fiction

Friday Flash Fiction – Roger

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Roger had enjoyed his exhilarating swim in the sea, but a breeze had sprung up and the others wanted to stroll through the gardens into town. They dodged other holiday makers, jumped over the rails onto the lawns and joined in a ball game with a group of teenagers. When they reached the square, someone suggested ice cream, but there was so much going on it was difficult to spot a kiosk. They weaved their way through shoppers and families, past a carousel, avoided a man singing out of tune and stared at a human statue, his gold skin glistening with sweat. They took in the exotic scents of the international food stalls, but as the sun reappeared from behind a cloud they still longed for ice cream.

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It was at this moment that Roger saw her, blond hair, perfect figure, alluring expression, but as he edged closer, away from the others, he detected a cheap scent and wondered if the sun had affected his brain. Unlike the human statue who was real, she was lifelike, but lifeless, just a model. Then Roger had an idea, it would be a laugh, the others would certainly laugh. He would pretend to believe she was real. Close up, her unblinking soulful brown eyes gazed at him; he paused for a moment then commenced the game. His lips touched her soft neck and for a moment he could believe she was real.

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Everything seemed to happen at once; Lucy watched her boyfriend and brother approaching, laden with ice creams, her little sister waved from the carousel, she heard a man shouting, a child crying. It was at this moment she realised that if she wasn’t holding Roger’s lead, who was?

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Geoffrey’s morning with the ‘Sponsor a Guide Dog’ stall had been more rewarding than anticipated. The cuddly life sized Labrador attracted more attention than a real dog. He had forgiven his mother for landing him with the task when he realised how many attractive young women, in skimpy holiday outfits, stopped to stroke ‘Cindy the Wonder Dog.’ It was while he was chatting to one of these young ladies that the commotion broke out; an enormous shaggy dog had seized the helpless Cindy by the throat and was shaking her with what could only be described as blood lust. Children were crying, stuffing was flying. This situation had not been covered by the guidelines for volunteers.

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‘Roger, Roger, here boy… Daddy’s got you an ice cream…’

A young woman was shrieking at the dog, but he took no notice.

A curious crowd had circled round the now demolished stand, but parted like The Red Sea when the wild dog dashed for freedom, with the eviscerated, no longer cuddly Cindy in his jaws.

A young man made a grab for the trailing lead, but fell headlong in a splatter of ice cream. Suddenly the dog halted, dropped its prey, sniffed the air and returned, tail wagging, to lap up the ice cream.

Roger wagged his tail furiously, his friends had enjoyed the joke so much they had given him all their ice cream.

 

 

Flash Fiction Friday – Fact or Fiction?

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In Charge

 You will be working as part of a team, ensuring our guests have a relaxing holiday experience. Full training will be given. Other languages will be an advantage, but people skills and personality are more important.

A job that was a holiday sounded easy and working as part of a team was just what Sandra needed, no responsibility. She had no languages and her people skills depended on the people, but how did they define personality? In her last job, promoted to team leader, she only had two people to supervise, but motivating Kevin the cleaner proved to be an impossible task.

Well it wasn’t an interview to be a television presenter, so Sandra decided to go for it; she was not cut out for stressful work so the relaxed atmosphere of Uncoached Tours – holidays for the discerning traveller with the good company that provides good company, sounded just up her street and the travelling would get her out of  a rut.

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The first holiday was wonderful and she could not believe she was being paid to go on steam train rides, visit cathedral cities and stay at smart hotels. Andrew the tour guide could have been on television, his wonderful personality made up for Sandra’s lack of it. Helen, the PCO ( pastoral care officer ) was made for the job, the guests loved her and she listened to all their problems; rather too avidly Sandra thought, but dismissed such disloyal thoughts. Employees, or rather colleagues of Uncoached Tours were always loyal, that’s what made the company great. Sandra had absorbed all the words of wisdom on induction day.

Bringing up the rear, that was her job and she had acquired her own little group of fans by the end of the first day. They teased her as she urged them to keep up, but enjoyed chatting with Sandra more than listening to Andrew’s commentary through their earphones. As long as she kept the parrot on a stick in sight all was well. Andrew carried it aloft, so he was easily identified when they found themselves with other tour groups.

‘I only came for the steam trains’ confided John, the lovely old widower.

‘This holiday is a birthday present from my children,’ explained Hannah the quiet divorcee ‘they expect me to be out and about meeting interesting people.’

The last day of the holiday was spent watching the royal wedding on the hotel’s big screen, followed by a champagne lunch. Sandra felt bereft as they waved goodbye to the guests, but there was the next assignment to look forward to, five days of London and the River Thames.

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Sandra was just packing to go down to London when she got the phone call.

…well done on passing your probationary period. Slight change of plan, you’re doing Beautiful Berkshire, bank holiday Monday, pick up the guests at Slough railway station, first stop Windsor Castle.

Sandra could hardly quell her excitement, she had never been to Windsor, never seen a royal castle, now she would visit the scene of the royal wedding. As the train from Paddington drew into the station she spotted a chap in the company uniform.

‘Sandra? Did you get the tour pack. Is it your first time as a guide?’

‘Guide?’ the first misgivings sank in. ‘I don’t lead, I just round up.’

‘Gavin won’t be leading for a while with his broken leg, didn’t they tell you? But you’ll be fine, you can’t get lost, the branch line goes frequently, straight into Windsor and Eton Central. Walk out and the castle is right in front of you, apparently, haven’t actually been there myself. Here’s the tour agenda, tonight’s hotel is near the castle and the crib sheet for the castle visit is on the front page, or would be if we had a ring file like we used to. All the gen is on a tablet now. Oh, mustn’t forget the parrot.’

Sandra had still not got a word in edgeways as he handed her the azure and scarlet feathered creature on its long stick. Suddenly he was gone and an assortment of people were gathering around her. She tried not to panic, they all had their pre booked train tickets and it was not difficult to find the platform, hordes of bank holiday trippers were heading that way, along with other tour parties.

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The train had made two return journeys before they got on board, but at least she had time to chat to an English speaking tour guide. The other woman laughed when Sandra told her tale.

‘Uncoached Tours, are they still in business? I got out as soon as I could. It’s going to be manic today, tours from every nation, but as long as you have your tickets booked for the castle…’

‘Tickets, do you need tickets?’

‘They’ll be a code number if UT booked on line, anyway, just keep an eye on my Saint George’s flag and you won’t get lost, turn left at Queen Victoria’s statue.’

Passengers poured off the little train as it pulled up at the end of the line. Only a few people got stabbed as Sandra tried to manoeuvre her parrot on a stick. There was no sign of a castle, only designer shops, eating places and crowds. She had no idea if her guests were all following as they were swept along.

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At last they were outside and before them on the other side of the road was a castle, and on the pavement was a queue of people stretching back down the hill further than she could see. The day was grey and drab, not like the sunny wedding weather. She tried to speak into the tiny microphone with no idea if her guests could hear. Ahead, the white flag was progressing and Sandra felt a little hopeful as Queen Victoria glared down at her. There were more people around than for the wedding, uniforms and yellow jackets steered people and they followed to the end of the pre booked tickets queue, further from the castle than when they started.

Not all Sandra’s guests were wearing their parrot badge, but the ones that were did not seem happy as the queue shuffled along. She tried to read interesting facts from the tablet, but the guests started fiddling with the audio boxes hanging round their necks. A man in uniform asked for her group’s name and booking details, as she fumbled with the tablet and shook her head he strode off, only to return ten minutes later with a frown.

‘No record of booking for your company, the best thing you can do is come back at nine o’clock tomorrow.’

Sandra felt panic rising. The guests had all heard the conversation on their audio equipment as the uniform ushered Sandra out of the queue. A man with his parrot badge upside down stepped forward.

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‘He’s right, did you see the queue to buy tickets. Why don’t you take us to see some other sights, such as where Charles and Camilla got married?’

‘The only sight I want to see is a sign for the Ladies’ said another voice.

‘That’s okay, they got married above the public toilets, come on, this way folks.’

Sandra tottered to catch up with him, it had occurred to her to run away, but she could do with a comfort stop as well.

The man grinned at her. ‘I only come on Uncoached Tours  because they are such fun, something always goes wrong, but they pick reasonable hotels. A drink, a meal and material for my novels is all I ask.’ He turned to the others, grasping the parrot out of Sandra’s hand. ‘Here we are at The Guildhall. After our comfort stop we’ll stroll down to the Long Walk and see where the royal carriage processed last week, at least the sun is coming out now.’

Sandra wondered if he purposely wore his parrot badge upside down.

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Read about Windsor in yesterday’s blog ‘Windsor After That Wedding’

and as it’s Windsor Week at Tidalscribe look out for Silly Saturday –

‘Not The Royal Wedding’

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See more pictures of Windsor at Beachwriter’s Blog

https://www.ccsidewriter.co.uk/chapter-five-beach-writer-s-blog/

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Friday Flash Fiction – Father’s Speech

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 When Ken came to ask… no, tell me he and Julie were going to get married, I was surprised. They have been friends for a long time, but I didn’t know love was in the air. My wife did of course, being a woman; claimed to have seen it coming for a while. Either way, we knew our Julie would be marrying a wonderful man and there is no better base for a marriage than to be best friends as well. And they have been friends for a long time; I can remember Ken as a little nipper standing at the back door, asking if he could come round to play.

Julie was a bit of a tom boy when she was young; if they weren’t building something amazing with Lego, they were out there on their bikes or catching tadpoles. We never knew what she was going to come home with when she went out with Ken.

But Julie grew into a beautiful young woman who wanted Ken to take her to the pictures or the theatre. Now we all know that Ken was sadly widowed last year and Julie helped nurse Babs in the last months. She would not have wanted Ken to stay on his own and Julie was always there for him; the same as Ken was always there for Julie when she had all her troubles.

So we wish two wonderful people all happiness for the future; Julie my only daughter and Ken, my best friend since our days at Green Lane Infants School. He’s been a wonderful god father to Julie and I know he will be a marvellous husband.

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Bank Holiday Book Bonanza

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Charles Dickens and I have one thing in common, not literary success, but we have both been to Broadstairs on holiday. He enjoyed summer holidays in a house now called Bleak House, where you can still stay. My earliest holiday memory is of Broadstairs, two summers blended into one set of memories. There was only me at the time and Mum and Dad did not attempt to stay in a hotel again.

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On one occasion I opened the wrong door, to be confronted with a lady wearing black underwear, I had never seen such an outfit. With brilliant insight she said ‘Are you looking for your Mummy and Daddy?’

The hotel boasted child minding, so one evening Mum and Dad left me; probably only for a little cliff top stroll, I’m sure they did not spend all night in the pub, but whatever the supervisory arrangements were, I had enough time to take our clothes out of the suitcase and wash them in the large washbasin in our room – this was in the days before everyone expected en suite facilities.

Apparently I never wanted to leave the beach, drawn to the sea already, and had to be dragged off screaming or bribed with a ride on the ‘Peter Pan Railway’.

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Broadstairs, Ramsgate and Margate are all part of The Isle of Thanet, the easternmost part of Kent; an island formed about five thousand years ago and always a busy place, Stone Age, Bronze Age communities and then The Romans. The last ship sailed through the Wantsum Channel in 1672 and over the decades it narrowed, it is many years since Thanet was an island.

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The next time I visited the Isle of Thanet was when we took our toddler, in the days when we wondered how anyone coped with more than one child on outings, on a British Rail Awayaday to Margate. It was a sunny day, but fog descended halfway down the line and never lifted. We sat on the beach, but never actually saw Margate.

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When a branch of the family moved to Margate in 2015 we returned in sunshine; a great chance for Tidalscribe the beachwriter to explore more of the British coast. We were soon sitting in the cafe of Turner Contemporary Gallery, which had opened only four years previously, looking out over the sunny harbour. As well as being famous for Tracy Emin, Margate also claims the painter JMW Turner.

https://www.independent.co.uk/arts-entertainment/films/features/mr-turner-exploring-margate-and-tracing-the-inspiration-behind-mike-leighs-latest-film-9823823.html

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May Bank Holiday Monday brought hot weather and hordes of visitors streaming out of the railway station. The Turner Gallery was gleaming white in the sun and as part of the Margate Bookie there was a book launch. Once again Dickens and I have something in common, we both have short stories in a new anthology. Shoal is a venture by Thanet Writers.

Writing is a solitary occupation; most of us are energised by meeting up with other writers in local groups or on line. To speak in public and read out your work is another skill very different from writing. Gathering people together, setting up a website, publishing and creating a book requires plenty of enthusiasm and yet another set of skills.

The launch of the anthology was very well attended and presented and the book is a delight. A varied selection, from the brief and poignant ‘The Pigeons’ to ‘Life and Times of a Zombie.’  There are flamingos in Pegwell Bay, an unhappy wife a hundred years ago and a fairy tale so much darker than Disney.

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https://thanetwriters.com/

Spend a day in Margate at my website.

https://www.ccsidewriter.co.uk/chapter-five-beach-writer-s-blog/

 

 

Friday Flash Fiction – Dark Dialogue

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The Lodger

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Jamie Ferrous: Hi Mum, this is Vlad from work, I told him he could stay for a few weeks; you said you wanted a lodger.

Mother: Oh, er um, I didn’t mean straight away, I thought we would discuss it with your sisters first… we haven’t got that basement room ready yet, it’s a bit dark.

Jamie: Yeah but that’s the point innit, Vlad works nights, he needs somewhere quiet and dark to sleep during the day.

Vlad: It’s very kind of you Mrs. Ferrous, I won’t be any trouble, I don’t play loud music and I eat on my shift at the hospital.

Mother: Is that a Polish name, you sound English.

Vlad: Mum was East European.

Mother: Put the kettle on Jamie, let’s make Vlad feel at home.

Jamie: So he can stay then?

Mother: Let’s call it a trial for two weeks, after all, it may not suit him; have you told Vlad what the girls are like?

Jamie: That’s why it will be good to have another bloke around, I’m fed up with being outnumbered.

Mother: Are you on the same ward as Jamie?

Vlad: No I’m a porter, taking bodies to the mortuary and all that.

Mother: Goodness.

Vlad: Someone has to do it and it’s only till I’ve saved enough for uni.

Mother: What are you hoping to study?

Vlad: Medicine, so I’ll be working with live bodies eventually.

Jamie: Tea or coffee Vlad?

Vlad: I’m fine thanks, I’ve got a bottle of water with me.

Mother: Are you on a health kick?

Vlad: You could say that, if you saw some of the bodies we have to heave onto the trolleys you would understand why I like to keep myself trim.

Mother (admiringly): You certainly look very athletic, a bit pale though, but we all are still at this time of year.

Jamie: Except for Aunty Vivian and Uncle Ben.

Mother (enviously): They spent most of the winter cruising.

Vlad: I prefer misty mountains, I’m a winter person.

Mother: I bet you’re from Yorkshire, with that accent.

Vlad: Yes, East coast.

Mother: Oh we had a lovely holiday in Whitby years ago, do you remember Jamie?

Jamie: Yes, it rained.

Mother: We went to that nice fish and chip shop.

Vlad: What a coincidence, that’s my home town.

Jamie: Can we show Vlad the room now, we’ve got to get off to work soon.

Mother: Yes, of course… oh that’s lucky, sounds like the girls are home, they’ve been to the cinema.

Three teenage girls in unison: Ohh… er… hello… uhm…

Jamie: Vlad, these are my idiot baby sisters. Girls, this is our new lodger.

Girls: oooh…

Vlad: You didn’t tell me how beautiful they were, very very pleased to meet you all.

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Brief Appearance

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Do you ever spare a thought for the fruit seller and the uniformed policeman? You know the ones, they always appear in action movies and fast moving crime series on television. There is always a fruit stall in the path of a car chase; whether the hero is chasing or escaping, he screeches round the corner straight into the hapless fruit seller. If he’s lucky he escapes death, but his stall is smashed, his fruit rolling down the street. A day’s earnings lost, perhaps his livelihood… and that is all we ever know of his life. The hero cares nothing about the man and all his dependents, he’s too busy grinning at the sight of the criminal crashing into a plate glass window. Another business ruined, the shop owner showered with splinters of glass and someone else’s blood, suffering from shock at the sight of the criminal’s head thrust through the windscreen, almost separated from his body. But the viewer has already left the scene, unaware of the shop keeper’s future struggles with post traumatic stress.

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But there is more than one criminal the hero has to chase, uniformed police have now arrived, but their role will be brief. The slightest brush with the villain’s vehicle and the police patrol car rolls over, crushed, occupants killed instantly. Our hero spins round deftly to continue his pursuit.

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Often our hero is a maverick secret agent, answerable to no one except perhaps M, if he is James Bond. If our hero is a plain clothes detective he may condescend to return briefly to the police station, before meeting his glamorous girlfriend. In real life he would have a mountain of paperwork and a great deal of explaining to do. But our hero does not hear other officers talking in shocked tones about the death of their colleagues. He slips in to see his boss and avoids the collection going round for the families of the dead officers. It’s just another day for him.

 

 

Friday Flash Fiction-A Tale of Two Towns

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The couple winding their way down Glastonbury Tor were in colourful contrast to the middle aged couple, in their matching National Trust green anoraks, marching up the hill. She wore flowing skirts in every hue from lilac to violet and her Peruvian hand knitted jacket brightened the grey afternoon. He wore trousers of a rusty, rustic indeterminate material and a greengage green jacket lovingly hand woven by her.

‘I can’t believe it’s nearly Beltaine’ she said.

‘No,’ he replied ‘if this weather doesn’t warm up I can’t see new life arriving anywhere.’

She shivered. ‘I’ll be glad to get back to a nice warm cosy yurt.’

‘We’d better get a move on or the kids will be back.’

‘No they won’t Hengist,’ she smiled ‘Flint’s got maypole practice after school and Amethyst’s going round to her friend’s yurt.’

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‘What’s for dinner Mum?’ yelled the children as they arrived back later.

‘Five bean stew and ground elder crumble; call your dad while I check if that wool’s finished steeping.’

Aurelia reached the reclaimed animal trough in the corner of the field as Hengist climbed carefully over the stile.

‘Only three eggs today, Hetty and Lotty could do with some sunshine as much as the rest of us.’

‘What do you think of this colour?’ she asked him, peering into the trough.

‘Looks the same shade of green as the last lot.’

‘I’m going to try making some new dyes in the summer, berries are going to be in this year.’

After dinner they settled down for a quiet family evening.

‘Has anyone seen my crystals?’ sighed Aurelia.

‘Help your mother look Flint; Amethyst, time for flute practice.’

‘Dad, will you play your lute?’

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Later, as the children settled down to sleep, the parents chatted quietly.

‘Did you read that letter Flint brought back from Miss Fairweather, Hengist?’

“Yes, I think we’d  both better go and see her. The only one with a problem is her. She was glad enough when he got the boys interested in maypole dancing, just because he explained the origins of the maypole… anyway, how was your new patient?’

‘She was a funny soul… I said to her

I’m alternative and herbal, not homeopathic, I do strong doses… no there’s no need to worry about hemlock and digitalis if you know what you’re doing.’

‘Old Bob said to thank you, his arthritis has hardly bothered him this winter, he’s going to recommend you to all his friends. Maybe you can give up your Saturday job now.’

‘But I’ve got to liking it and we needed that money over the winter.’

‘Now I’m hedge laying again there’s no need’ he pleaded.

‘I do like it Hengist, getting dressed up, having a laugh with the girls and it gets me out of the yurt.’

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On Saturday morning Aurelia walked down to the town with her large hand woven bag over her shoulder. As she got on the local bus there was a musical tinkling from her earrings and bangles. She greeted other locals and after driving to Street they soon arrived at their destination, Clarks Shopping Village.

She entered the ladies and went into the disabled cubicle where there was more room. Carefully she took off her jacket of undyed local wool, rolled up her burnt orange and berry red skirt and slipped off the leather sandals Hengist had made. She stepped into her uniform, squeezed her feet into court shoes, gathered up her black tresses in a neat bun at the nape of her neck and finally put on a subtle pink lipstick and a suggestion of eye shadow. Aurelia walked out ready for a busy day at Marks and Spencer shopping outlet.

‘Hello Linda’ said her supervisor. ‘Till Four today.’

On Till Three her friend greeted her, caught her up with the latest gossip from the soaps and passed on her celebrity magazines. After a busy morning they went off for lunch at the restaurant.

‘It’s only once a week’ said Aurelia, as she ordered a Megaburger with extra French fries.

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Four on Fact and Fiction

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Sharing reviews helps all writers, especially Indie Authors. Here are four books I’ve recently read on my Kindle and reviewed on Amazon. I also put reviews on Goodreads, a site popular with many readers looking for a good book, it also acts as a digital library so I have a record of all the books I have read.

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At home I have a pile of paperbacks waiting to be read and on my Kindle lots of TBRs I have downloaded after reading reviews or author interviews on line. Part of the fun of reading is deciding what to read next and I like to choose a different time, place or genre from the previous book.

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Long or short? Personally I like reading and writing short reviews; I don’t want to return to school days writing long essays on the book we’re ‘doing’!  But others will like reviews that tell them plenty about the book and the author. What do you think?

 

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The Neighbours  by  Hannah Mary Mckinnon

4.0 out of 5 starsWe can’t choose our neighbours and sometimes life will never be the same again…
ByJanet Gogertyon 27 April 2018
Format: Kindle Edition|Verified Purchase
I enjoy stories where we go back and forth in time, especially if we are told when and who is talking. This is a good story to keep you on edge; the unthinkable has happened to Abby and then a new unthinkable event occurs to ensure the past cannot be forgotten. Nate and Nancy have each married on the rebound, though they don’t know it yet, that is a poignant second story line. How well do we get to know the characters and how well do they know each other? Secrets abound and I only half guessed the twist at the end. I’m not sure I actually liked any of the characters, except Nate. One aspect that jarred in the novel, I didn’t get a sense of place. As soon as I read neighbors with the US spelling in the early chapters I assumed we were in the USA and any English names mentioned could have been their US namesakes. It wasn’t till Wales was mentioned I realised we had been in England all along! This is a story that could be set in any modern suburb in any country, so perhaps that doesn’t matter.
https://www.amazon.co.uk/review/R2POGNIUDPV1BI
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A Kiss In The Dark  by Christine King

5.0 out of 5 starsA perfect collection of dark stories, you might not dare to read in the dark.
ByJanet Gogertyon 27 April 2018
Format: Kindle Edition|Verified Purchase
Deliciously scary, what an assortment that leads us up the garden path, turns fairy tales upside down, gives us a very unreliable narrator and leaves us alone in the woods… and that’s just the first three stories. And then a poem, I loved ‘Click’. Enjoy ghosts, dragons and the gods of ages, a train journey and of course a graveyard.
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Living In The Past   by Jane Lovering

4.0 out of 5 starsA Bronze Age love story…
ByJanet Gogertyon 27 April 2018
Format: Kindle Edition|Verified Purchase
I have never been on an archeological dig and I’m sure I would be as lacking in enthusiasm as Grace… This is an enjoyable read, as you would expect of a Choc Lit. Time Travel? Why not, people do disappear off the face of the earth and who’s to say they haven’t gone back in time? What would we find if we arrived in the past and how would we get on?
Duncan’s life has been blighted by his girlfriend going missing without trace and never being able to prove his innocence.
Grace has had her happiness cut cruelly short.
Two people who have nothing in common are brought together on the muddy Yorkshire Moors and dislike each other as soon as they meet; the stage is set for an unusual romance.

https://www.amazon.co.uk/review/RR03X4IAHQPGY

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African Ways  by Valerie Poore

5.0 out of 5 starsBe transported to a unique time and place.
ByJanet Gogertyon 28 April 2018
Format: Kindle Edition|Verified Purchase
I really enjoyed reading this book. I have never been to the African continent, so my knowledge of South Africa is limited to people I have met and new friends on the internet. These are the memories of one family’s three year experience living in Natal, in the most beautiful place they will ever live. Bringing up two very young children was very different from the experiences I and my friends were having in the same time period! This is not a linear story, each lyrical chapter describes an aspect of their lives and the rich characters they became close to; the author obviously embraced her new life and the reader enjoys the humour and drama of a country so different to ‘back home’. Poignantly this chapter of their life had to close and I would love to read about the family’s further adventures.

Friday Flash Fiction 330 – Sunny Story

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                                Guy and Harriet     

 Guy stood on the terrace, looking down upon the descending jigsaw of red, grey and black roofs that hid the town’s narrow twisting lanes. Then he gazed out towards the white flecked turquoise of the Atlantic Ocean and felt on top of the world. Spring had arrived at last and with it the visitors, business was looking up. Harriet had been right; living at the top of the town suited their family perfectly. A noisy family he thought ruefully, always squabbling and why did they always look so untidy? Guy himself was always immaculately turned out in his trademark grey and freshly laundered white.

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Immediately below him a woman was hanging out washing, a lot of washing, she ran a bed and breakfast. It was a long trek for her guests, down to the smooth beach, especially if they didn’t know the way; they didn’t realise that when they booked up on the internet. Guy chuckled to himself; he could have told them the best way to get around town. He’d lived here all his life and wouldn’t dream of living anywhere else; beaches, grassy headlands, the harbour, art galleries and best of all restaurants and cafes that catered for every taste.

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Harriet’s shrill call interrupted his thoughts. He called back.

‘No of course I’m not going to stand in the sun all day, yes I know I promised to go into town and get some food.’

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He stretched his limbs, felt the sun on his face, sniffed the sea air then stepped forward and launched himself into the air. The first flight of the morning always felt good. He soared high, circled to test the currents then glided gracefully towards the beach, where he spotted his first business of the day, a happy family picnic. Stunned by his sudden appearance, a toddler held his arm outstretched. Guy swooped skilfully, then flapped his wings for a sharp ascent, a whole sandwich in his yellow beak.

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Guy and Garriet is one of the flash fiction tales in Someone Somewhere; stories from 75 to 20,000 plus words, short stories and two novellas.

 

 

Friday Flash Fiction 369

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Trapped

So this was it, what I had always dreaded; this was what it felt like to be paralysed, trapped in a useless body completely at the mercy of others. I wanted to say Well I’ll be off then, but I was going nowhere. I could move my head and arms, I could speak, but I was flat on my back and the rest of my body felt like a trussed oven-ready chicken. No amount of concentration could make my leg move or my body lean over. How dreadful for those left totally paralysed or struck down by a stroke; unable to speak, left to listen fully aware while doctors discuss whether you are a vegetable, alive or dead. I tried to cast these dark thoughts from my mind and concentrate on my own predicament. I had such plans for this year, only this morning I had been strolling in the sunshine, but after tonight my life would never be the same.

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I breathed slowly, taking it all in; bright lights, murmuring voices, figures in green moving calmly around, equipment with buttons and red numbers. Perhaps I was experiencing the ultimate human nightmare; the figures all wore masks, everything felt unreal – I could be on an alien spaceship. Had I lost minutes, hours, days of my life?

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One of the figures was talking to me. ‘Can you feel that?’

‘Feel what?’ I replied, relieved that he sounded human.

He turned to speak to another figure. ‘No sensation in lower body, blood pressure okay.’ He turned back to me. ‘This is Doctor Campbell, we’re ready to proceed, how are you feeling?’

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My surroundings closed in on me. A screen went up, there was only my head which the masked face was talking to, my arms which he was poking things into and a machine above me with its bleeping and flashing numbers. I tried to make intelligent replies, hoping to be seen as an individual not a lump of meat strapped to the table.

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The murmurs beyond the screen were getting louder and more excited. Another masked face spoke to me ‘Nearly there now.’

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There was a general sigh of relief and satisfaction. ‘Here we are, it’s a Boy!’