Awkward encounters

There is no mistaking those moans and grunts. Is this what The White Horse had come to? A place steeped in history that was once a landmark of the community! No wonder the previous management had gone bankrupt.

Well things were going to change now.

“OPEN UP,” I roared, pounding upon the locked door.

Terry peeped in hearing the commotion. “What’s going on boss?”

“Bloody shaggers!” I inform him. “GET OUT or I’m calling the cops,” I continue pounding.

The door was hastily opened by a red nosed lad and an obviously inebriated woman.

“It’s not what you think. The lady was feeling a bit under the weather and I was helping her out.”

“In the gentlemen’s toilet? I can imagine what you were helping her out with.”

“You can’t talk to us like that. We are paying customers,” the woman slurred.

“You and your money…OUT… NOW…”

“How dare you,” she balked, continuing her shameless protests.

It was Terry’s iron grip that led the belligerent couple out the door, and finally out of the establishment.

I was still simmering as I shut the door, only to turn around to face a well dressed portly gentleman.
“Excuse me,” he asked, “why did you shut the door on my wife?”

 


In response to the Sunday Photo Fiction challenge of 9th July based on photo prompt by A Mixed Bag 2014

 

Maverick

Tick Tick
I’m bored sick
All I do is nit pick
Tele’s full of chick flick
Shut the damn thing off quick
Expiry on my lipstick
I wish I were a maverick.

Well, sometimes I do.

I wish my every pore oozed joie de vivre and my life was filled with magic and romance. Ah, the tales I could then tell.
Had I been a princess, or a tramp, travelling around the world, meeting new and varied people, sampling exotic cuisine or gross concoctions, perhaps a few scrapes with the law or some clandestine trysts. How eventful my life would have been. What a grand biopic it could have made.

Instead, I spend my abundant free time visualising the lives of others and dreamscaping.

Honestly, it’s not as if circumstances held me back, because circumstances can be fought, they can be altered. I held me back. My laid-back, ever procrastinating, never put off until tomorrow what you can put off till the day after self held me back. Correction, holds me back.

People keep asking me how I spend my time. I don’t understand this fixation with spending your time. You don’t have to spend time, you just have to be, and time will pass.

I pass my time by watching time pass!

And then I wonder what it is that makes me want to go out and live my life but not want it enough to actually go out to live my life. I do.

I wish I were a maverick. Ah, the tales I could then tell…

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Ranting in response to Linda’s Stream of Consciousness Saturday prompt “ick.”

Pins

I look at the nice colourful pens in their fancy stand, displayed for all to see. Flashy things add to the aesthetic appeal.

Then there are pins.

Pins are cheap boring and functional. No one looks at pins except to use them. Great stress busters too. You can bend them into any shape you like, twist them any which way, shove them into a cheap disposable cup like the cheap disposable things that they are, and toss them out whenever you feel like cleaning house.

I look at the termination letter in my hand. Yup, I’m a pin.


In response to Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers prompt of 7th July 2017, based on a photo by Claire Sheldon

The running boy

The car slows to a an almost halt.

“Who lives here?” she asks me, staring at the strange derelict structure that appears to rise from the shrubbery and dissolve into the trees. “Do you know that old man?”

I jerk around to find a sickly face looking out from the broken window.

“No.”

There had been a man, tall, strong, who lived on this land, with his young wife and son. During the day he would tend to his fields and cattle, while she tended to the house and the boy. It was when the sun sank that the devil came calling.
He drank, and swore. He beat and pillaged the woman. The little boy knew that he must hide in the closet until the devil went away and his mama came for him. She had told him so.
One day the devil was much too loud and far too mean. The boy hid in mamas skirts and waited. He waited but mama never came.
So he sneaked out to look for her.
There she was, lying on the wet red floor, with a knife sticking out, while father snored upon the bed. The boy knew what he must do. The devil had to be exorcised like in the movie. Pulling out the knife he went and struck the devil. The man woke up with a great big roar. But boy jumped off and ran and ran and ran.

I don’t know where these strange memory flashes come from.
I do not know the boy. I do not know this man.

She slips her hand over mine as I start the car up. “I really don’t know why I came here,” I mumble as I drive away.

Beside my car I see the little boy still running.

 


In response to Michelle’s Photo-Fiction #94

My man and I

I’m sitting here in my car watching my man.

I love him, and he loves me. He’s shy, and says we can’t walks together or hold hands. That’s OK. We always hold hands in my dreams. He’s my man and I will always take care of him. Like the lunches I pack for him everyday, or the little surprises I leave by his door, and the sweet nothings I whisper into his phone.

He says I shouldn’t, but I know he loves it.

Yesterday some lawyer sent me a restraining order.

He didn’t do it. It’s his wife. But I know he doesn’t love her. Look, he’s not even holding hands.

In response to Bikurgurl’s 100 Word Wednesday challenge of Week 26.
My apologies to all the nice people in her photo for my creepy stalker story. I swear it’s just fiction 😉

Dangerous Rattlers

Jenny was engrossed watching the sunrise. No sooner had the sky lit up than she let out the most awful blood curdling scream.
Now Mark was still in bed. They were after all on vacation, and of what use is a vacation if a man cannot sleep in. But upon hearing her scream he jumped up and rushed out, without even wearing his spectacles, which is why he misjudged the first step, tumbled all the way down and broke his neck.

Jenny let out a second blood curdling scream, which frightened the birds who flew off in a flurry, startling the rattle snake who slithered off in a hurry.

And yet the tale was thus told – adventurous Mark was killed by a rattlesnake.

In response to Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers‘ 122nd Challenge based on a photo prompt by Kecia Spartin.

When morning breaks

The steady beat of his heart calmed her tumultuous mind, and wrapped in the heat of his embrace, she fell asleep knowing she had made the right decision.

Her father was never going to accept their love.

“That low-life, gold-digger only wants your body and my money,” he had snarled. “Even that old pendant around your neck costs more than he can earn in a year. It’s easy to talk about true love when you are living in comfort. Two days without these luxuries and all that true love will vanish. Puff! ”

That night she had come to him. “Take me away right now,” she had wept. With a gentle smile he had taken her into his arms and made sweet hungry love.

*

She awoke shivering in the cold spiritless morning. Reaching for a blanket she realised there was nothing there. Nothing but her clothes lying in a heap. He was nowhere to be seen. Gasping she reached for the familiar comfort of her mother’s necklace. Even her neck was bare.

 


In response to The Sunday Photo Fiction‘s challenge of 2nd July based on a photo prompt by A Mixed Bag 2011

One very long road

I’m chagrined at the way at the way he’s dumped his clothes in two heaps – clothes and undergarments. The precarious book pile threatens to topple with the first draft. Only the laptop occupies a place of pride.

But he’s beaming with unbridled joy. A man in his man-cave.

As I rest my head on his shoulder, he wraps his arms around me. “Come on mom, It’s hardly far. Just one straight road.”

Yes.
One very long road.
One road that’s taken away my baby and left behind a man. One road that’s changed life as I know it.


In response to Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers‘ photo prompt

My special place

There is a very special staircase that leads up to heaven. Not many know of it, it is no architectural marvel or natural paradise, it draws no hoard of visitors, yet it draws me like a bee to honey.

With each step I feel my body relax and my burdens ease, a unique happiness that only one staircase in the world can give – the steps that lead up to my bedroom.

Obviously I’m biased, and why not…

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But there is another little slice of heaven near my home, a place where I can unwind with friends, or just chill out with a book.

A writer’s paradise…

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I just l♥ve the wall graffiti leading up 🙂

Thanks to Frank’s Tuesday Photo Challenge – Steps I get to share my haven with you.