Tag Archives: short story

16th April Prompt: Early morning mists

I don’t know where this came from, I used to have a bit of an obsession with the Peninsula War, so probably that influenced this story nugget.

An Incident in the Peninsular War Napoleon Entering a City - Robert ...

The men appeared out of the mist, early summer sun colouring it blood red. Like their jackets. The sun glinted on fixed bayonets and shako badges, the colours lost somewhere above them.

The red coated men marched in line towards us. How many were there hiding in the mist? We heard their orders shouted from one end to the other. Above us all, on the ridge that hemmed in the valley and herded the mists that sat over us, was their General. He sat on his horse, beneath a tree, surrounded by his commanders. They watched us, and their men. I don’t know what they saw that we didn’t, but it made me nervous.

We waited for orders. I looked round for my commander. Would they send in the cuirassiers first? Those heavy horsemen would chop the British to shreds. Even the river wouldn’t slow their charge. They’d have no time to form square, and if they did? My gunners would have slaughtered them where they stood.

The enemy marched towards us, crossing the shallow river that ran through the centre of the valley. That was foolish, there river was a good defensive line. This close I could see them clearly, their flags finally out of the mist.

They weren’t interested in taking a position and defending it. They came on.

Finally, a runner arrived, with orders.

FIRE!

 

15th April Prompt: Hurricane

There’s a weather theme with the current crop of prompts. I was going to write something else entirely, but then I realised I was thinking of tornadoes not hurricanes and had a rewrite. So this is only a part of a story. I do sketch out at the end where it goes though, I just haven’t written the rest of it yet.

Description Shutters Locked in Preparation for Gustav New Orleans.jpg

“Don’t mess with those.” Florence snapped at her niece, Jenna.

“They’re only shutters.”

“They’re hurricane shutters, and very hard to find here. Don’t mess with them. I need your dad to put them up for me.”

Jenna rolled her eyes at her great aunt but stepped away from the pile of wrapped, wooden shutters.

“We don’t have hurricanes here, Auntie Flo.”

“There have been.” Florence shoved a coffee table across the carpet, positioning it in the centre of the room. She bent to check for scratches.

“No, there aren’t ever any hurricanes. Hurricanes happen in hot, wet places; we did it at school.”

“They taught you wrong then, or your teachers aren’t very old. There was a hurricane just before I left to live in the Caribbean.”

“Auntie that was thirty years ago. And a freak too. You’ve lived abroad for too long.” Jenna’s dad, Sean, laughed as he walked into the living room of the sheltered housing complex bungalow Florence had rented when she returned from her years in the Caribbean. Sean was carrying a box of hardback books, acquired in the months Florence had stayed with his family since her return.

“Where do you want these, auntie?”

“On the kitchen table. No, not there. There. And don’t scuff the table.”

Sean shifted the box a few inches, turning back to his daughter and aunt when he was finished.

“It’s survived thirty years in the Caribbean, a long trip back and six months in storage, I’m sure it’ll cope with a box of books.”

“You don’t know that it hasn’t been damaged.”

Sean sighed. It was going to be one of those days.

The story continues with a house warming, and Sean being nagged into putting up the hurricane shutters. During the party a freak storm blows up and the shutters come in handy after all.

14th April Prompt: First snows of winter

This one is set in a future of of drought and flash floods, of hot summers and non-existent winter.

The first snows of winter arrived in March, several months too late.

We’re used to it by now but the old people say it used to happen in October or November. The rivers are already shallow and the reservoir is a puddle. When the snow came we were trying to break the clay up in the garden because mum wants to plant another olive tree. The snow wet the ground, but dried within minutes.

Mum showed me photographs of her great-granddad playing in the snow as a kid, with plastic boots and a hat on. A wool hat, with a bobble. We don’t get snow anymore, but, boy, does it rain! It doesn’t stay long, it just runs off the surface, and takes the soil with it.

We went on a day trip to the sea once, no one in the school believed there used to be more land out there.

5th April Prompt: Care Worker

I’ve been working on some of the prompts I missed during the first two weeks. Most of my scribble is rubbish, but I’ve come up with the start of something using the ‘care worker’ prompt.

“What do you want? Who are you?” A grey eye watched Brenda from between door and its frame, the gold chain stretched across Mr  Jones’ nose.

“Hello, Mr Jones. It’s Brenda, from Central Care Services.”

“I don’t know you.”

“I was here on Tuesday.”

“No you weren’t. It was that young lady Sheila. You’re a crook trying to talk your way in.”

Brenda ignored the charge, used to some variation on the same thing being levelled against her every time she came to Mr Jones’ flat. It changed depending on what he’d read in the Daily Mail that morning.

“Sheila left six months ago. She went to work at the hospital. You came to her leaving party at the community centre.”

“I didn’t. I haven’t been out in weeks. Nobody takes me anywhere.”

“We went to the cinema for Senior Screen on Tuesday morning.”

“What film was it?”

“Dambusters. You remember the bouncing bombs.”

“I was in the air force you know.”

“Yes, I do. You showed me your medals. We went to the memorial service a month a go.”

“At the Memorial.”

“Yes. You looked very handsome in your uniform.”

“Oh I was, turned all the girls’ heads I did.”

 

I have no idea if this is going anywhere. I have a lot of respect for care workers, it’s an hard job and undervalued, not to mention regularly underpaid.

 

The prompts for 14th and 15th April have a bit more potential so I’m going to see what I can do with them and I’ll post later or tomorrow. I also have a couple of book reviews coming up, one for a book about Newgate prison and another about asylums in 19th century Britain and Ireland.

8th April Prompt – Intelligent

I’m supposed to see what I can write in ten minutes with these prompts, so this one isn’t complete, but is definitely something I’ll go back to later.

Kuiper Belt and Oort Cloud - believed to be the two main reservoirs ...

Intelligent life was first discovered outside Earth by the mining ship Venture, sent to the Oort Cloud with a dozen other ships in search of rare minerals and, more importantly, water.

Parking above their allotted lump of dust and ice, Venture scanned the surface fora place to send the shuttle.

“Looks good. Send team one down.” Captain Lecker ordered.

“Yes Sir.” Comms. Officer Brank leant into the speaker above him, “Team One, good to go.”

“Team One good to go.” Leader One confirmed.

The deck officers watched their screens as the shuttle descended on to the dull, pitted surface beneath them. Once the anchors engaged they breathed a sigh of relief and watched as Surveyor Team One emerged on the surface.

The team spread out, pads in hand, careful to step small in the low gravity. One wrong bump and they’d float off into the black.

From a hidden dip in the surface a black craft rose. In the vacuum it was silent. The surveyors became aware of a slight tremor beneath their feet. Looking for the source, Leader One found the heat trail of the engines in his IR feed.

“Team On return to shuttle. Repeat. Team One return to shuttle.”

A squeal cut off the comms, blocking transmission. The warning was unnecessary, the rest of the team had noted the heat trail and tremor already. Once communications had cut out, the scattered surveyors bounced quickly back to the shuttle, dropping kit as they did.

Aboard Venture the screens cut out at the same time as the Leader One called the team back to the shuttle. Lecker looked over the dash at his COmms. Officer.

“Brenk, what’s up with the screens.”

“Sensors are out sir.”

“What?”

“We’re blind. I can’t find the source, but something is blocking our transmissions.”

“How’s that possible, we’re the only one’s out here?”

7th April Prompt – Asthmatic

I having been able to do anything with the prompts for the 5th and 6th, so I’ve gone straight to the 7th. I’m asthmatic. The worse asthma attack I’ve had in recent years was on 17th June 2015. I left the house to go to sewing and before I got 100 yards from the house I was struggling to breathe. It’s not fun. I was reacting to something in the air, and the reaction was pretty immediate. As soon as I got indoors and rested I could breathe normally, but the second I went back outside it started again. I don’t know what caused the reaction, but I live near oil refineries, factories and docks, as well as fields of rape. It could have been any or all of them.

Continue reading “7th April Prompt – Asthmatic”

4th April Prompt – 7-year-old boy

I’m getting behind with my short story prompt posts, aren’t I? I’ve had a dodgy few days but, hopefully, I’m back on an even keel now.

The ball flew over the wall into a garden that backed on to the road. The boys, playing in the street, looked at each other. Oliver started to cross the road to the back gate.

“You can’t go in there.” James grabbed his friend’s arm.

“Why not?” Oliver scratched his nose. He was new to the street but the house didn’t look any different from all the others. On his side of the street the front doors faced the road, on the other side the back gardens ended at the road and the front gardens looked out on to the green in front of the whole estate. The boys were all in the same class at school.

“Everyone say’s the woman who lives there’s a witch.”

“She shouted at us last holidays for playing on the path in front of her house.” Robby, who wasn’t really one of the gang because he went to a different school but they let him play with them anyway, added indignant.

“Well, I want my ball back.” Oliver jutted his chin out, determined to get the ball, even if his friends were too scared to go with him.

“But you can’t go in there. She’ll magic you. Let’s go and get another one.”

“No. I want my ball back.” Oliver snapped at his friends. He pushed past them and finished his walk across the road.

Oliver stood at the gate. The driveway was like all the others on that side of the street; long, paved in grey, concrete slabs with gravel down the middle. No car sat on the drive.

Oliver turned to look back at his friends, “There’s no one in.”

The other boys crossed the road to stand on the path, watching. It was true, their wasn’t a car, but there never was. The gate opened easily. It wasn’t even locked, there was an unpadlocked, rusting, chain hung around the metal linking the two gates together above the latch. Oliver unwrapped it, dropping the chain on the ground with a clink. He pushed open the gate.

Somewhere a dog started to bark.

Oliver pushed the gate shut behind him, leaving the gate unlatched, for a quick get-away. The drive ran between a high fence on one side and a brick wall like the one at the end of the garden, separating the house from it’s neighbour, on the right. Over the top pf the fence trees were visible.

Oliver couldn’t see his ball on the drive. He walked down the drive a little until he came to a gate in the fence. It was as high as the fence, with a rounded top and a dragon cut-out, at adult eye level. Standing on his toes, Oliver tried, and failed to look through. He pushed on the gate, reaching up for the latch, but the gate was locked. He could see a keyhole in the black plate beneath the latch handle.

Steeling himself, Oliver turned to walked the rest of the way to the house. It felt like miles as he walked between the canyon of brick and wood, wind ruffling the tree branches that draped over the fence and gravel crunching under his feet. He looked back. His friends leaned against the fence, watching him. Turning back to his objective, Oliver made for the door.

The drive opened out on his left, a square of concrete with a rotary washing line full of clothes in the centre, wheely bins and recycling boxes neatly lined up beneath the back window greeted him. It looked so ordinary. His mum and dad had the same washing line. Oliver shook his head, the boys were being silly. A witch couldn’t live here. Witches wore black dresses; there were pink t-shirts and green jeans on the line.

The dog barked again. A voice told it to shut up.

Oliver looked back at his friends, his heart blocking his throat as he tried to breathe.

“Come back.” Robby shouted. The other boys nodded. Oliver ignored them.

The dog in the house started bouncing at the kitchen door. A voice shouted for it to shut up as Oliver raised his fist to knock. A shadow crossed the window.

Oliver looked back at his friends for support, but they had hidden behind the back wall. He could see James’ yellow trainers sticking out. They shuffled backwards as the door opened.

Oliver turned round and looked up.

“Yes?” A soft voice spoke, and a pair of grey eyes blinked at him through a narrow gap between the door and the frame.

“Sorry. My ball.”

“It’s in the garden?”

Oliver nodded. The person sighed.

“Give me a minute. The back gate better be closed.”

Oliver nodded mutely, hoping the others hadn’t pushed it open when they’d watched him venture down the drive.

The door shut in his face.

A minute later the door opened again. The dog bounced out, followed by the woman in a faded blue dressing gown pulled tightly around her, and a pair of green wellies. He hair was wrapped in a towel, a wet strand dangling across her forehead.

“Come on them.”

The woman lead the way up the drive, carrying a key in her right hand. The dog had gone to the gate and was nosing at it.

“Budgie, come here.”

The dog looked back at his human, disappointed. There were people out there, and the gate was almost open. He huffed, but trotted back to the humans. Budgie sat down in front of Oliver, shoving his snout into the boy’s hand.

“He wants to know if you have any sweets. If you have, don’t let him have any. Budgie’s on a diet.”

The dog whined and turned away from them, staring at the wall.

“Grumpy hound. Ignore him, he’s sulking.”

The gate to the secret garden opened easily, the key turning smoothly in the lock. The gate opened inward under it’s own weight.

“Go on then.” The woman pointed into the garden.

Oliver walked past, hesitating on threshold to look around. The garden was surrounded by trees covered in pale blossom. In the centre was a small pool with a fountain. At the back, near the wall, was a table and two chairs. On the table a ceramic dragon looked imperially over the vegetation. Around the fountain were empty raised beds. Under the trees fruit bushed were putting on leaves.

The ball floated in the pool.

Oliver ran across the garden, around the beds, to snatch the ball from the pool. He held it, dripping, away from his jumper. It wasn’t damaged. He breathed a sigh of relief. His mum would be so mad if he’d burst it. He walked back out of the garden, smiling.

The woman locked the gate behind him and escorted him to the gate, retrieving the chain. The gang waited on the street, wide-eyed as Oliver let himself out. Budgie pushed out behind him, but the woman grabbed his collar and pulled the dog back into the garden. She shut the gate, wrapping the chain around it and adding a padlock.

“Next time, knock on the front door. Or play elsewhere. There’s a field over there.” She pointed in the direction of a park a few streets away. They weren’t allowed to play there without an adult with them, but the boys nodded anyway and moved away from her gate.

Safely hidden in James’ front garden down the street the boys gathered ’round Oliver.

“Did anything happen?”

“Did she magic you?”

Oliver shook his head; they were so silly. “It’s only a garden, with trees and things. There’s a pond.”

“Oh.”

Disappointed that the witch’s garden was so ordinary the boys kicked at the grass.

“Let’s play.” Oliver dropped the ball, “New teams. Game was interrupted.”

“That’s not fair, we were winning.” James whined.

As they argued about the game, Oliver looked over his shoulder. A dragon flapped lazily on the top of the wall.

3rd April prompt – Elderly geologist

BBeing a former Natural Sciences student (way back in the early years of this century) I’ve met a few elderly geologists. They’re usually the ones teaching the first years.

Sandstone Cliffs at Brandy Head (C) Sheila Russell :: Geograph Britain ...

“A good example of sandstone layering can be seen above us.”

Doctor Albert Grenville pointed to the cliffs behind him. His class of first year Earth Sciences students nodded along as they huddled around him in the chilly April sunlight. The wind had dropped and a few brave souls had taken out pens and notebooks in an attempt to get some notes down.

“Today I want you to walk the beach, observing the cliff closely. Your assignment depends on you being able to remember a few things about it. I recommend taking photographs and sketching. Remember, I want an A3 poster describing the past environments embodied in this stretch of cliff. Point out the swales, and the ripples, the mud stone layers and what they tell us about the changing environment. Really get to know this cliff. Forty percent of you module mark depends on it.”
Doctor Grenville laughed, his students joining in nervously. It was their first field trip and they were unsure.

“Right, get on with it. I’ll leave you to your own devices, but be back at the coach at four this afternoon, and keep am eye on the tide.”

The students nodded and muttered. It would have to do, Albert shrugged, students seemed to get less articulate every year. He watched them disperse along the beach, a few had already given up on their notebooks and had take out cameras and phones to record their work. Really, things had changed so much since they had first come here, fifty years ago.

Albert, young and freshly appointed PhD student in the new geology labs at his university, was on holiday with his fiance and her mother. The summer air was filled with the ozone smell of the sea and the fried fish he and Melissa carried along the beach, looking for somewhere private to eat their supper.

The young couple are arm in arm as they stroll along the pebble beach, joyfully empty of shouting children and overbearing mothers. 

“Look, there’s a cave. We should explore.” Melissa pointed to a shadow in the cliff base twenty yards away. Her blond hair escaped from her scarf, a few curls around her forehead.

“Food first. I’m ravenous.”

“Me too, absolutely famished.”

“How many more houses is your mother going to make us look ’round?”

“I’ve no idea darling, She was quite taken with the two we saw this morning.”

They scrambled into the dip in the cliff base, barely two yards deep. They found two rounded boulders sat in the middle of a sandy floor, the tide line a clear break just inside the cave. Melissa sat, crossing her ankles, and opened the newspaper wrapped packet of fish and chips.

Chewing on a chip, Albert’s professional curiosity got the better of him. He rubbed the walls, feeling the sand slough off on his fingers. Coarse, probably from a beach, mid Jurassic. but he could be wrong. The cave was cool the evening breeze and shade taking the edge off the August heat. Albert leaned against the side wall of the cave, barely an inch behind his boulder, to cool his skin further. A day driving in the sun had reddened his fair, freckled skin painfully.

 

“Sir, Dr Grenville!”

“What?” Albert jumped, sea water soaked through his shoes, “Oh Emma, it’s you.”

His PhD student, helping wrangle students on the field trip for extra pay, stood next to Albert. He looked around, closer to the shore students watched the pair, phones out.

“You’re going to get stranded if you don’t watch out sir.”

“Oh yes, the tide is in already. Thank you Emma. Let’s get back to the getty, shall we?”

“Definitely Dr. Grenville.”

They turned, Emma leading the way, taking a route that lead through the shallowest areas.

“Well, that’s another pair of boots ruined. Melissa won’t be happy.” Albert checked himself as he remembered.

“Yes, that’s why brought my water shoes with me. I remember my trip here as a first year.” Emma distracted him by lifting a foot out of the water high enough for Albert to see the moulded neoprene shoe with individual toes.

“I might have to get some, for next year.”

They walked a few yards further. Emma was troubled. Grenv was getting on a bit but he wasn’t absentminded enough to walk along the spit when the tide was coming in; he’d repeatedly reminded them before they got off the coach to stay close to the cliff and watch the tide.

“Sir, if you don’t mind me asking, why were you so far out?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Nostalgia I suppose.”

“I’m sorry sir, I don’t understand.”

“The first time I came here was with Melissa, the summer before we married.”

“I see.” Emma’s eyebrows shot up.

Albert laughed at her reaction, “Young people are supposed to be open minded Emma.”

Emma laughed, embarrassed.

“But it wasn’t a dirty weekend. We were here for a fortnight with Melissa’s mother, looking for houses.”

“For you and Mrs Grenville?”

“No, unfortunately not; I couldn’t afford to buy a house then. No, my mother-in-law wanted to move to the seaside, for her health. Melissa enlisted my help as driver for the holiday.”

“And the beach?”

“Our refuge from Dorothy. She was set in her ways, had very strict ideas about how an engaged couple should act.”

“I see. So, good memories? Watch out sir, there’s a deep hole right in front of you.” Emma grasped Albert’s arm and led him around the pit.

The tide had turned while Albert and Melissa ate their supper, the first chance they’d had to be alone all day almost over. The sea lapped up the beach getting dangerously close to the mouth of their cave.

“We’d better be going, the tide will cut us off.” Melissa interrupted Albert’s exploration of the cave. 

“Just a second.” He pulled out his camera, winding the film on to the next negative, and took a photograph of Melissa on her boulder, laughing at him.

“Perfect. My siren.” He kissed her and offered her his hand to stand.

“I’m not going to lure you to your doom though.”

“I don’t know; there are times when I’d rather face the Gorgon than your mother.”

“If we don’t hurry back you’ll wish you were facing Medusa. And you’ve got your myths mixed up.”

“Same difference. They’re both Greek.”

Melissa shook her head, smiling. “Well, this siren wants to go back to the hotel and have a bath. Come along, before we’re trapped here.”

The pair left the cave, balling up their chip papers for the return walk along the pebble beach to the getty, where the car waited.

“Here we are Dr. Grenville. Back on solid ground, and just in time for lunch. Will you join the rest of us in the cafe?”

“Why not. There used to be a chip shop that did a lovely battered cod and chips along here.”

Albert looked around, the place had changed so much since his first visit with Melissa. The old chapel was an arcade, and the grocers had become an antiques shop. Melissa had loved their trips here and now they’d never visit together again.

2nd April prompt – Postman

postman | 3d postman with envelope and bag | By: ePublicist | Flickr ...

She answered the door naked.

The first time I thought it was an invitation. She slapped me and made a complaint to the sorting office.

The second time I turned my back, holding out the parcel behind me. She laughed.

The third time I had to deliver a parcel I braced myself for the sight. Wobbly belly and veined legs, pale and hairy, pendulous breasts, and a couple of chins. She smiled, took the parcel and closed the door.

She was completely unconcerned by the impression she made on me; how is that possible?

1st April prompt – Fortune Teller

Erica leaned over the railing, puffing on her fag. The weather wasn’t great, and not many tourists strolled along the prom, away beyond the dunes that separated the line of beach huts from the rest of the resort. The beach in front was equally empty. She flicked the butt into the sand and opened the back door into her shed.

There was nobody waiting for a reading when she emerged from behind the heavy, brocade curtains to take  her seat in the window. Rain pattered on the glass. Erica fiddled with the heavy gold rings she wore for show on every finger. Her hair itched under the lace scarf. She pulled it and the fake black wig off to scratch the itch. People liked the long dark hair and scarves; it had that ‘ethnic’ look they thought ‘gypsies’ should have, as inaccurate, and immensely racist, as that image was.

A long slow afternoon ended with a tap on the door as she was changing into her jeans and hoody to walk home. She ignored the tap.

Another tap jolted through the building as she unlocked the back door. Thankful that the rain had stopped, she unlocked the back door. The tapping became more insistent as she pushed the door open.

“Too bloody late, pal. It’s home time.” She muttered to herself. If they were that interested in a reading they’d come back tomorrow. Walking away from the back of the hut, along the sandy footpath to the end of the row of the painted beach huts. They all housed summer businesses now, but this early in the season they were shut. She took a quick look to see if her knocker was there.

No one.

She shrugged; they must have left. Walking across the dunes to the promenade, she looked about for her erstwhile customer. Despite the clear evening there was no one around.

“Heh. Must have gone to the beach.”

The March weather wasn’t exactly the sort for skinny dipping.

“Erica.” A voice roughened and low pitched, floated over the dunes from the direction of the huts.

Erica turned in the direction of the voice, searching for it’s source. No one was there. Erica shrugged and carried on walking. Trick of the wind.

Reaching the prom and its bus stop Erica was distracted by a poster for a new Tom Hiddleston film, forgetting the strange voice and persistent knocking.

Wednesday in the hut went much as Tuesday did. Quiet, raining on and off, no customers. Until the end of the day, as she was changing out of her costume.

Tap. Tap.

“We’re closed.”

Tap. Tap.

“I said, we’re closed.”

Tap. Tap.

“Oh for crying out loud.”

Erica pulled her coat on, zipping it up. She pushed open the back door and left. The customer still persistently knocking. Locking up, she slipped between the hut and its neighbour. She could hear the knocking still, Really, this customer didn’t get the message at all.

“Hey! I told you. We’re closed.”

There was no one there.