Thursday, February 26, 2015

Pourquoi me as-tu abandonné?

I wrote this piece for Sunday Scribblings 2 where our given word is Abandoned. Please forgive me for translating it into French and changing it to Abandonné!




Suddenly the lights of Paris seemed to shine less brightly. The laughter of happy times past  is now nothing more than a distant memory. Their eyes which once sparkled with joy now streamed tears of anguish down ashen cheeks.

She leaned from the gaping window and clutched his hand. Although close they felt a million miles apart, separated by the cold steel of the carriage door.

With a menacing roar the train began to inch its way down the platform, slowly at first as if to prolong the agony of those final heart wrenching moments. He choked on his emotion; she sobbed and gasped as she tried to speak. But she couldn’t.

He ran beside her holding her shaking hand until the end of the platform dragged them apart. The monster headed out into the night taking with it his very reason for being.

He stood alone, alone with his thoughts, the platform deserted. And then  in the chill of the midnight breeze he heard her whispering voice. ‘Je suis désolé mon amour’ she wept. He stared out into the darkness as tears of rain began falling from the sky. ‘Adieu mon amour’ he cried. 

He sank to his knees. “Pourquoi me as-tu abandonné? Pourquoi?”



With thanks to Google Translate without whose help this story would not have been possible!

Picture: Hands by mizutamari at deviantART



It's a dogs life

Exactly one hundred words of nonsense written for Friday Fictioneers.

One, two, here we go again. Up the track and back, counting sleepers as I go.

Sixty-one, sixty-two. This is where I pee on the wild strawberries.  She doesn't see and always eats some coming back.

Hundred n’eighteen, hundred n’nineteen. Look, there’s mud on the back of her skirt. Can’t tell her, wouldn't if I could.

Three hundred n’six, three hundred n’seven. About turn. Three hundred n’six, three hundred n’five.

Here’s Rover. Don’t sniff him, he stinks. Personal hygiene problem.

Thirty-eight, thirty seven. Nearly finished.

Two, one, supper soon. Canned meat again. 

Suppose we’ll do it all again tomorrow.




Wednesday, February 25, 2015

Forgive me

Written for this week's Three Word Wednesday where the given words are Inflict, Docile and Whimper


Forgive me Father for I have sinned

She planned it down to the minutest detail. It had to be done. And soon. No more the docile submissive victim. He had inflicted pain on her once too often; he had hurt too many people, and it was time to stop him destroying the lives anyone else. But the law doesn’t allow good deeds that involve taking a life. Her plan had to work.

It has been 15 years since my last confession

She worked in a steak bar. Special knives are used to cut through steak. Sharp, pointed, serrated.... perfect. One evening a diner gave her a bit of a hard time. He was exactly the person she had waited for. She cleared the table and deliberately ignored the slap on the bum she got from Mr Obnoxious. He could take the blame for what she was about to do. She discretely wrapped his knife in a napkin to preserve his greasy fingerprints, and dropped it into her bag.

 I have committed a mortal sin

When she got home she carefully placed the knife at the bottom of a deep drawer where it would remain until the day arrived. Then she did something that she had not done for many years; she fell to her knees, clutched tightly the golden cross that had hung around her neck since her first communion when she was a child, and prayed.

 I took the life of another person

She arranged to meet him. No one saw them arrive. It went exactly to plan. No last words from him, just a pathetic whimper. When the deed was done, she placed the knife in the grass a few yards from the ditch where the body lay. No one saw her leave.

Once home she burned her gloves and placed all of her clothes in the washing machine. The deed was done.

I am sorry for this and all the sins of my past life

She knelt by her bed. She felt for the gold cross.

It was gone.

*

The cross which she’d held whenever she needed comfort was found beside the body in the ditch.

Her penance was handed down not by her priest but a judge.

Amen








Tuesday, February 24, 2015

It's Wordless Wednesday

Some pictures of Buddhist monks that I took in and around Angkor Wat, Cambodia




















Imagine.....

Written for Two Shoes Tuesday using the prompt word Imagine. 




Wouldn't it be fun to be a spy! I often imagine myself sitting at a cafe table reading a newspaper with two holes cut in it for my eyes to peep through. 

I imagine myself standing facing a shop window watching the reflection of someone on the other side of the road. What fun it would be to wear a false beard and moustache or pop a wig on my head! And I could have one of those big magnifying glasses!

I imagine myself listening into to people’s phone calls and intercepting their mail. I could make phone calls with a handkerchief over the mouthpiece, and put on foreign accents. I’d have a little camera in my collar and a tape recorder in my hat!

I imagine myself hiding in wardrobes and under beds; see what people are getting up to and listening to covert conversations?

I imagine myself disguised as a cleaner and searching through filing cabinets in closed offices. I’d take photos of secret documents and take down numbers and addresses.

Imagine pretending to be a chauffeur or a butler. I might even dress as a woman!

But it’s never going to happen.

It’s fun to imagine though!





Sunday, February 22, 2015

The clown with a frown

A macabre tale of revenge written for Magpie Tales where I was inspired by this rather strange picture!












When Kelly was quite little, the main street in her town was a no-go area for her. Half way down there was a shopping  mall with a facade that resembled a monstrous clown- like head with a gaping mouth that appeared to swallow up all who dared enter in. It was known as the Clown with a Frown Plaza by the locals!

Kelly simply refused to walk past it because she’d been told  by her bullying class mates that lots of people who had got even close had been swept off their feet by a giant tongue, swallowed whole and then found in the cellar deep below.

And so it was she developed early onset coulrophobia! Just a glimpse of a clown, any clown would terrify her.

When she left school she knew she had to do something about her irrational fear. And so she decided that as she couldn’t beat them, she should join them and become a clown herself.

Whilst a becoming a children’s entertainer was not the career path her parents had hoped she’d walk, they couldn't deny that she made something of a success of it, and the tricks she performed baffled even the most sceptical of those who saw her perform.

Kelly never forgot the way she was teased by her so called friends. It was time to get her own back. Her main oppressors had remained friends and often spent time together. But they had no idea what had become of Kelly, nor I suppose did they care. But Kelly did. And it was payback time.

It was late one night. She had watched them from her car as they left the nightclub and tottered towards the main street shrieking with drunken laughter. 

Kelly looked grotesque. Her usually smiling clown face was now a smudged blue and red vision of the devil. In place of her customary bright and baggy clothes she wore a vast black cloak.

As the girls got closer she slipped from her car and concealed herself in a dark corner near to the Clown with a Frown, its gaping mouth covered by a steel shutter for the night.

When they were alongside her she swept out from her hiding place and confronted then. They gasped. She said nothing. They said nothing. They stood still, Kelly stood still, until with a flash of her wrist she launched her cloak into the air. 

At first it floated down as if in slow motion. They girls stood stock-still as the cloak suddenly started whirling itself around them, and then it enveloped them completely before falling to the ground where it lay in a twisted heap, empty. The girls were nowhere to be seen. Kelly turned and walked away.

The next day their lifeless bodies were discovered deep in cellar of the plaza. What happened to them and how they ended up there remains a mystery. For Kelly it was just another trick .



For Shadow Shot Sunday 2

The sun came out the other day!


Bexhill on Sea, UK




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