lights flashing and horns blaring had just pulled up, but he couldn’t. His head told his body to ignore the small bald man and do exactly that but he simply remained where he stood. His thinking was so slow, words escaped him, concepts too.

“I need to go over! My brother’s still in there” he mumbled. That he knew, foggy headed or not.

The Bald headed man remained unmoved. “Hate to break it to you kiddo but you’re dead” he said dispassionately. “You aren’t going anywhere other than recycling.” It was simply a fact to him. He had done this so many times that he found it far easier to just get right to the heart of the matter rather than to try flowering things up.

Early on in his career he had developed a real flair for the dramatic, and relished these moments. He’d dabbled in poetry and religious imagery and had even used props for a while but it soon wore thin.

These days he was a fan of a nice suit over the effort of a hooded cloak. They were rather more uncomfortable than one might think and forever dragging on the floor and needing to be washed. and as menacing as a scythe is it’s a real nuisance to cart around all day

Alex stood, saying nothing because some part of him knew he was dead. There was a feint recollection of a party – perhaps someone’s birthday – and rain, lots of rain. After that there was a horn, loud noise and then …well then he was stood where he found himself right now.

After a while he spoke “Is he ok?” he asked.

“Id not worry about him for now kiddo” bald man replied, “come on, follow me. You’ll like this.”

Alex turned slowly to follow, his head swimming. “Where are we going? What will happen to him?“

“Always with the questions” the bald man mumbled under his breath. “Just follow me, I’ll explain everything in a bit”.

The bald man led him up a small path and just over the brow of the embankment that ran adjacent to the motorway. “Keep up” the bald man called, disappearing inside an open door, “Ive got places to be.”

Now as far as doors go this one was for the most part a rather regular and unassuming door, the type you would find on any street. It was 8 panelled with a brass handle, letter box and knocker and painted jet black with a number two positioned slightly off centre to the right about three quarters of the way up. What made it wholly unusual though was the way it simply stood unsupported just alongside a busy motorway where he had apparently just died.

Bald man popped his head around the door. “Are you coming or not?” he shouted, and disappeared back inside.

As Alex approached he could see inside into what looked very much like an office. There was a large empty hall, white floors and walls and the bald man seemed to be stood at what looked like reception desk. Bald man looked over beckoning for him to hurry across as Alex stepped through the door. He felt it close behind him and a lock clicked.

“Alex” he said, grabbing his sleeve and pulling him over, “this is The Receptionist, she’s been looking forward to meeting you.”

She looked a bit like the woman his mum didn’t like his dad talking to at work he thought, the one mum described as “that hot home wrecking blonde” and dad always described as “harmless” and “just really friendly”.

Alex heard a voice in his head, it seemed to cut through the fog. “It’s very nice to meet you Alex” she said, “If you want to take a seat on one of the chairs behind you I will be with you in a short while. I just need to have a word with Mr Goodwin”.

He had a million questions going through his head but he felt compelled to do as she had asked, and nodding he turned on his heels and walked across to the chairs and took a seat.

He watched Goodwin and the receptionist for a while, him speaking and her simply looking directly at him. He nodded once or twice, made a few notes in a small notebook which he then tucked inside his breast pocket and with that he was gone, pausing only briefly to look back across at him before exiting through the door they had passed through earlier.

She beckoned him over with a long elegant finger. Stood before her he heard her in his head “Well Alex, I guess you are wondering what exactly is going on.” He nodded. “Mr Goodwin should have explained but alas he has a tendency to neglect his duties sometimes. I really must have a word.”

Her voice was cold, he felt it not only in his head but in his bones.

“You must have a lot of questions” she continued. He nodded again. “All in good time Alex. For now you need to know this. So listen carefully.”

He nodded. It was all he seemed capable of.

“You’re dead I’m afraid Alex, and Mr Goodwin has just left to fetch your brother who did not make it despite the best efforts of the emergency services. You and your brother are very special, and possess certain qualities that I value most highly and because of that I asked him to being you back for recycling.”

She could see from his face that he was confused. Understandably so she thought, these people with their antiquated belief systems really had no idea of just what lay out there in the universe. The universes.

“Is this heaven?” he asked.

“No Alex, this is not heaven” she replied, “You’re in the council offices. We are here to recycle you and get you back out there because there is something you need to do for me”.

That was not what he had expected to hear. He had always gone to Sunday school and was pretty sure that if he were dead he really ought to be heading off to heaven and ot stood at the council office reception.

“No such thing as heaven or hell I am afraid. Regardless of which of your many god’s you root for” she explained “Though from what I read neither sound particularly interesting. You really need to just forget everything you may have been told and trust me that this is the best place for you. You got lucky really today Alex, we could have simply let you dissolve into nothing but you’re here so let’s get on with the job at hand shall we.?

Her tone was suddenly less friendly and that was not a question. Alex nodded again as Mr Goodwin burst through the door, his brother in tow.

“Justin!” he exclaimed, waving him over. Justin had the same foggy look Alex had had just ten minutes prior. Mr Goodwin lead Justin over to stand with him.

“Thank you Mr Goodwin” the receptionist said, her gaze fixed on Justin. “Very nice to meet you, I’m terribly sorry about being dead and all but it really is nothing to get too upset about.”

She looked at Alex now, he was pretty sure that they were all hearing her in their heads.

“If you would be so kind to explain to your brother what is going on I shall go and prepare you a couple of nice new bodies and we will have you back out on there in no time at all. We have a lot to get done today.”

***I started this piece about the death of a passenger in a car then thought I’d explore an idea for the Armitage stuff I am writing so kind of just went with it. It probably slots into the Armitage story somewhere, just not really sure at the moment. – Michael***

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/passenger/

Cold Stone – An FFfAW Chalenge

If the cold stone steps could speak they would tell a tale of generations past; of family; of love; of loss and of time that slips by in the blink of an eye. Worn by so many feet, endless journeys up and down making their way through life one step at a time.

Sometimes skipped, hastily ran and often laboured they endure season after season as the world grew, changed shape, died and was renewed.

Children become adults and pass into nothing and they remain as the sun comes and goes – even more slowly – marking the passing of time and warming their slowly worn surface as it passes across the sky until again the laughter of childhood returns.

Time is unkind and cruel, passing so quickly for man but for those things more permanent it brings a sadness of things long lost and the hope of joy still to come.

Photo courtesy of J.S. Brand

https://flashfictionforaspiringwriters.wordpress.com/2017/07/17/fffaw-challenge-week-of-july-18-2017/

Footprints – An AFA Challenge

“Hey Boss, have you seen what Mary’s been writing?”

“That footprints in the sand woman?”

“Yeah her”. Jonah scratched his head and laughed. “Did you have anything to do with it? I know what you’re like, whispering in their ears like you care”

“Look, I never asked to get stuck on this planet ok, I never asked to be immortal and I certainly never asked to be anyone’s lord and saviour. He continued, quite vexed, “2500 years I’ve been here. I get bored. Not once have those upstairs even bothered to so much as pop in and say ‘Good Job’ or read one of my reports. I’m sorry”

“What did you do?”

“Ok I did pop into her dream and I gave it all that ‘I was carrying you ‘ business. I also gave her cancer.”

“Boss, you’re such a dick.”

Inpired by A Frank Angle at

Footprints in the sand

https://afrankangle.wordpress.com/2017/07/10/on-footprints-in-the-sand/

Sail – A Tenuous Daily Prompt

Today I shall sit in my chair

and write a poem of despair

or something deep or maybe sad

but nothing fun and nothing glad.

With teenage angst perhaps I’ll write

of when my jeans became too tight

or of my hair when it fell out

or of last Saturday’s beer drought.

Ill dim the lights and play whale songs

and bemoan all the world’s wrongs

and type about my slow net speeds

of morning traffic hell in Leeds

Ill hug myself and watch the rain

wear baggy clothes and spout my pain

That time TIVO missed GOT

or of my boats main sail ripped in ’03

My pain is shared so now you feel

the things I do that make me real

Perhaps you’ll like to show you care

my tale of woe, pain and despair

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/sail/

Fences – FFfAW Challenge – 11th of July

“You’re not really thinking of going down there are you”?

“Why the hell not, it won’t matter soon! I just want to say hello to her. Please. We arent that different. She wont realise.”

They so obviously were though. In just about every way imaginable.

“It’s not right Joshua. Why can’t I?” His voice was tinged with sadness. He scratched his head ruefully and ran his hand through his long dark hair. “Are we really so different? All I want is to say hello. Just once.”

“This isn’t our world Abel, you know that. You know the mission. We observe and take notes and we never get involved with the humans.”

“Always the sensible one aren’t you!” Abel snapped.

Joshua smiled. “Come on my friend, let’s go file our report. For what it matters. This time next week the asteroid the governments arent telling them about will hit the earth and she will be gone. They all will.”

https://flashfictionforaspiringwriters.wordpress.com/2017/07/10/fffaw-challenge-week-of-july-11-2017/

Picture courtesy of Grand-Sud

Moxie – An Armitage tangent.

“I do not for one minute” ranted Jones, his face quite beetroot in complexion ” believe that all people are created Equal”. A large vein throbbed above his right temple. “And I will tell you another thing while I’m at it” he continued, jutting out a sausage like finger and spitting as he spoke “there is no way we are taking in any more of those confounded Illegals!”

He seemed rather convinced of his point. Out of breath he plopped his portly frame back into his chair and folded his arms defiantly. As usual though, he failed to acknowledge that these were not solely his decisions to make.

“Now come on Arthur, you know full well this is a decision for the council and not for you alone” Alastair Brown reminded him. Alastair was the local milkman and had known Arthur for as long as he could remember and was quite adept at calming him down. He was in most aspects larger than life and with a will that was seldom swayed.

Arthur let out what sounded like ‘harumph’ and attempted to fold his arms even tighter in defiance, but this simply served to push up his chest until it looked like he had a rather full pair of breasts.

Alastair surveyed the room, and all the other council members eyes were fixed firmly upon him. Anderson, Smith, Wesley and Carpenter were going to let him deal with this one. They backed him, but they weren’t going to let Jones know that.

“All I’m saying Arthur, is that we can take more. We have room. We have resources.”

Arthur didn’t respond.

“The world has changed Arthur, we cannot keep resisting. They need our help, we need to show compassion” Alastair pleaded.

Arthur unwrapped his arms and stood slowly, heaving his considerable frame out of the chair. He had always been a bully, from very young, and being bigger than the other children he learnt from an early age how to use his size to his advantage.

“I will not, and cannot, tolerate one more of those ‘things’ in our village!” He drew himself to his full height and puffed out his chest. He continued, now ignoring Jones and addressing the room “the world may have changed but we are not for changing gentleman. We belong to this village and this village belongs to us!”

Alastair tried to speak but Arthur was not for listening.

“When the rifts opened and those things came through, feasting and destroying and ruining our flower beds they didn’t show us any compassion. They didn’t show us any kindness!”

“Now come on Arthur”, Alastair exclaimed, “That was nearly 20 years ago. They need us, they have nowhere to go.”

“That is not true, they can go home!”

“Their home is dying, you know that. That’s why they’re here”.

Carpenter was about to speak, and noticing Arthur immediately pointed a finger at him “Giles, you surely don’t expect us to take in anymore given what happened to your Mary.”

Giles fell silent. No one spoke until Alastair broke the silence.

“That was low Arthur. You really didn’t need to bring that up.”

Alastair felt he was losing the battle. They had all suffered when the rift opened, they had all lost someone and they had all fought so hard to rebuild their village. The others were too afraid of Arthur to stand up to him, and he felt rather isolated.

Arthur didn’t care how Giles felt. He didn’t care how anyone felt. “So that’s decided then, we don’t take in any more of those confounded blue furred creatures. Let them rot I say!”

The other said nothing.

Arthur sat slowly, savouring the moment. He took a slow drink of water from the glass in front of him. “Moving on to point 2 on the Agenda then, Donations for the summer fete raffle…Giles, I believe that was one for you.”

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/moxie/

We unlikely few – An Armitage tangent

In a world gone mad, where nobody is safe and danger lurks at every turn, there are men who will answer the call to stand up for what is right and to defend the innocent in the face of impossible odds. Here tonight, in a quiet village pub in an unassuming English village, you might just find those men.

That is to say you might, but you won’t.

The men in this pub are like those men, just not quite as courageous or as athletic. They don’t possess the chiselled jaws or the superhuman powers of those other men and those other men possess a certain confidence with the ladies that these gentlemen most certainly lack . Here in this pub you will find men who would very much like to fight crime (given the right circumstances and good weather) but these men also recognise that a game of dominoes and a pint is a wholly safer endeavour and considerably less exerting. and pretty much never results in one losing a limb.

The last of the regulars had left and the landlord of The Three Pigeons had kindly closed up for the night and popped upstairs to bed asking them to lock up when they were finished and pop the key through the letterbox.

Trevor rapped his meaty knuckles onto the table loudly, “Order Gentlemen, Order please!” Silence fell and he continued. Physically he was a rather average and underwhelming man by most standards, other than his inordinately large hands. “Firstly, I would just like to thank you for coming this evening, these are dark times indeed and in times such as these it is incumbent on the likes of us to stand up and be counted.”

He paused for a moment, in his mind rather dramatically, staring at the ‘us’.

The ‘us’ mostly sat and waited to see what would come next. Trevor had always had a flair for the dramatic, it went back to his days in the local am-drams club. After a drink or two he could quite often be found recalling with much fondness , to anyone whom he might corner, details of his finest hour as Tony in West Side Story performed at the local church hall for a crowd of nearly 50.

“Our village is under threat from outside forces Chaps” he continued “and it is perhaps time for us to do something about it.” He stood quite still, legs akimbo, hands on hips.

Gerald, the local post master, was suddenly filled with the urge to sing ‘I’m a little tea pot’. He did not, but he was next to speak. “Trevor, don’t you think that we’re rather past it now? Is it not time for us to leave this sort of thing to a younger generation?”. A number of the others nodded and mumbled in agreement. Johnson, the cricket club chairman and first team captain, even managed as much as a “Too bloody right!”

Trevor looked rather hurt as he liked to think he was something of a local leader. “No, I think it is precisely that attitude that has got this country in the mess that it’s in to be honest and …”

“Now hold on Trevor” Gerald interrupted, suddenly somewhat vexed. “This country is in the mess it is in because a sodding great space time rift opened up and the majority of people went completely bonkers, the government collapsed and we…” he took a deep breath “and we have god knows what spilling out of the rift and making a jolly great mess of everything!”

“Here here” mumbled Johnson., now starting to feel somewhat braver, probably down to the three pints he’d enjoyed earlier.

Trevor drew himself up to his rather average full height of 5 foot 7 and puffed out his chest. He looked rather ridiculous.

“Well I for one am not willing to stand back and watch our village go the same way as the rest of the places around here. I am willing to fight back!”

“Fight against what Trevor?” Asked Alan Benson the local grocer, “you reckon we’re in the sort of shape to take on the likes of some of the things the local Rift Police have been tackling lately?”. He took a swift drink of his pint and slammed down the glass. “It’s getting worse Trevor. Just yesterday they had to rescue Mrs Billings the librarian from her prize winning rose bushes which had apparently grown sentient and were attempting to prune her arms off!”

“Good lord ” said Johnson.

“Bloody hell man” exclaimed Gerald.

Trevor was not to be deterred and pressed the point. “That is exactly the reason why we need to get the team back together and do something!” They other sat stony faced. “We cannot rely on the council or the Rift Police to protect us we need to look after our own.”

“Trevor, the team haven’t seen light of day for nearly 5 years now, what makes you think we still have it?”

Trevor felt he was making head way now. “You never lose it Alan, you know that. What we did and what we achieved is legend in these parts!”

“There is no way my suit is going to fit me anymore Trevor ” Alan protested. “I’m sadly more than the man I once was”. He looked down at his waistline. Time had been rather unkind he felt, given the food shortages and rationing they’d been subjected to since it all started. “I promised the wife that Id given up on all that super power business”.

“You cant avoid destiny Alan” said Trevor.

“Destiny? Good god man – we were sucked into and then spat out of a rift on the way back from a boozy weekend watching darts in Blackpool and ended up with the world’s most ridiculous super powers. That’s hardly destiny!”

Alan took a deep breath. He knew things were getting worse, he had hoped these days were over though. They weren’t particularly effective super heroes, in fact they were rather poor and far too fond of tea and biscuits to really commit fully to the endeavour.

“Do you know there’s a chap in the next village along that can breathe fire Trevor ” he asked “Fire. From his mouth. Like a bloody great dragon!”

“We may not breathe fire Alan but by god man you’re The Bee!” he exclaimed dramatically. “You strike fear into the heart of those who would do us harm!”

“I can hover four foot off the ground wearing a striped yellow suit Trevor!” he shouted “that is absolutely no use unless you have a cat stuck in a very small tree”.

Trevor knew that if he could get Alan on board the others would follow. “Alan, our suits may not fit but we are still those self same men we were five years ago. We made a difference, and surely we have to try.”

“Oh bugger” interrupted Johnson, knowing that this was a losing battle.

“All I’m saying is let’s give this a shot eh” Trevor continued. He knew he was nearly there. He needed this, he needed to feel what he’d felt all those years ago. He had always believed that they had been chosen for greater things. “How about we get together tomorrow morning at half 9 and…”

“I cant” said Johnson “I need to take the cat to the vet.

“How about half ten then? We all ok with half ten? You can come to my place, we’ll have a nice cup of tea and work out a bit of a plan.” Trevor already had a plan though. He had spreadsheets and rotas and maps and schedules all lined up. This time “The Accountant was ready.

“Fine” said Alan sighing. “Let’s see how it goes but no promises ok”

The others nodded in agreement

Trevor grinned. “Bee, Stretchy Legs, Frog Boy – I think this deserves another pint!”

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/bumble/

Pile them high – Daily prompt

Breathing heavily Bjorn leaned on his bloodied battle axe, surveying the carnage before him. The smell of war and death filled the air and screams of the dying could be heard from every direction.

“And what exactly are we supposed to do with this lot?” he pondered, crows already picking hungrily at the dead.

Helgar laughed. “Don’t look at me my friend, they can lay here and rot for all I’m concerned.” He scratched his thick beard, matted with blood. “And besides” he continued, “My back is killing me and there is no way I’m piling up the dead. And besides have you seen this blister! Digging holes like this Christians prefer will make a right old mess of my hand” Helgar thrust out a bloodied hand, a large blister forming on the webbing between thumb and fore finger. “Look, it really hurts!”

“Oh don’t give me that about your back” Bjorn replied, heaving a large scarred shield from the ground “you’re always going on about it. It looked perfectly fine when you were hacking that Goth’s head off!”

Helgar wasn’t a fan of manual labour. Pillaging and raping were all good and well but fetching and carrying wasn’t for him. “Oh how dare you, you’re one to talk!” he replied, “Were it not for me and my axe you’d have been crow meat by now!”

“How about we just finish off some of the dying and decide then, how does that sound?”

Helgar loved finishing off the dead. It was one of his favourite things, that and ale. And women of course – apart from those British ones he’d encountered in Britannia – they were a rather unpleasant lot. His blue eyes twinkled and a broad smile spread across his bloodied face. “I think I’ll use a sword today though, given how my back aches. It’s a bit less wearing than swinging an axe you know”. He winked at Bjorn playfully.

“Oh will you shut up about your back! “Said Bjorn, swinging his axe casually into the chest of a young Goth warrior who lay groaning as he clutched a rather nasty stomach would.

“Ooh look at this” Helgar exclaimed, reaching down to snatch a gold pendant from around the neck of a fat corpse. “This will look great with that cloak I took from that priest last week!”

“Oh I like that“, said Bjorn, slowly pushing his thick blade into the heart of a young shield maiden “it’s a bit like that one I wore to Tobar’s wedding.”

Helgar remembered it well. “Oh now that was a great night! That roast they had was gorgeous. I’ve never tasted anything like it.”

“I think it was the salt and garlic you know” said Bjorn. “I spoke to him afterwards and he said the fellow for Aarlsberg has a chap who gets it for him”.

Bjorn pulled out a small knife and bending down slit the throat of an older Goth chieftain. “Funny you know Helgar, I like to send off the older ones a little more intimately.”

Helgar snorted “you’re all heart my friend”.

Bjorn wiped his blade and put it back in it’s sheath on his belt. “You know what else I was thinking?”

“What” said Helgar.

“I was thinking about doing some poetry”.

“Whooooo” exclaimed Helgar excitedly as he removed the head of a chap who was already missing an arm. “Poetry you say? I did a bit when I was younger you know.”

“Did you Really?” Bjorn responded, “I never had you down as the poetic type”

“Oh yeah, did a great piece about a long boat once. I painted a rather vivid picture apparently”.

“Hmmm” Bjorn mused. “I’m definitely going to have a go when we get back to the village. I always get a bit bored when pillaging season is over”

“Great idea” Helgar replied. “It will help you relax. Lately I’ve been doing some basket making. Helps immensely with the creative urges”.

“Well you are a dark horse aren’t you“.

“Oh yeah” he grinned, stabbing a thrashing horse in the eye and driving his blade deep into its brain until it lay still on the blood stained grass. “What a waste of a bloody good horse!”

Helgar adjusted his armour; it had a terrible habit of riding up on him. “You hungry?”

“Starving” Bjorn replied, “Have you got anything to eat? “

“No but I left some bread up with the rest of my stuff up on the hill. Shall we go get something to eat and carry on with this later?”

“Sounds good to me, we can finish this later they’re not going anywhere”. He smiled. “We can take a look at that blister as well”.

Https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/bury/

Playground – Daily prompt

Caleb looked up from the floor, head spinning and the metallic taste of blood in his mouth. He breathed in deeply, wiping his bleeding lip against the back of his hand. Ben towered over him menacingly, almost willing him to stand up. He was a foot taller and more than that wider and he had a short fuse and a mean right hook

“Get up Caleb!” he roared. “Not got such a big mouth now have you!”

The gathered crowd chanted Ben’s name loudly, cries of “hit him again” and “Kick him” could be heard above the general hubbub. It wasn’t that they particularly disliked him or liked Ben, kids are just like that. No explaining, they just side with the bigger kid sometimes – perhaps out of fear – and on this occasion Ben was definitely the bigger kid.

“Ben please” stammered Caleb, his fists clenched and his heart pounding wildly in his chest “I didn’t mean anything by it honest”.

A tall boy in Blue jeans a black tee shirt leant in and whispered something in Ben’s ear. Ben smiled and took a step closer to Caleb. Caleb stayed down, his eyes fixed intently on his adversary expecting another blow any moment.

“Come on” he said, reaching out a hand to help Caleb up, “get up its fine I won’t hit you again”.

Caleb breathed a sigh of relief, he couldn’t take another shot like that. His mouth hurt like hell and he was already welling up and on the verge of tears. He wanted to go home to his mum and to forget this day had ever happened.

“Thanks Ben” he muttered, taking Ben’s hand and letting him pull him to his feet. “I really didn’t mean to…”

Ben hit him another almighty blow this time square to the nose, his head snapping back and his knees buckling as he fell to the ground. He started to cry, blood now running from his nose as well as his lip.

The Children were silent for a moment as he fell into a crumpled heap, holding his face and sobbing until they suddenly erupted into a cacophony of howls and cheers. Some patted him on the back, others acting out the punch they had just witnessed.

Ben stood over him again, a vicious smile on his face and nostrils flared. Caleb didn’t look up.

“See you at school tomorrow Mummy’s little cry baby!” he snarled.

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/savage/

Armitage – Part 4

It’s all good and well gallivanting to heavens knows where wearing only a thin summer jacket” she shouted, “but what if it’s cold. What then?

“Because the council receptionist said so” was apparently in no way an acceptable explanation for Mrs Shanks as to why her husband would be setting off to his almost certain doom shortly after a hearty breakfast. She though of herself as rather tolerant of her husband short comings, and not especially demanding but this was wholly unacceptable.

***You may notice a change from 1st person. Ill go back and change the other three parts tomorrow – proving a bit messy and restrictive to do it that way***

Hysterical as she may have become she was also a practical woman. He didn’t even have a decent pair of walking boots, never mind whatever else one requires to enter a space time fracture! What about the children? What was she supposed to tell them?

“It’s all good and well gallivanting to heavens knows where wearing only a thin summer jacket” she shouted, “but what if it’s cold. What then?”

Armitage wrapped his arms around her pulling her close. 17 years they had been together and despite all the reasons they both had to dislike one another they still made each other happy enough to still be together and were for the most part a rather good match.

“Kate, we both Know how things work” he said. “Since when does anything make sense anymore.”

Armitage put his hands on her shoulders. She looked tired, her eyes red and her face pale and drawn.

“I’m doing this for you and the boys, they’ve assured me you’ll be looked after while I’m away”.

Armitage had some vague recollection of the receptionist making a promise along those lines. He also recalls more clearly her offering to cast him into the rift with his family if he preferred, which of course he did not.

They’d been up all night going through the same things over and over, and getting precisely nowhere. They had decided that they would not be telling the children, but beyond that none of this made sense. There were endless rumours and speculation about what had come through the rift, and what they were, but none of it ever made what passed for news these days.

“I’ve a mind to go down there and give her a piece of my mind” she said, though Armitage knew full well that she wouldn’t. He shuddered at the thought of her confronting the receptionist. It was pretty obvious to him that there was something very unnatural about her and he made it quite clear to his wife that in no way was she to go to the council offices.

“Lets just have breakfast before the boys wake up” he said, taking her hand and heading to the kitchen. “I could do with a cup of team and some toast. Do we have any marmalade?”

A nice cup of tea and a few slices of toast and lime marmelade later he kissed his wife, reminding her of how much he loved them all, popped on his light summer jacket and headed out the door. He didn’t look back but he knew she was watching from the window, tears streamlining down her face.

He reached the end of the street and was about to turn down towards the bus stop when a battered old VW beetle pulled up next to him. The driver rolled down the window and called him over.

“Mr Shanks” the man said, a long thin finger beckoning him over “Please, get in”.

He was a middle aged man with blonde hair and a head that seemed to be too large for the body it sat atop. His piercing blue eyes were also more widely positioned on his head than you would expect, so much so that the combination of the two gave him the look of a startled gold fish.

Little did Armitage know, but that was precisely what his driver was. Or had been. Many things had come through the rift and even more things had gone into the rifts that were scattered around the globe. Mr Goodwin was the result of one of the earliest experiments. He went in a fairground gold fish and came out the creature that was now revving the mustard coloured Beetle impatiently.

Armitage climbed in the passenger seat pulling the door closed, the seat belt clicking reassuredly.

“Call me Goodwin” the fish headed gentleman said, putting the car into gear and pulling out into the road. He was wearing a black suit, white shirt and black tie. He smelled a little damp, like a towel that hasn’t been hung up properly after being used. “You really must have upset somebody to get this gig”

Armitage – Part 3

If I were to believe in the biblical fire and brimstone version of hell (which I do not) then I am quite certain that in it, perhaps somewhere near the back where the sulphur is particularly thick and the gnashing of teeth especially loud, there would be a special corner reserved for council office officials. I am also of the mind that in that particularly hot and fiery corner there would most definitely be an area of exceptional unpleasantness reserved for the receptionists which greet you as you enter most government premises.

A letter received earlier in the week had asked that I appear in person at the council Department for Local Amenities to confirm that I was still alive, and that I should bring identification and proof of residence. Given all we had been through you would be forgiven for thinking that the local officials might be understanding over such things as a misplaced drivers license or lack of a recent bank statement. They are not. A global apocalyptic event may have been enough to bring down some governments but the trusted English council had prevailed throughout and if I wanted to continue to receive the family rations then I had best turn up, and I most certainly had best ensure I had the correct paperwork.

Having clambered onto the number 548 bus which, with the exception of a rather bland looking gentleman wearing mostly beige and carrying a small brown brief case, was completely empty I had held high hopes for an uneventful trip into town. Like most of us, the bus had seen better days and would under normal circumstances have been scrapped long ago, but it remained in service and its damaged body work, faded red paint and torn and battered interior still ran it’s route three times a day. As it spluttered and lurched along the winding road towards town we passed through areas of complete desolation, buildings ramshackle and burned out and then through others which were untouched by what had happened- pretty stone dwellings with pristine gardens and rose covered arches soaking up the late summer sun. The juxtaposition of the two a stark reminder of just how quickly things can change.

The only thing of real note e- route was the American diner which hovered about 3 foot from the ground on the final bend before entering the town centre. It hung there in just the way that a diner should not. A neon “Belle’s” sign buzzed and crackled in the window and a smaller “Open” one fizzed away happily just below it. The diner had simply appeared one day, fortuitously appearing just where nothing else was and was then immediately declared an out of bounds ‘Rift Event’ and cordoned off by the local constabulary. Despite that, day and night People can be seen inside eating whatever it is people eat in diners and by all accounts having a jolly good time.

We left the diner behind us and I was soon off the bus, taking the long way round to pick up a newspaper and heading over to the council office. They were mostly what you would expect from a council office. A cold stone façade housed a series of perfectly acceptable but wholly unremarkable windows behind which could be found an array of equally unremarkable and wholly officious individuals. Paper was shuffled, files were filed and tea was enjoyed at exactly 10.30 am and 3 pm every day. Biscuits would be enjoyed once a week by rota and dunking was frowned upon but not expressly forbidden.

Ahead of me in the queue was the beige chap from the bus who was hurriedly stuffing a pile of papers back into his briefcase. He hastily tucked it under his arm and head down scurried past me, dark rings around dark eyes set into a gaunt face, accentuated by the paleness of his skin. Stood waiting, somewhat nervously I will admit, I was summonsed to step forward.

The woman behind the high counter possessed an uncanny ability to make the word “NEXT!” sound like a challenge to a knife fight after a rather pleasant and leisurely few pints down at the local pub after work. You’d swear there had been an innocuous misunderstanding over who’s pint was who’s, and she was now ready to show me who was boss out in the car park. I’d had dealings with bureaucratic and immovable individuals before but her summons was a wholly jarring and difficult experience from anything I had encountered.

Not that she wasn’t pleasant to look at, she was. So much so that her appearance threw me in the same way that the ghastly thought of a good stabbing had. Classically beautiful, with striking green eyes, sharp cheek bones and long straight blonde hair. She stretched out a hand to take the paperwork I pushed towards her. Something about her very presence filled me with foreboding and the knot in my stomach urged me to make a hasty exit. Something felt wrong.

She said nothing, staring intently at me for somewhat longer than I was comfortable with and as I averted my gaze my name was called.

“Mr Armitage Shanks, how very nice to meet you”. She seemed to boom loudly, like a pompous headmaster might bellow at an unruly pupil, yet there was a chilling coldness to her voice which I felt in my bones.

A small diamante piercing in her upper lip caught the light as she pushed the paper work back at me. My first thoughts were that a piercing in such a prominent position was surely not compliant with council dress code. That was followed by one which wondered why she had not actually looked at my documents to know my name. A third followed soon after, puzzling why at no point had she actually opened her mouth to speak the words I had heard. Thinking back I couldn’t recall her speaking even when she had called me over. I’m pretty certain that I had heard her, but what I had heard was in my head.

“We have a job for you Mr Shanks” she spoke. I say spoke but obviously I’ve made it quite clear that I am hearing her in my head at this point. I don’t wish to labour it but it was rather off putting

Confused, I mumbled something about needing to be getting home it was pie night and not wanting to miss it”

She boomed in my head again, pain shooting between my ears. I thought I was going to vomit.

“It was not a request Mr Shanks, it is an order and I was simply being polite. If you wish to continue feeding your family and availing yourself of the wonderful facilities the council so generously provides then you will do as I ask”

From that point on things get a little hazy. The pain was excruciating – that I recall, and I must have agreed to her request at some point as the pain did eventually stop. I remember the bus and the trip home vaguely too.

The one thing I am certain about though is that tomorrow I’m apparently going to The Rift. So that could be the end of this.

Abandoned – Daily prompt

The eternal glow and flicker of neon flashed across the wet streets as it did every day and night. Not that the two were discernible. Time stops mattering when the skies are forever black and incessant rain falls onto a once vibrant world washing away all hope and joy. Cloaked figures scurry from one place of refuge to another, dodging puddles with hoods pulled close over sallow faces. A world drowning – floundering and gasping for breath drifting through the blackness of space waiting to die. In the shadows the damned whisper tales of a different time, a time when the palette of life with its grey and brown was vibrant and alive but those days are lost now to all but a few. So they wait, clinging onto hope that the exploration ships will return to take them away, that they will be rescued from the planet that has rejected them and that they will be part of a new future for humanity. But it has been so long – beyond memory now – since the ships left.

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/pluck/

Armitage – Part 2

When we eventually dusted ourselves off and sat down with a nice cup of tea to discuss with our visitors what next we were one of just a few nations that were able to do so.

Leaving the house is not something I look forward to these days. Since the world went completely and utterly mad you never really know what will happen out there. We’re not just talking your regular run of the mill low level straight jacket kind of mad here. This is not even your talking to lamp posts, remaining unbathed and obsessive hoarding level of insanity. This was full on global hysterics and for the most part a complete melt down of rational society and a failure of the majority of global infrastructure and government.

When the rifts opened It took about a week for the major religions to take up arms, and despite the best efforts of those nations less inclined to hacking up one another with machete’s the conflicts escalated and spread. Governments intervened, and obviously that did not end well. Its quite terrifying to see what happens when a planet’s belief system is thrown out of the window. As it turns out it proved rather difficult for the devout to insist that we were alone in the universe when the things coming out of the rift provided evidence to the contrary. They didn’t respond well. No one did really and it wasn’t our finest hour as a species. We should have been embracing our new horizons and looking to skies but instead we were setting fire to one another, stealing flat screen televisions and throwing quite fabulous end of the word parties. Rumour is that there is still one raging in London that has been going on for nearly half a decade.

By the time a semblance or normality returned the world was a very different place. Large swathes of the planet were uninhabitable, the majority of the planet’s population lay dead or dying and for those that remained…well we contend with this reality in the best way we can. Fortunately the British were less affected by the events than most nations. Being an island helped isolate us from the chaos that engulfed the majority of the globe and our reserve and general lack of outward enthusiasm for most things coupled with an aversion to organised religion most certainly helped dampen the hysteria. That isn’t to say we didn’t suffer, we did. We lost nearly 35 million to conflict and starvation and most of the major urban centres lay in ruins afterwards but somehow we survived.

When we eventually dusted ourselves off and sat down with a nice cup of tea to discuss with our visitors what next we were one of just a few nations that were able to do so. They explained that as It turns out they were frightfully sorry about the mess that they had made of things and that the rifts that were opened across the globe were something of an experiment gone wrong and that all they really wanted was to not have met us because we seemed like a pretty awful lot.

We in turn explained that that was rather rude of them and that it really is difficult to maintain law and order and rebuild your country when the contents of the universe is randomly spilling out onto your planet like celestial flotsam and the least they could do would be to accept a degree of responsibility and to help us to clean up the mess. Eventually they agreed and provided technology to stabilise the tears in time and space to prevent them spreading but once done they helped themselves to all of our tea supplies and the majority of our biscuits and went back to wherever they came from without so much as a “have a nice day”.

And that’s why I don’t want to go outside. I have no idea just what will be out there today and the last time I ventured to the council offices it took me a week to get home due to getting caught in a localised time loop. I complained to them about the matter but I am pretty sure that they didn’t care. I know that because the unhelpful woman on the reception desk informed me of that very fact.