I can’t say no to beauty. That’s why you brought me flowers, plate-sized sunflowers that sizzled, blood-red roses dripping dew…. Then one day – Leave them there on the floor. I can smell your betrayal through the crushed chrysanthemums. Walk away and leave me with the broken vase. I could name the pieces poetically but now the glass is only a function no longer needed. Be proud of what you have done.
Short story
Storytelling
Guess what happened next! You’ll never guess!
Was it the elephant?
No!
Did Guacamole the cowboy come back?
No.
Ooh, ooh! The spaceship –
No! No, it was Mrs Bunn the baker! She –
I don’t remember her.
Mrs Bunn! Mrs Bunn the baker! She –
No, I don’t remember her. Tell me about the elephant. I like the elephant.
Jackalhead (Chapter 1)
He stole my thunder and rolled it down the hill behind him. It made Mr Jenkins jump and drop his washing on the muddy lawn. I stared at him, open-mouthed.“What-do-you-think-you’re-doing?” I shouted into the wind the thunder had kicked up.
Jackalhead showed his teeth and spun round. Mr Jenkins, who had just picked up his muddy sheets, saw him bounding down the hill towards him and fainted clean away.
By now my patience was wearing thin. I picked up one of the lightning bolts that lay fizzing at my feet and hurled it down the hill. It flew over Jackalhead’s shoulder and landed just in front of him. He had to come to a skidding stop before he burnt his muzzle on the quivering bolt.
“That-was-just-a-warning-shot” I yelled. “Come-back-up-here. Now.”
He trailed back up the hill. Strangely enough for someone called Jackalhead he looked a little sheepish. “Sorry Dad” he said. He smelled a little singed and his whiskers were steaming.
“Listen-to-me. You-know-humans-aren’t-meant-to-see-us-except-in-the-darkest-corner-of-a-car-park-or-behind-a-half-closed-bedroom-door.”
“Yes Dad.”
I left it at that. Knowing what I know now, of course, I never should have done. But not all gods can see into the future.
The turkey and the Queen
The turkey and the Queen had been and gone. Sofa-slumped in stupor, clutching bellies, nobody wanted to dance or sing so Vikki began to play charades. Soon everyone knew what she had seen Mummy doing with Santa Claus.
Ted swung his fist but the mulled wine made him miss. Uncle Nick made a dash for it. Snow blew in through the open door and Ted’s words flew back to him. “Is it a film?” Vikki asked.
Published on http://www.paragraphplanet.com 04 January 2016
Rocks
“Your head’s full of rocks,” Davy’s mother shouted after him as he hurtled down the track on his bicycle, dust clouding up behind him. She shook her head.
Round the corner, Davy stopped and got off his bike. He walked down the path towards the river, the velvet bag in his hand. When Grandad had given him the bag, Davy had found Grandad’s football and soldier medals inside. But now the medals were safe in Davy’s desk drawer and the river pebbles were in the bag.
“They might be rubbish to her but to me they’re treasure,” he said to himself. He sat on the stony beach and, one by one, took the pebbles out of the bag. He held them in his hand and looked at them one last time. Then, wiping tears from his face with river water, he walked back towards his bicycle, towards home.
I wake up early in the morning
I wake up early in the morning and do not understand why you are not here. The bed and the room look strange, perhaps a hotel. I don’t remember checking in. I’ll write you a poem for when you walk through the door. I fold the paper and leave it on your pillow.
I don’t recognise the woman who walks me along to the breakfast room but she seems very friendly. I feel a bit of an idiot that I still don’t remember checking in but breakfast is tasty. They have all my favourites.
Our bed has been made when I get back. I think I left something on it but can’t quite remember what it was. You’ll know, you always do. I’ll ask you when you get back.
As someone once said, a sleep is always welcome. When I wake up, you are not here. I think I’ll write you a poem for when you get back but am interrupted by that nice woman again. She shows me a pile of papers she is holding. What do I think of them? The first one is a poem. It’s rather good, if derivative. I think I may have seen it somewhere before. I look at the others. She has made a mistake! They are all the same! I don’t want to embarrass her so I say I like the first one but am not so sure about the others. She smiles. She’s very pleasant.
I can only get one channel on the TV but that’s ok – I haven’t seen the programme they’re showing. It’s a bit amateurish, some sort of reality thing, but I like the look of the young woman. Lovely smile. I’ll tell you about it when you get back. I’m not sure why, but I’m exhausted. It’s night time already. I’ll write you a poem in the morning.
I wake up early in the morning and do not understand why you are not here.
Saved
The cold fire of fear flared in his eyes. I stared back through the airlock, fixing my eyes on his until life was gone and he drifted backwards, falling away from the ship. He was gone. “I have saved the ship,” I said. Suddenly his body flared. “That’s impossible!” said the tall one standing next to me. As I touched him he too flared and fell in a pile of ash. The last two fired their weapons at me. My body soaked up the energy. “I have saved the ship,” I said. “Not the crew.” I reached out my hand.
Something’s happened on the bus
Upstairs on the bus a man is speaking on the phone.
– Hello? Yes. Something’s happened on the bus.
The person in the seat behind him looks up suddenly.
– Something’s happened on the bus.
More people look up. Glances and frowns are exchanged.
– Yes, something big. Something really big.
People sitting near him at the back of the bus begin to stand up and move purposefully towards the stairs.
– It’s really important.
People at the front of the bus hear the commotion and begin to stand up. They do not know why. There is no panic yet.
– I have to tell you now. Later will be too late.
Now everyone is on their feet and people are starting to push. At the bottom of the stairs someone stumbles and falls.
– I’ve realised I love you.
Cross the moat
The stone lions on the bridge across the moat stared forward, mouths slightly open, showing pointed teeth and the shadows beyond.
Ay felt eyes on his back, shining from the jungle with anticipation and fear. Pass the lions. Reach the palace. The others will follow. There are no other guards. Cross the moat and you reach salvation, for you, your family, your village.
He stood and began to run. The head of one of the lions began to grind round towards him, dust falling from its flexing muscles. Ay ran and ran and ran. The lion leapt, jaws open.
First published on https://flashfriday.wordpress.com 13 November 2015
Love in her eyes
Linh stood straight, face forward, and stared at the flag. The golden star sparkled, reflected in her dark eyes. She was beautiful. I tried to keep her face in my gaze but the Colonel was watching us. My eyes could not flicker or shift from the flag. I loved her but she loved the party, she loved the flag, she loved our country. I had tried to find the words but she was not ready for love with a person, or a person like me. I could not compete with her love for a people, for a country under attack.
Years later I heard that after leaving the camp she had crossed the border with a team of comrades. They caused the enemy such great losses that the invaders sent in the fire bombers. I heard that Linh was caught out in the open, away from the tunnels, and her body was never found.
Now I sit drinking iced coffee in a café in a city in my country, in a country at peace, in a country where the invaders were thrown out when I was still young. Now I sit here in a café in a street named after Linh, my Linh, though she was never mine, and I think of the young girl with the stars in her eyes, with the love of her people in her eyes.
Published on http://visualverse.org/submissions/love-in-her-eyes/
simonsalento 