Flash Fiction Friday – One Thousand

The Last Job

It was Oliver Twister’s last job. His family, those who were still speaking to him, thought he was going straight. Well robbing a betting shop was not theft, the punters had already given their money away.  His family and the probation officer thought he was clean and he was more or less, given that he could no longer afford to pay the drug dealers. Money was short; hence his latest plan. Nobody would stop him, who would risk their life to save the bookie’s money? Not that they would be risking their lives, but if they believed they were about to be shot or gassed they would flee the shop.

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It was Bill’s last visit to the betting shop, that’s what he had vowed to himself. He was supposed to ring his ‘Gamblers’ Anonymous Buddy’ if he got the urge. But this was not gambling, it was a certainty; he had followed the horse since she was a filly and everything was in her favour for the ‘three fifteen’ at Ascot. The jockey had notched up several wins with her, the wet weather made for the soft track that she loved and Ascot was her ‘lucky’ course. When Bill read in Racing Times that the favourite was out of the race with a tendon injury, he knew he must place one more bet.

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It was Samuel’s first visit to ‘The Bookies’. He had won ten pounds when he bought himself a lottery ticket for his eighteenth birthday, that in itself had been an act of rebellion against his Exclusive Brethren parents. A bloke at work assured him this was a good omen and gave him an excellent tip for the ‘three fifteen’ at Ascot; there was no reason why his parents or the elders of the church should find out. The only problem that he could foresee was that he had not a clue how to place a bet. When he walked into the shop trying to look casual, the first person he saw behind the counter was Lara, the beautiful girl he had worshipped from afar when she was in upper sixth and he was in fifth year.

‘Is it young Sam? I bet you don’t recognise me,’ she trilled ‘don’t tell the elders you’ve seen me working here, my aunty goes to your church. I need a part time job, my student loan isn’t enough.’ She helped him place the bet. ‘Just in time, you can watch it live on the telly in five minutes.’

There was only one other customer in, who looked like a regular, but their cosy chat was suddenly interrupted.

The door burst open and a gun entered, followed by an outstretched arm belonging to a large man wearing a contraption on his face that looked like a gas mask. They could not hear properly what he said, but they got the general idea when he waved his gun at Lara and Samuel. As Lara screamed, another primeval cry came from Bill the regular punter. He launched himself at the masked man, catching him off balance, but it was not enough. For a split second Samuel was paralysed with fear, but he focused on the dangerously waving arm and pistol.

Somehow the robber was face down on the floor. The older punter was sitting on him and Samuel had the arm pinned to the floor.

‘Don’t touch the gun,’ said Bill ‘it might go off.’

Samuel knelt on the robber’s wrist to make sure the weapon stayed at floor level, pointing away from them. A muffled cry came from the robber.

‘Shall I press the alarm’ said Lara, rather belatedly.

‘Not yet love, the race starts in two minutes.’ Bill pressed down heavily on the robber’s shoulders. ‘Nobody robs our bookies, no one threatens our Lara.’ He felt like a cowboy.

A faint gurgle was the only reply.

It seemed a long wait till the race started, but in seconds it was over. Bill cheered, while a confused Samuel asked which horse had won. Lara pressed the button.

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The police were quick to arrive and Lara was thrilled to be surrounded by hunky officers, who seemed more interested in her welfare than the prisoner.

‘I pressed the alarm button straight away’ she said.

‘Well done.’ They turned to the men on the floor. ‘Okay chaps, don’t move till we’ve got the handcuffs on.’

The prisoner did not try to resist; when Bill and Samuel struggled to their feet the prisoner did not move at all. The officers turned him over and with difficulty removed the fake gas mask.

‘Bloody hell.’

Suddenly all hell did break loose, one officer was urgently calling on his radio for an ambulance, while the others whipped bits and pieces out of their first aid pouches. Something was put on the robber’s blue face and a policeman started blowing, while another pressed on his chest.

Just as Lara kissed Sam’s cheek to thank him for saving her life, he looked down at the body and realised the full implications. He fainted.

Bill raised his feet while Lara patted his cheek.

The paramedics shook their heads, but soon had the man on a stretcher with an oxygen mask where the gas mask had recently been.

As the sirens receded into the distance the remaining officers chatted for a few moments in a surprisingly light hearted manner. Bill thought he heard one say ‘Oliver Twister’s finally got his come-uppance then, he won’t be missed.’

They put on more serious expressions as they turned to the two men.

‘We have to arrest you for murder of course, but it seems like a clear cut case of self defence, the CCTV will prove you saved the young lady’s life. You don’t need to worry about being charged with murder.’

‘CCTV,’ groaned Bill ‘I’m not worried about the murder charge… my wife will kill me when she finds out where I’ve been.’

‘We won’t be on the news will we?’ said Samuel ‘How am I going to explain this to my parents and the elders?’

‘At least you both won some money’ said Lara sweetly.

 

 

Sunshine Blogger Award Nomination

Thanks to Cheryl of The Cornucopia Allotment for nominating me. Here are my answers to Cheryl’s ten questions, followed by bloggers I have nominated and questions I have chosen.

https://thecornucopiaallotment.wordpress.com/home-page/

1.What is your favourite Flower?   Very hard to decide as I love so many, but perhaps the humble nasturtium, relative of the cabbage; their simple citrus colour flowers zing even on a grey day. I scatter seeds and when other flowers are past their best they pop up.

2- What landscape instils calm on a chaotic day?  The sea or a high hill looking down, what may be noisy below is reduced to a pleasant hum or complete silence.

3- What is your strongest practical skill?   Probably anything to do with needles.

4- What is your favourite craft?   Knitting and crochet, they are relaxing sharing with friends or watching television, but I would love to be able to create beautiful textile pictures.

5- What is your most unusual food craving?  Not sure, but I do love traditional mashed potato and roasted red peppers.

6- What if anything, is on your learning bucket list?  Vastly improving my digital age skills.

7- Have you a favourite author for a rainy day? Tim Winton, Australian novelist, born in Perth where I spent my teenage years, his books transport me back to a hot country.

8- To me sweetcorn tastes of summer! What is your sunshine food? Home grown cherry tomatoes taste of sunshine.

9- If you had the chance to learn to grow anything what would it be? Sweet peas, they smell so divine, but I have never had much success.

10- If money was no object what type of garden would you design? A sunny hillside; near the house would be the walled garden full of abundant herbaceous borders and raised vegetable beds. Descending to the winding river below would be narrow paths among trees and then a grassy spot to sit by the river. Everything would be planted to attract wildlife. As money is no object I would have a head gardener training youngsters and I would just float around dead heading and cutting sweet peas for indoors.

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The bloggers I am nominating are just a few of the bloggers who make me laugh, take me to new places or help other bloggers. No pressure, if you want to have a go answer some or all of the questions. If any other bloggers want to join in you are very welcome.

Anita Dawes and Jaye Marie

Beetleypete

Biff Sock Pow

Bluebird of Bitteness

Life and Soul Magazine

Notes From The UK

Stevie Turner

Here’s what to do!

1- Give a big thank you to the person who nominated you so others can find them!

2-Answer the questions from the blogger who nominated you.

3-Nominate other bloggers and ask them your own set of questions!

4- Let the nominees know about the nomination in one of their posts!

5-List the rules and the Sunshine Award nomination on your own site.

6- Let the fun begin!

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  1. If money and responsibilities were no problem where would you like to live and write?
  2. Many writers have pets draped over their keyboard or under their desk. If you could choose one creature to be your pet what would it be? You can opt for anything from a spider to an elephant.
  3. If you were invited to talk about your book on television or the radio which programme would you like to appear on?
  4. Which famous person would you be thrilled to have following your blog?
  5. You have decided to go on an adventurous expedition to achieve fantastic sales for your book. Where would you go?
  6. Number five didn’t work so you must fake your own death to boost sales, what sort of demise would you choose?
  7. You have been invited to a garden party at Buckingham Palace. You are most excited because A. You will meet the Queen. B. A loved one accompanying you deserves a day out. C. You like cake. D. You like looking round other people’s gardens. E. It will make a good topic for your blog. F. Excellent research for you novel.
  8. Research is hard work so you decide to use a time machine for your historical or futuristic novel. Which time will you travel to?
  9. Number six went drastically wrong, who did you leave your manuscripts and intellectual property to in your will?

 

 

 

 

Silly Saturday – How to Cheat at Poetry

Kite

The flight of a kite

Is a glorious sight

As it reaches great height

To the watcher’s delight.

 

On the Isle of Wight

It’s quite a sight

To show your might

In the annual kite flight.

 

At the regular site

They hold their strings tight,

Fly blue, red and white

If the wind is just right.

 

The rules some will cite

As day turns to night…

His kite was too light

Her cords were not right.

 

The flight of a kite

Is a glorious sight

As it reaches great height

To the winner’s delight.

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How long is a poem, how long is a piece of string?

With more than 220000 (100000 shloka or couplets) verses and about 1.8 million words in total, the Mahābhārata is the longest epic poem in the world.

The early English epic poem Beowulf comes to just over 3,000 lines, while Samuel Taylor Coleridge’s The Rime of the Ancient Mariner runs to 625 lines.

But there is no need to write lots of words and lines, follow this simple plan. Think of one word, write down as many words as you can that rhyme with it… then start writing without thinking too deeply…

 

For more poetry cheats visit Chapter Six at my website…

https://www.ccsidewriter.co.uk/chapter-six-fiction-focus/

 

 

Rays of Sunshine!

I am one of the bloggers nominated by Cheryl for a Rays of Sunshine Bloggers’ award. thecornucopiaallotment is bursting with creativity as a busy Mum enjoys indoor and outdoor crafts she can share with her children.

thecornucopiaallotment's avatarThe Cornucopia Allotment

Thankyou Nanny Maryanne for your nomination! I have used my daughters afternoon nap to prepare the post to the highest standard as I could not find a sunshine blogger pic anywhere I chose my own! It really was unexpected in response to a blog on February Frosts, however I am grateful you appreciated it!

1-Why did you begin blogging?

I wanted to test out old computer skills and built my website, so I decided to share what I have learnt so, I started a blog to share my knowledge and skills.

2- What do you think is most important in life?

To make the most of everything  you have, to pass on the elements of life which matter! Skills, knowledge, resourcing and planning are key to reducing stress and ensuring a balance which can often make you feel positive and satisfied without costing a fortune. This is why I enjoy…

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Friday Flash Fiction – Digital Dialogue – The Interpreter

Local man speaking in the tongue of his forefathers: It’s that time of year again, my annual trip out of town to see the land of my ancestors, earn a bit extra, but mainly have a laugh.

Interpreter: We have lived in this land for many generations, since time began, my grandfather was the village elder.

Local man: Who’s this idiot with the microphone – still, at least they haven’t brought Jeremy Clarkson.

Interpreter: We welcome you back to our village, now we have the well you built last year our women do not have to walk miles to collect water.

 Local man: Thank goodness I don’t live in this godforsaken village, if only they had a decent pub instead of that hole in the ground which dried up two months ago.

Interpreter: I had fourteen children, only three live, if we could build a clinic other wives would not die in childbirth like mine.

Local man: These ridiculous rags are so uncomfortable, I bet the villagers will be glad to get back into their denims.

Interpreter: It is too far for the children to walk to school.

Local man: The village children have all got the day off school again, hoping to get some freebies if they smile for the cameramen.

Interpreter: We send greetings to our dear friends in Great Britain.

Local man: Must remember to skype my cousin in Slough, remind him to watch Charity In Action, see what he thinks of my performance.

 

 

 

 

The Right Writers

‘So you’re going to go into a room full of strangers and read a piece of your writing to them?’ said Cyberspouse, aghast, with no idea of what I would read.

‘I guess it’s like Alcoholics Anonymous’ I replied.

I had found a phone number in the local arts directory; at last we were living somewhere that actually had an arts directory. The only piece of new writing I possessed was the article written for the local newspaper’s annual competition be a journalist for a day. It was titled The Oldest Profession in the World, which actually referred to being a stay at home mother. The tutor at the writing group said The Echo probably was not ready for my sense of humour and little wonder I was not one of the five chosen for a week of guest reporters.

The group met weekly except for a summer and Christmas break and at each meeting we read our work and handed it in for a short written critique to be received the following week; a simple formula that spurred me on to start writing short stories. This is the group I still go to, same tutor, a few of us who have belonged for over a decade and lots of interesting characters who have come and gone for a variety of reasons including final departures. Along the way it was suggested I try a novel…

There have been other groups I have tried, looking to broaden my outlook and find out more about publishing. One group met in a coffee shop; the other writers were varied and interesting, but the woman who ran it spent a lot of time talking about herself, the coffee shop was noisy and she expected us to give her £5 for the privilege.

A good while ago a creative hub was started very near to where I live, the altruistic landlords charging a peppercorn rent. I imagined meeting all sorts of creative people, perhaps somebody with their own publishing company – all writers can dream. The woman who ran this group read her own work, which wasn’t very good, then one day decamped from the hub, taking half the group with her and telling one of the remainers she could run it. We carried on and we’re still going, a tiny core of enduring members. Along the way we were thrown out of the original building when the admin person’s ‘issues’ came to the fore, met at each other’s houses, then disbanded and reformed at the library to be rid of an obnoxious member. We have had some very strange people over the years, some only coming once or coming too often. But there have been good writers we were sorry to lose.

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One of my local writer friends has never set foot in a group and prefers to stay home writing; he has written a lot of books. But most writers seem to enjoy meeting others; it is energising and a good way to get feedback.

Some groups produce their own anthologies and run competitions, alas not ours. There is so much great writing I have heard and novels unfinished that I was looking forward to reading; proof indeed how important it is to preserve your writing, self publish or print and keep it safe, but don’t abandon it.

We all belong to a big global writing group, WordPress and other on line worlds, but do you find it helpful to meet up with real people locally at groups and conferences, or do you avoid them like the plague?

Most of my short stories were inspired by topics given at writers’ group. I have published four collections of  short fiction.

 

Silly Saturday – Unaward Winning Wildlife Photography

It can be dangerous for the wildlife photographer out in the New Forest far from civilisation.

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And the camera crew may spend weeks on location letting the wild creatures get used to their presence.

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Any suggestion that some shots are not genuine is strongly refuted.

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When animals have young to protect there is a great risk they will attack the photographer.

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A rare sighting thought to be unique.

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A camerman may spend hours waiting patiently for a shot of a rare bird.

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Police have issued a new picture of the bird feeder vandal.

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The crow family are so intelligent they take their own selfies.

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The team travelled to South America to get pictures of guinea pigs in their natural habitat.

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For more of the photographer’s work visit the gallery.

https://www.ccsidewriter.co.uk/chapter-three-picture-gallery/

Friday Flash Fiction – 390 – Customers

The shop was so quiet I wondered if I had made a mistake moving to a market town. I didn’t mind the minimum wage, there was nothing to spend money on around here, but it was the boredom I couldn’t take.

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Suddenly a loud voice bellowed from the aisle, but it was just a son taking his deaf elderly mother shopping. The only other customers were on the other side of the shop, a screaming toddler strapped in a buggy pushed by her great granny, or perhaps a great great granny. The little old lady was trying to reach the disposable nappies on the top shelf. I could not leave the till and the other staff were in the stock room coping with the delivery.

And then he walked in. Tall and broad shouldered with burnished copper curly hair. He stared at me with a supercilious expression then wandered down the centre aisle, his shoulder brushing against a stack of toilet rolls, sending them to the floor. He turned into the next aisle and the mother and son moved aside for him. No one spoke. As he walked, a tower of tins came crashing down. I pressed the help button, without much hope of help coming.

As he walked back towards me the look in his eyes had turned to anger. I could not move out of his way and I was sure he intended to stab me.

At last the silence was broken as a new customer came in.

‘There’s a bull in the shop!’

The eye level horns veered away from me and he trotted down the third aisle. His head swayed and the tip of his horn caught the disposable nappies, a large packet dropped into the grateful arms of the great granny. The toddler stopped crying and called out excitedly ‘Doggy’.

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My finger was still pressed on the help button, but it seemed my colleagues had decided to stay locked in the store room.

Now through the door came a hunky young man with ruddy cheeks, chestnut wavy hair and a beard to match. He strode forward whistling, a hefty rope strung over his shoulder.

‘Come on Birtie, you’ve spent all your pocket money.’

Bertie did a three point turn, demolishing all the shelves. Then he lowered his head and charged towards his fleeing master.

 

 

 

 

 

Cause Without a Rebel

Cyberspouse says he will put on my gravestone…

‘She voted to Remain, but now she has Exit.’

In a previous incarnation, new in the area, making friends with a mother who had a little boy the same age as mine, she mentioned her husband was always out at meetings because he was on the local council. Which party? I innocently asked. Conservative she replied, shocked that I would need to ask. I have never aligned myself to any political party; I always vote, but I’m often still trying to decide who for on the walk to the polling station. Will my vote be wasted on the Too Good to be True party, should I vote for the independent candidate or for Big Party B to stop Safe Seat Party A getting in?

A referendum on leaving the European Union was talked about for so long I didn’t think it would really happen. Then suddenly it was happening so fast that nobody was ready and there certainly was not a plan for leaving. But this time I knew for sure what I would vote – Remain. I have never run a business, been a farmer or a fisherman and was not qualified to hand out my informed opinions, but I still knew I was right!

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We were never very good at being European, we never had EU flags fluttering proudly on all our buildings, many of us don’t bother to learn anyone else’s language, not all ex pats integrate.  But a straw poll of our immediate family adds up to fifteen different EU countries visited, often numerous times. Over the years journeys have ranged from school trips to Euro Disney, charity, visiting friends, holidays, training and work; so we and many other families are European in mindset and in DNA. Britons are also inclusive, even people who have never left these shores will be working, travelling and socialising with people from all over Europe and the rest of the world. No country is perfect but why would we dump friendships with some of the most civilised countries in the world and pal up with regimes that are at best undemocratic, and at worst evil? The sharing of defence, policing, science, environmental issues, industry, the arts and humane standards has developed over the decades, hand in hand with the promotion of peace.

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If I had known we would lose the referendum, I would have been blogging and Facebooking  frantically back in 2016…  even if no one was listening. If nothing else the whole Brexit fiasco has been such a waste of time and money when the planet needs saving and world problems sorting. Could it all have been avoided?

https://inews.co.uk/culture/stupid-david-cameron-believed-brexit-vote-would-never-happen-because-tories-couldnt-win-2015-election/p1090508

Have we all been riven apart? Families, friends, couples did vote differently, I don’t personally know of enduring feuds, perhaps we’re all united in our disgust at the behaviour and disloyalty of politicians to each other and their country. The Leavers had many different reasons. People did rightly feel forgotten by the government and saw it as their chance to be heard, others read the ‘wrong newspaper’ or ‘believed the lies’– but plenty of Leavers are intelligent and genuine and if they have any regrets it is over the way it has been handled, not because they admit to being wrong in the first place!

What happens next? I have no idea…