Sunday, February 19, 2017

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Post 1457. Monday February 20

12 Week Letter  Challenge

Week 4. This week we are writing to our ex.

Sue

I need to call around and collect a piece of paper I accidentally left in the desk drawer, preferably when ‘lover boy’ is out.

Come to think of, that desk is mine so I might as well take that too while I'm there.

I think I’ll have my laptop back as well, your ‘bloke’ will have to get you a new one. I also want my greenhouse. He’d only grow something illegal in it if I left it. Oh, and the lawn mower too.

If I remember correctly, that huge TV was bought with my work bonus. I’ll take it with me. I would take the bed that I paid for, but now he’s been in it, I‘d rather go nowhere near it.

As I’m now going to have to bring a van, I'll have the curtains and cushions my mother made, and the kitchen equipment my work mates gave us as wedding presents. And my cat.

Tell you what, as I paid the mortgage each month I might as well have the house. 

You can use the van to take your huge collection of shoes and bags when you go – and that bed.

Please be gone by Saturday.

Miss you (not)

Bill


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Post 1456. Sunday February 19

Sunday Photo Fiction



I know where it hides. I have viewed it from afar. I saw the midnight sky glow gold above the hideous creatures’ lair as flames gushed from its gaping mouth; silver smoke twisting and swirling above the blackened leafless trees.

I hear rumbling and roaring in the distance. 'Tis waiting. Biding its time 'til the right moment. It will come. This morning maybe, or perhaps tomorrow. It will be when the innocent folk of this rural hamlet least expect it; whilst their fair daughters frolic unguarded on the green, or wander alone 'cross the glade.

I am ready. I will not allow it to destroy these families futures nor their damsel’s dreams. I am prepared. My trusty steed is saddled, eager. My silver spear is by my side, its point sharpened, gleaming.

I slayed a dragon in days of yore. So shaIl this foul creature meet its fate, for 'tis time the legend be reborn. 



Witten in response to the picture prompt at Sunday Photo Fiction  and based  on the legend of St George and the dragon.



Saturday, February 18, 2017

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Post 1455. Sunday February 19

The Sunday Whirl


It was nice of him to offer me a lift in his yacht. I'd always wanted to visit the uninhabited island across the bay. Off we went, bobbing up and down. He shouted ‘duck’. I looked to port and starboard, but I couldn’t see one. It was then the boom swung round, bonked me on the head and knocked me overboard. He didn’t seem to notice and kept going, chattering away as if I was still there. 

Anyway, I managed to swim ashore and I had a nice time wandering around the island. I paddled in a stream, picked a daisy, drew a line in the sand, picked another daisy then got bored. Then it occurred to me I was marooned. What now?

This kind of thing must have happened before because some thoughtful soul had left a white board, a pot of paint and a brush on the beach. I wrote HELP on it, propped it up and hoped someone would see it.

Somebody did. A pretty girl landed her paraglider alongside me. She told me to jump on her back, so needless to say I did. Then she ran along the shore until we shot up into the sky. Weeeee! I stretched out my arms like aeroplane wings. Bad move. I did a free fall back into the briny.

I suppose I could get like this island.






Of the 12 given words at The Sunday Whirl, I have used these ten - boom, marooned, swing, fill, seem, line, sign, stream, hope and sky.


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Post 1454. Saturday February 18

Sunday's Whirligig




Some experiences defy explanation. Do you actually remember them? Could they be nothing more than dreams, or the creations of an overactive imagination?

I am certain I was there. I’m sure I walked along that corridor. I can still see the twisted cord lying on the floor. I had to follow it. Why? I don’t know, but follow it I did. Flickering candles sent my shadow darting this way and that; the corridor went on and on and on, until it suddenly ended and I found myself facing a solid wall. The twisted cord was tied to a rusty loop. I turned and started my journey back, but I suddenly tripped on the cord and crashed to the ground. Blood gushed from a cut on my cheek.

That is where my recollections cease. I can’t recall anything else. But I still have a scar on my cheek.

I’m walking in the forest. A twisted cord lies on the rotting leaves. I’m following it. There are shafts of sunlight flickering through the swaying trees........



This week’s given words at Sunday’s Whirligig are cords, could corridor, anymore, are, anarchy, tie, twisted, there, experiences, explanations and else. I used all but one.


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Friday, February 17, 2017

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Post 1453. Saturday 18 February

Sunday Scribblings 2




Why do we get such a bad press? We didn’t choose to become ghosts. One minute we were people and the next, a sort of weightless vapour. I thought I was dreaming so I tried pinching myself, but there was nothing to pinch. Now, when I get an itch I can‘t scratch it! See, it’s not all fun.

In life, I never believed in ghosts, although I was a little alarmed when some glasses flew off a shelf soon after I took over my pub. ‘That’s John again’ the locals said. John was my predecessor and he died just before he was due to retire. They said he still considered it to be his pub, and he didn't like the changes I’d made. I laughed it off. The funny thing is, we are best mates now! 

I float back there sometimes. The new landlord refuses to believe in ghosts, although he has actually seen me without realising it. One evening I hovered over Ginger Dick’s head. Dick sometimes has a sneaky cigarette despite the smoking ban in pubs, but on the night in question, he was completely innocent. The landlord yelled at him to put his cigarette out! He said he could see a cloud of smoke above Dick’s head!

It’s frustrating that not many people see us. No matter how loudly we rattle and bang, very few hear us. There are several people I would love to scare the pants off, but I haven't managed to attract their attention.

Even we ghosts get scared sometimes. I’m terrified of extractor fans. You can get sucked in one side, and blown out the other at a hell of a rate of knots! It happened to me yesterday and I lost a bit of myself. I found it eventually but it was very frightening.


If you can read this, you must be a believer. It’s been good to see you. I just hope you’ve seen me!

For Sunday Scribblings 2 where the prompt word is Pinch

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Thursday, February 16, 2017

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Post 1452. Thursday February 16

Six Sentence Stories



‘I think we are going to sink’ said Fred as he watched the water swirling through the hole in the bottom of the little boat.
  
‘It doesn’t look good’ admitted Frank as he stuffed his bag of sandwiches into the gaping orifice.

‘That should fix it Fred’ he said, but his satisfied grin quickly disappeared when his lunch suddenly vanished from view.

Just then the boat rose from the water and started accelerating shoreward.

Frank peered over the side to see a massive merman holding the craft up with one hand whilst eating a cheese and pickle sandwich with the other, his muscle-bound tail furiously flapping.

‘Emermancy Services to the rescue!’ shouted their saviour.




The cue at Six Sentence Stories is Sink.


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Wednesday, February 15, 2017

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Post 1451. Wednesday February 15

Friday Fictioneers


He was a ‘gottle of geer’ type of ventriloquist. Vic-the-Vent would stand on the corner entertaining passers-by. They were more amused by his ineptitude than his jokes. I felt sorry for his dummy. Its name was Bert.

‘How are you today Gert?’  Vic once asked. That got a laugh!

‘I’ve been better’ said Bert.

His audience gasped in disbelief.

Don’t you mean you’ve ‘geen getter?’ shouted someone.

Bert's head spun round and his bulging eyes stared at the heckler. ’I've had enough of being mocked. I’m in charge now’ he yelled.

Nowadays, Bert speaks and Vic moves his mouth.

I hear they’re going on Britain's got Talent next season.






For Friday Fictioneers which is hosted by Rochelle. The photo is supplied by Liz Young. I've imagined the head in happier times!


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