PHOTO PROMPT CHALLENGE - MARCH 2024
courtesy of www.100wordstory.org/photo-prompt Challenge: write a story in 100 words in response to the picture. Photo Prompt exercises are by www.100wordstory.org/photo-prompt. This is great website with helpful information for writers of all levels. You can submit your stories to the 100 Word Story website and maybe see it published online. Visit the website for more information. This is not a competition just a chance to share your work to a wider audience and practise the discipline of writing to a given brief and deadline. Be selective with your words as you only have 100 with which to create your story. E-mail your piece to Maggie or Betty or paste it to the contact form on the Home Page (menu). You could also submit it to the 100 Word Story website. https://100wordstory.org/photo-prompt |
Moon Mate
Beautiful, isn’t she? I refer to my nighttime companion, and I forgive her inability to turn up every night. Happily, she appeared tonight, sailing high, shining forth; welcome company during my sleepless hours. I’ve adjusted the louvre blind so she can peep in at me. Likewise, I watch her lighting up the cloud formations as she crosses my vista: together we wait for morning. I laze on soft plump pillows, warm covers up to my chin as I watch her through the small hours. She and I share a comfortable silence. Come morning, I’m never sure who fell asleep first. Betty Taylor |
January 2024
Bursting the Bubble
I gaze out at the new morning's snow-dusted pristine beauty. Snow cushions lie amongst the saplings we planted last autumn. My thoughts leap ahead, twenty years, thirty even… will there be snow for us then? Shall I see full grown elegant silver birch, frosted, sparkling, more handsome than any human creation. Time rolls on as the warnings come, ever rumbling, planting worries and portent of danger. I shrug off my thoughts, turn back to the magical landscape and my hopes for spring, new growth and sunshine. The very word ‘sunshine’ suggests fear of the warnings, global warming, danger and despair. Betty Taylor |
November 2023
‘What did the fun-guy say to the compost?’
‘Don’t know and don’t care.’ ‘Move over you lot, there’s not mushroom inside.’ ‘I’m as bored as you but cracking rotting jokes like that won’t cheer me up.’ The twin brown caps quivered in the dank forest. Other fungi grew under canopies, camouflaged and secret, but these two felt prey to foragers and particularly pigs. Pigs that somehow smelt out a special growth to excite the palate and make men rich. It would soon be truffle season but at the next morning dew both were carefully plucked and fried for Martha’s breakfast. Andi Green |
August 2023
Tiktok
They will be holding globes, or balancing them on the tips of their fingers. The illusion adds to the entertainment. We watch them; not much laughter as they seem so serious, holding up the buildings with their outstretched arms. Or shaking hands with Kings and Queens on horseback. Maybe the crown sits awkwardly on their heads as they pose and snap. They hope that one will come alive, make them jump. Throw a coin, snap away. Tiktok. We are all looking through a lens one way or another, catching the tourists, watching us, watching them. Living life behind a camera. Maggie Storer |
Beam me up…
The tableau of performing humans baffled the aliens. Their invisibility allowed them to move between, around and right up close but they still couldn’t decide. The small devices they were holding clicked and occasionally flashed tiny lights. Was it some form of dance or movement exercise? A large man in uniform broke into their concentration shouting in a strange tongue and collecting all the small equipment into a bag on his back. Some people resisted but the anger of the leader soon had them lined up in twos following him out of sight. The watchers were rolling about in hysterics. Andie Green |
Artificial Intelligence
What on earth are you doing? Pan faced, silent, engrossed in pointing your arms at nothing, why? No chat, no giggles, no movement. Concentration is extreme and the tension palpable. I watch you and see peculiar camera angles, which planet are you from? Then I spot your phones. It's all for the sake of an illusory holiday snap? A sort of low-level AI to illustrate your travels. AI is the scourge of our times. There are more interesting things to do, so sorry folks, I just don’t get it. And if you’re interested, my advice to you is, ‘get a life!’. Betty Taylor |
July 2023
March 1938
“Sherry m’lord?” “Thank you, you’re a good fellow Jenson. Will you accompany me on a trip round England? Hitler is sabre rattling, I’d like to see something of the country. Neither of us has much time left. “Yes m’lord.” “Shall I arrange our trip?” “Thank you m’lord.” “Good man, I’lI book our seats on the Mallard. Read about it in The Times, you know, latest thing in passenger trains.” “That reminds me m’lord, Cook says, will you have Mallard duck for dinner ?” “Certainly Jenson. What an omen. We’re going to have a wonderful time.” “Yes m’lord.” Betty Taylor Pond Life
Showing off my iridescent green-blue feathers, I proudly waddle pond side, looking for my mate. She disappeared into the reeds a while ago. I’ve been calling her; she can’t be far away. There’s a flash of silvery blue in the rushes. Is that her on the far bank? And who is that bold fella displaying his plumage, prancing around her. I skim over the pond, quacking my loudest, creating waves with my wings. Arriving on the bank, I shake my feathers, prepare to fight. But they are gone. I’ll settle here for the night and wait for her return. Maggie Storer |
Closed season
Who was that noisy drake quackering duck, duck, duck this morning? Is it his new chat up line? Of course he’s nowhere near as handsome as me. His gloss is fading, poor old thing. His webs no longer glide him across the pond serenely, and his missus only produced three ducklings in her last brood. Where as I am in my prime. My eight took to all life’s experiences like ducks to ….you know the rest. Wow! That was a bullet from the tall reeds. Duck! everyone fly for cover. The closed *season is over. * Closed season lasts from 1st February to 1st September Andi Green |
Times Change
Mallard Cottage is pretty, one of a row built of mellow carstone and flint, over two hundred years ago. In summer yellow roses tumble over its walls. The cottages, situated opposite the duck pond, are all that remain of the old village, except for the ancient church which watches benignly.
The new owners, stockbroker Giles and his partner Sam, have renovated the old dwelling. They use it occasionally at weekends, an escape from their hectic city lives. Mostly though it’s rented to holidaymakers for eye watering amounts.
Mallard Cottage has survived, a remnant of a quintessential England that never was.
Linda Birch
Mallard Cottage is pretty, one of a row built of mellow carstone and flint, over two hundred years ago. In summer yellow roses tumble over its walls. The cottages, situated opposite the duck pond, are all that remain of the old village, except for the ancient church which watches benignly.
The new owners, stockbroker Giles and his partner Sam, have renovated the old dwelling. They use it occasionally at weekends, an escape from their hectic city lives. Mostly though it’s rented to holidaymakers for eye watering amounts.
Mallard Cottage has survived, a remnant of a quintessential England that never was.
Linda Birch
June 2023
The Last Flight Home
Keep close, I don’t want to lose you. Hold my hand tight. They’re just checking our bags, making sure we are safe to board. Look at the flag; isn’t it beautiful? You’ll love New York, the city that never sleeps. I want to show you everything; where I was born, the house we lived in, the happy times I remember and the future we will have together as a family. Here we go. I think that might be our plane on the runway. Can you see it through the window? Wave bye bye. Daddy’s waiting. It’s time to go home. Maggie Storer |
Questioning Freedom
Just look at you all. Scurrying about like manic ants: crowded together, constantly checking the time, desperate to get somewhere, full of your own importance, frantic to keep your place in the queue, weighed down by all those things you carry with you everywhere.
Why do you need all that? What’s it for? Isn’t it a burden? Where are you all going? Why? You’ll be back again in a few days. I’ve watched you before.
You may think you are clever with your sleek machines, that you have mastered the heavens. But you can never be free as a bird.
Linda Birch
Just look at you all. Scurrying about like manic ants: crowded together, constantly checking the time, desperate to get somewhere, full of your own importance, frantic to keep your place in the queue, weighed down by all those things you carry with you everywhere.
Why do you need all that? What’s it for? Isn’t it a burden? Where are you all going? Why? You’ll be back again in a few days. I’ve watched you before.
You may think you are clever with your sleek machines, that you have mastered the heavens. But you can never be free as a bird.
Linda Birch
May 2023
Dumbing Down
Questions, questions. Tick the box, circle your answer. Dumbing down, no better than a robot, performing with pneumatic arms. I have an intelligent answer that I am unable to communicate and will be judged on this random test. Some superior calculator will be fed pages and pages of these guessed responses with no thought or understanding of the human being performing this mindless task. Memories of carefully written letters, essays and theses, remind me that I do have a brain. But I have to resort to this impersonal application - for what? The numbers begin to jumble. Then the pencil breaks. Maggie Storer |
Beating the System
Theo has done many tests like this. They are a standardized, soulless and efficient way to see how much he can remember. He either knows the answer or not, nothing in between. The machine knows everything and always wins. Theo understands if he doesn’t score well, he is a failure. He will not be able to attend the college his parents chose for him and he’ll disappoint them. But he’s tired of trying to conform. He needs freedom to follow his dream. Theo broke his pencil deliberately. No pencil, no more answers. He’s taking back a little bit of control. Linda Birch |
Technology Reigns
We, the people, have become institutionalised box tickers. We use our little pens and pencils to tick this, tick that, making sure we select the correct category. Details and dreams are divulged and fed into a supercomputer with limitless brainpower. We are gobbled up and spat out for some authoritarian body to know all and everything. I ask why? I sigh, sit down, and wish for a breeze to whisk my scrap of paper away from the greedy techno gadgets. Mind your own business Mr Authority, it’s my life. I don’t want to be a statistic on your paper detritus. Betty Taylor |
April 2023
Coming home
This scrub land was once a fairytale playground where we played as children, now sliced in two by the motorway and left scarred by bush fires and detritus thrown from passing traffic. Mittens used to follow us into the bushes, pussyfooting along behind. Sometimes she caught a mouse or chased a rabbit. She was one of the gang. Until one day, she didn’t return home. We found her later on the roadside; took her back to bury her in the place she loved to roam. We found her little headstone. She’s coming home with us now. Rest in peace Mittens. Maggie Storer |
RIP Mittens
I wasn't sad as my neighbour bewailed her sorrow when her cat died. I empathised of course, but I was glad to see the back of it, metaphorical back, you understand. It was a smelly old thing. You might guess I’m not a cat lover. When Phyllis was out, I’d shoo it out of our garden, and I had to shovel up what it left in our flower border. I don’t enjoy flinging cat doings over the fence to where it belongs. But I promise to invite Phyllis round for tea now that Mittens isn’t here to follow her in. Betty Taylor In Loving Memory Mittens was a fine cat: noble, sure of his rightful place in the world. I named him Marmalade because of his colouring but he became Mittens on account of his two white paws. Mother said it didn’t matter. Cats were feckless, faithless creatures with no loyalty and she didn’t understand why I wanted him. Father said to keep the smelly creature out of his way. When Mittens died, I thought I’d be the only one to mourn him. But father made a headstone and we held a little ceremony. They did care after all. Somehow that makes all the difference. Linda Birch |
Catastrophe I once had a kitten called Mittens As cute as a kitten could be He played with the wind, skipped at his shadow And climbed crazy heights on his own. Lightning struck our house one night, it burnt and fell down Our toys and goldfish were buried alive The family survived but so much was changed I kept Mittens close, but one day he left home In a wood years later this plaque was found I hope he had eighteen years of fun I have loved kittens again, in a casual way But my first love was the true one. Andie Green |
March 2023
The Way It Is
It was the clapping that did it, every Thursday evening. All that gratitude. Sally glowed with pride and knew she’d chosen the right career as a nurse: something meaningful, making a real difference to people’s lives. But this is reality. She’s uncomfortably masked up all day and has lost count of how many tests she’s done. Today people are moaning about waiting. Next week she has vaccination clinics to look forward to: seemingly never-ending queues of people, some frightened, some fractious, all merging into one. She’s exhausted and, dare she think it – bored. It wasn’t meant to be like this. Linda Birch |
Stockpiling
‘What are you doing, Dad.’ ‘Frying chips.’ ‘So why are you...?’ ‘It’s a splash guard; works perfectly.’ ‘Don’t you think that’s rather irresponsible?’ ‘All this equipment will be out of date by the next pandemic.’ ‘How can a plastic face guard ever be out of date?’ ‘Good question. The garage is full of the stuff.’ ‘What else have you got in there?’ ‘Masks. Hundreds of them.’ ‘Well, I’m shocked, Dad. You’re going to have to fry a lot of chips to get through that lot.’ ‘That’s nothing. You should see next door. Can’t get into their garage for toilet rolls.’ Maggie Storer |
Lift Off“
Can I be a spaceman?” asked Jay wistfully. “Try hard and you can be anything you want,” replied Dad. Jay pondered this for a moment, “I’m five, so I’m big enough to try.” “Okay, we’ll get those old cardboard boxes out of the garage. ”Dad took charge. They worked hard cutting and sticking cardboard. They formed a window with a plastic bag. A squirt of spray paint; and the rocket looked magnificent. Helmet on, Jay climbed aboard. Dad lifted his own visor, “five, four, three, two, one. Lift off!” Jay was ecstatic as he soared into space. Dad just smiled. Betty Taylor |
My dentist looked like an alien masked and helmeted over her hijab, impossible to tell if she was smiling or grimacing and her voice was muffled.
Protective goggles, a mask and a helmet offering direct
splash protection.
'Lie back. Open wide. Any problems Here or here?' My tongue tried to reply.
She poked a mirror onto my molars making me feel infected, exposed.
Will this examination reveal that I have it too?
This plague that’s killing indiscriminately. She carried on poking and plaque removing.
Between each patient all must be scrubbed and sterilised.
I get home and scrub myself.
Andie Green
Protective goggles, a mask and a helmet offering direct
splash protection.
'Lie back. Open wide. Any problems Here or here?' My tongue tried to reply.
She poked a mirror onto my molars making me feel infected, exposed.
Will this examination reveal that I have it too?
This plague that’s killing indiscriminately. She carried on poking and plaque removing.
Between each patient all must be scrubbed and sterilised.
I get home and scrub myself.
Andie Green
February 2023
Faith
See a penny Pick it up All day long You’ll have good luck Samantha recited the verse as her fingers clutched the golden coin. Diving into the fountain had been icy. Once at the bottom she saw more shiny coins hidden from the sunlight. But it had to be this one – the one he had thrown as she watched. Dripping, she looked for him until she spotted his red hair and yellow trainers over by the gate. Now all she had to do was run over and recite the words. Squeezing her eyes tight she murmured, ‘You're my luck’ Andie Green |
The Lost Penny
I am still here; older, definitely wiser, but not the girl called Penny any more. She went through Primary school as Henny Penny, then on to High school as Penny. She would have been affronted if anyone had called her by her real name. Except family of course, who could never adapt. She left school and went to college. On her first day, a girl sat next to her and asked her name. From then onwards everything changed. Old friends gradually dropped her old moniker. She became someone else. I want to turn back the clock; be that girl again. Maggie Storer |
Living with Fear
Finding the shiny penny means good luck. Today will be a good day and her demons will not reach her. If she can avoid the cracks in the pavement as she walks into town then better still. She will be safe, touch wood. If the window cleaners are around today, she must be careful to avoid their ladders, but otherwise, with the lucky penny in her pocket, nothing can go wrong. The chatter in her head gets louder. The screech of brakes shocks her and she looks into the terrified eyes of the driver. She must remember to take care. Linda Birch |
Think Lucky
Julie ranted when I revealed my new metal detector. She even threatened to dump me. “Four hundred pounds for that thing,” she screamed. Now we’ll never afford our dream wedding? Sobbing, she ran upstairs.
Time to leave before her folks returned or they'd start on me too. One ray of hope, at least she didn’t throw the ring at me.
Next day I put the gadget into action. I just knew I’d be lucky, so I’ll cut the waffle... posh wedding next month, fab venue, dream dress, honeymoon abroad, thanks to a stash of historic cash unearthed by “that thing”.
Betty Taylor
Julie ranted when I revealed my new metal detector. She even threatened to dump me. “Four hundred pounds for that thing,” she screamed. Now we’ll never afford our dream wedding? Sobbing, she ran upstairs.
Time to leave before her folks returned or they'd start on me too. One ray of hope, at least she didn’t throw the ring at me.
Next day I put the gadget into action. I just knew I’d be lucky, so I’ll cut the waffle... posh wedding next month, fab venue, dream dress, honeymoon abroad, thanks to a stash of historic cash unearthed by “that thing”.
Betty Taylor
January 2023
Tomorrow
Vehicles sit lifeless, cowering in the gutter. Footprints tell that adults have trudged home on foot, cold and tired after a day’s work, or maybe weary from carrying bags of shopping. Most folk are indoors now, thawing out, cooking supper, cursing the weather. At windows children’s noses are close to the glass as they peer out at the falling snow. It has silenced the usual street sounds and lights up the night. Excitement mounts as children climb into bed to dream of snowball fights, a day off school, and the fun they’re going to have tomorrow in this winter wonderland. Betty Taylor |
Worth Waiting
They say be careful what you wish for. A white Christmas seemed a harmless enough request to the weather gods. Meaning a white crisp frosty covering, not these days of relentless snowfall. Cars buried beneath their blankets; trees weighed down; the whole world muffled. No-one could get anywhere. Everyone is hiding in their rooms, shivering; the electricity keeps failing. Is this their cruel joke?
Jack trudges on. He feels again for the small box nestled in the inside pocket of his jacket. It’s safe. He sees the glow. ‘Get here when you can’ she said. ‘The light will be on.’
Linda Birch
They say be careful what you wish for. A white Christmas seemed a harmless enough request to the weather gods. Meaning a white crisp frosty covering, not these days of relentless snowfall. Cars buried beneath their blankets; trees weighed down; the whole world muffled. No-one could get anywhere. Everyone is hiding in their rooms, shivering; the electricity keeps failing. Is this their cruel joke?
Jack trudges on. He feels again for the small box nestled in the inside pocket of his jacket. It’s safe. He sees the glow. ‘Get here when you can’ she said. ‘The light will be on.’
Linda Birch
Snow Bomb
Ghost sheeted vehicles park at the verges, the road rutted with brown ridges of snow and ice. Fog lights glare through misted lens going nowhere. Still it snows, branches bending, their finger tips bare, shivering in the frosted air. |
Tenement houses line the street.
Through golden lit windows families huddle round a single bar trying to keep warm before the power is extinguished and they retire to bed. Those old enough remember before central heating, double glazing. |
Morning will bring the ploughs.
Gritters will melt the ice. Shovels and spades will clear a way until the next snow bomb lands. Maggie Storer |
December 2022
Sweet dreams.
Stephen had landed not on the moon, but in heaven. He was living his wildest fantasy in the best place on earth. Oh! the crunchy fruity flavours, sticky treacle toffee, liquorice shoe laces, fizzy flying saucers and sherbet dabs. He devoured bars of silky milk chocolate, boxes of peppermint creams and pink and white sugary mice. A crane in a glass dome grabbed bags of treats and dropped them into a tray when Stephen pulled a handle. Stephens mouth was sore and numb. The dentist handed Stephen his teeth in a tissue to leave for the tooth fairy. Andie Green |
Emporium
A plastic Emporium of colourful toys greets me as I tinkle the bell into toy land. A large candy dome entices me to pop a coin and pull the lever. Santa’s deep friendly voice drifts through invisible speakers. He wants to know if I’ve been good for mummy. He obviously can’t see my ageing posture leaning on a stick. The aisles are piled high with tempting goods. Robots and digital games are placed strategically for maximum attention. I pop a couple of jigsaws into my basket and a book of crossword puzzles. That’s all I need for a happy Christmas. Maggie Storer |
Day of Reckoning
Whenever there was a problem Nana would give us a great big hug and take us to Mrs Ellis’ Sweet Shop. The shop dazzled with all the colours of the rainbow and the best deals ever to sweeten your life. We could choose whatever we wanted: sherbets, humbugs, chews, spangles, even gob stoppers. All our worries vanished in the instant gratification of such super sweetness. Happy memories, taking my mind off the drone of the dentist’s drill – not to mention his eye-watering fee. Yet another appointment to try and repair the damage. No-one ever mentioned there would be payback time. Linda Birch |
November 2022
Safe Deposit It was all she left me, with no explanation, just a key to a safe deposit box. No clue from the solicitor as to what it might be. I imagined jewels, cash in bundles, some family heirloom or her amber pendant she knew I loved. I found my way to the vault, was patted down by security, nodded through like a criminal and left in a locked inner chamber surrounded by a wall of boxes. Shaking, I inserted my key. Better than twinkling diamonds, gold trinkets or amber, I withdrew a sealed envelope - a letter to say she loved me. Maggie Storer |
A Surprise Present
Four daughters. Always arguing, we were not a happy family, losing touch years ago. Now both our parents have died and we’re going through this charade. The solicitor tells us they have left “a gift to remember them by.” We’ve each inherited a key to a safe deposit box. Jodie is delighted with her diamond ring, Samantha smug holding the BMW keys, and Lisa flashes a gold bracelet. It’s my turn. My hand is sweaty and shaking as I remove the envelope, open it, and stare at a birth certificate and photo of a man with his arm around mom. Linda Birch Almost a True Story
My bank statement showed charges for a safe deposit box that I didn’t have. I went to complain. A patronising young man incensed me, 'don't worry dear, you must have forgotten. Check the contents, you’ll soon remember.’ I emphatically denied ownership, but he insisted it was mine. Still protesting, I was escorted to a vault and left alone with the box. It was crammed with documents belonging to someone who shared my name. I gave a cursory glance at the property deeds. The small bag of diamonds went into my pocket. Then I locked the box and rang the bell. Betty Taylor (a true story except for the diamonds) |
October 2022
Cyclone
They still queue to ride the Cyclone, but the thrill isn’t quite the same. In 1927, Vernon Keenan designed this compact twister; a wooden structure where you rattled around at break-neck speed. It has claimed three deaths in its history. For four decades it operated before it began to deteriorate. Plans to scrap it failed. Eventually it was refurbished and still operates today. It was designated a New York landmark in 1988. Roller coaster enthusiasts say that the roughness of the ride was a major characteristic of the experience. A gentler ride still attracts thousands of visitors a year. Maggie Storer |
Finalitas
Ultimate adrenaline junky-ness. The one to scare us to the death. Black framed by fire. Wordlessly promising that if we failed this one our hearts would be forever twined. The kid who checked clips on harness and crash helmets grinned with sinister boredom. C Y C L O N E letters morphed into P Y S C H O as the car completed its judder judder climb to pause for too short a time – terror owned me. My brain crashed with ghastly screams – I vomited at the apex of a loop – but most of all I prayed for forgiveness. Andie Green |
A Ride to Oblivion
It was a shock to find the picture. Why had she kept it? None of them would ever need a reminder of that dreadful day. Bad memories. Christa said she did not want to ride the Cyclone, but no-one listened. Called her a cry baby, a coward. They’d saved up to come to Coney Island and experience the thrills, live life a little more. “Loosen up can’t you? Have some fun.” The words echoed in her head. They were all guilty, each of them taunting her, yet hiding their own fears. But brave Christa, she knew better than them all. Linda Birch |
The Ride
They queued for the Cyclone. She felt trepidation, he hopped about like an excited kid impatient for a buzz.
“I don’t want to do this,” she said.
“Don’t be stupid girl. It’ll be a laugh a minute.”
“No, I’m not doing it.”
“What are you scared of?” He laughed at her and pulled her along as the queue moved forward.
“I’m not doing it,” she said firmly.
“Of course you are,” he snapped, shoving her forward.
She walked away.
He called her name, watched her retreat, and knew she was gone forever.
There were no thrills riding the Cyclone alone.
Betty Taylor
They queued for the Cyclone. She felt trepidation, he hopped about like an excited kid impatient for a buzz.
“I don’t want to do this,” she said.
“Don’t be stupid girl. It’ll be a laugh a minute.”
“No, I’m not doing it.”
“What are you scared of?” He laughed at her and pulled her along as the queue moved forward.
“I’m not doing it,” she said firmly.
“Of course you are,” he snapped, shoving her forward.
She walked away.
He called her name, watched her retreat, and knew she was gone forever.
There were no thrills riding the Cyclone alone.
Betty Taylor
September 2022
Do Not Enter
I rarely enter Simeon’s room. The sign on the door a threat not to be ignored. So this is what consumes his every waking moment, when he’s not down the gym pumping weights, or whatever it is that draws him there. His lean muscle bound frame hiding away from us. We barely talk any more. I sweep the contents on his desk into a black bin liner, go searching for more evidence of his recent obsession which has alienated him from family and friends. Tear down the grotesque posters of deformed human beings. Simeon will never be one of them. Maggie Storer |
The Wrong Road
It was all he’d ever wanted to do: run. He wasn’t academic, couldn’t compete with his clever siblings. But he was an athlete and he became obsessed to be the best. Faster, further, fitter. Long days in the gym, on the track, on the road. Pounding, hour after hour. Getting better all the time. No time for anything else.
Voices clamoured in his head. “Take this, it will help you lose weight, put on muscle, stay awake, sleep better, be stronger.”
False claims. Disgusted, Luke swipes the debris to the floor. Now all he wants to do is run away.
Linda Birch
It was all he’d ever wanted to do: run. He wasn’t academic, couldn’t compete with his clever siblings. But he was an athlete and he became obsessed to be the best. Faster, further, fitter. Long days in the gym, on the track, on the road. Pounding, hour after hour. Getting better all the time. No time for anything else.
Voices clamoured in his head. “Take this, it will help you lose weight, put on muscle, stay awake, sleep better, be stronger.”
False claims. Disgusted, Luke swipes the debris to the floor. Now all he wants to do is run away.
Linda Birch
August 2022
He Who Hesitates It’s always the same. George takes ages to decide what to eat. He studies the menu, thinks about what he had last time they came. “Did he like it? “Was it good?” He doesn’t really want this food anyway. “What’s wrong with a hot-dog?” he’d asked Rosa. She hadn’t replied. She always knew exactly what she wanted. Checked the menu, ordered and sat down to eat. Job done. It was just like their whole life together: Rosa, single-minded and determined. Which may explain why George ended up married before he’d had time to think. Before he knew what he wanted. Linda Birch |
The Taco Shack
She said she was working to pay her Uni fees as there was no help from home. I’ve been hanging around since I got here, hours ago now. Still haven’t seen her. Meantime I buy fish and chips and a cold beer from another stall. Don’t fancy that Mexican stuff. Must be an age thing.
The girl on the van said she was the only one working there today. She looked at me as if I’d just stepped from under her shoe. I’m not a creep. I’m her dad and I want to see my daughter. Is that so bad?
Maggie Storer
She said she was working to pay her Uni fees as there was no help from home. I’ve been hanging around since I got here, hours ago now. Still haven’t seen her. Meantime I buy fish and chips and a cold beer from another stall. Don’t fancy that Mexican stuff. Must be an age thing.
The girl on the van said she was the only one working there today. She looked at me as if I’d just stepped from under her shoe. I’m not a creep. I’m her dad and I want to see my daughter. Is that so bad?
Maggie Storer
July 2022
Jet Set
Mum and Dad have bought a huge house in the country. Me and Dad moved in while Mum went on a shopping spree. They had a road built on our fields and a little plane landed on it today. Dad said, “we’re going up in the world.” I thought he meant because of the plane. Then he said, “You'll be starting a posh boarding school next term, I'll fly you there when me pilot's licence comes.” “But Dad, I don’t wanna…” “Stop bloody whinging Keep shtum about the lottery win, we don't need scroungers, and learn to speak proper like!” Betty Taylor |
Maiden Flight
I can barely look down as we leave the patchwork green and yellow fields behind. Helpless now, we rely only on the pilot and the mechanics. The safest way to travel they say, and yet I would still prefer to hurtle down a motorway or ride a high speed train. That hollow stomach feeling when you see only empty space between you and the ground. I feel the claustrophobic cabin pressing against my ears; hear a trolley somewhere clinking glasses. Cover my ears as a calm voice speaks my worst fears. Turbulence. Stormy weather. Fasten seat belts. I cling on. Maggie Storer |
New Life
The past months had been an unbelievable nightmare. Nadia looked towards her sleeping children. Only now her pounding heart had begun to calm down. Seeing the green fields below this would be their new home. Nothing could ever wipe out the loss and horror they had seen. Gone were all their loved ones. She was now a widow; her main concern was to make a safe haven for her children. Nadia could speak fluent English and she would teach again. Never would she return to her homeland. Their life was here now in England’s green and pleasant land. Carol Hipkin |
On the Edge
The earth is slipping perilously away. Her world is tilted, toppling her to the edge of reason. The familiar buildings, trees and fields are becoming unrecognisable. The plane jolts again, her stomach lurches as terror grips even more tightly. The shuddering, quivering metal vibrates through her body as she fights the urge to scream.
“Keep calm, keep breathing.” She digs her nails deeper into her flesh, trying to control her rising panic.
Whose idea was this anyway? All she said was that she wanted to try different things. Bother the bucket list.
She hears him shout – “All clear. Now, jump!”
Linda Birch
The earth is slipping perilously away. Her world is tilted, toppling her to the edge of reason. The familiar buildings, trees and fields are becoming unrecognisable. The plane jolts again, her stomach lurches as terror grips even more tightly. The shuddering, quivering metal vibrates through her body as she fights the urge to scream.
“Keep calm, keep breathing.” She digs her nails deeper into her flesh, trying to control her rising panic.
Whose idea was this anyway? All she said was that she wanted to try different things. Bother the bucket list.
She hears him shout – “All clear. Now, jump!”
Linda Birch
June 2022
The Cards Reveal
“Come on you two, it’s only a bit of fun. I need to rehearse,” Sally, Jodie’s sister, insisted. She’d won the part of the fortune teller in the amateur dramatic society’s next performance. Competition was fierce and it mattered she played it well. She was word perfect and, despite her reluctance to take part, Jodie smiled. Sally paused dramatically, letting her hand hover, before she dealt Jodie’s card. Abruptly she dropped the pack, scattering it across the table. But she wasn’t quick enough. I saw the glance pass between them and saw the Lovers entwined in each other’s arms. Betrayal. Linda Birch |
Compulsion
I pull three cards from the deck after shuffling and halving. I do this every morning on waking; a guide for my day. I do it the same way I read my horoscope; another compulsion to my morning routine. I have several horoscopes lined up in case I need clarification or confirmation. The black tea leaves in my cup are waiting to be read; I pray no snakes. Today I have turned over the wheel of fortune and cling to that positive for the day. I know my supernatural fear is irrational, but he sits on my shoulder, always whispering. Maggie Storer |
Just For Laughs
Evangeline held out the tarot cards. Solemnly she said, "select your cards, you are in charge of your fate." I winkled out a few cards and placed them down. Evangeline stared at them intently. She took in a quick breath then sighed heavily. Alarmed, I looked at the cards. The Fool, Death, The Devil, The Hanged Man. My heart skipped a beat. "That's creepy," I whispered with a shudder, "what do they mean?" "I haven't a flipping clue," laughed Angeline, "I was winding you up when I said I could read them." We both giggled, but my laughter was hollow. Betty Taylor |
May 2022
Final Word
This morning’s commute felt different somehow. She couldn’t define her feeling, but she felt unsettled. Today she was the odd ball in the carriage, her red heels incongruous among the dark suits and black office shoes of the men around her. She glanced round seeing that everyone was locked in their own thoughts or buried in a newspaper. Expressions were serious, perhaps a little tense. A sudden screech of brakes! A deep rumble, everyone was alert, alarmed! Then terrified as the noise intensified. The carriage swayed; suddenly strangers held each other close, some grabbed their phones to make their last call. Betty Taylor |
One day it could be different
It’s the same every day. Gloomy faces: some look anxious, fretting about figures, targets to meet. Some read, some listen to music, some stare vacantly. No-one speaks, all are isolated in their own worlds. He wonders ‘what if.’ What would happen if I smiled and said “hello,” started a conversation? Maybe I could tell a story, or do a funny dance, a somersault perhaps? The train lurches to a sudden, juddering halt. He reaches up instinctively to hold on to the shackles which hang above him. There for safety. He dares to dream but knows he can never break free. Linda Birch |
Silence
No one is talking, but everyone is thinking. Silence, except for the hum drum of the train, the screech of brakes and the rush of stale air. They are thinking: I am busy, I am working. I am wearing the uniform expected of a busy working person. I am living the life that is expected of me. Look at me absorbed in my normal working routine. They don’t see themselves as the unhappy robots they have become. I will leave this train and head away from the city before it’s too late. No one is talking, but I am thinking. Maggie Storer |
Tokyo commute
I must not appear interested in my fellow passengers.
In the world's most populated city everyone is too busy to waste time in small talk. Our underground trains are bright and clean, the very first underground railway was opened here in 1927.
When I visited London people were so rushed and rude on the trains. Standing too close, breathing each other’s sweat, and the noise!
Tokyo trains are very quick. Not social spaces just necessary. I must buy a paper tomorrow to blend in a little in this metropolis. Also I will wear black shiny shoes not trainers.
Andie Green
I must not appear interested in my fellow passengers.
In the world's most populated city everyone is too busy to waste time in small talk. Our underground trains are bright and clean, the very first underground railway was opened here in 1927.
When I visited London people were so rushed and rude on the trains. Standing too close, breathing each other’s sweat, and the noise!
Tokyo trains are very quick. Not social spaces just necessary. I must buy a paper tomorrow to blend in a little in this metropolis. Also I will wear black shiny shoes not trainers.
Andie Green
April 2022
Journey
I’ve been going for miles, lost track of time. Am I alive? Am I dreaming or drowning? Everything seems strange, otherworldly. I try to fight my way back to reality. I’m tired but I must struggle on. It feels like a battle, yet I see trees melting into the mist, do I imagine them? I’d love to stop, just give up and sleep. There’s nothing here but a dense mist, and an infinitely long road. I think it’s getting lighter. Listen! Voices! “Wake up Betty, let’s sit you up. It’s over, everything’s fine, your op went well.” Betty Taylor |
The Road Ahead
Beads of rain pebble dashed the windscreen. I pulled up and peered into the night. Was this really where he’d agreed to meet me? Spindle tree trunks lined the road ahead, their branches lost in the mist. Everywhere was so still. I began to visualise dark shapes looming towards me. I tapped his number into my phone and he answered straight away. ‘Where are you?’ ‘I’m here, waiting for you.’ A tap on the window and I released the lock; a gush of relief as he settled in beside me. Then my scream; stifled, lost in a blanket of fog. Maggie Storer |
One Chance
It wasn’t meant to be like this. Two weeks in an idyllic country cottage, away from the stresses of work. It had taken ages to persuade Josh they didn’t need to fly to foreign beaches, packed with tourists, to enjoy a holiday. The countryside has much to offer. Now look at it. Endless rain, the lane is a river of mud and fog is descending rapidly, shrouding the beautiful trees. More to the point, broadband is intermittent to non-existent. This is day three. Only eleven more to go. If we survive this, we’ll survive anything. But no more bight ideas. Linda Birch |
The Aftermath
I sat upright. I blinked several times to make sense of what was where my window had always been. I love storms. The shapes of illuminating fork lightning. Counting chimpanzees till the next crash of thunder..
A tempest in daylight or darkness fills me with an adrenaline rush.
Others cower in cupboards, unplug electric sockets and try to make more noise and think of other things.
But now all was silent. Tiny water droplets filled my attic bedroom. An illuminated line of trees had replaced my urban view of rooftop aerials.
I hide away under my duvet, all excitement flattened.
Andie Green
I sat upright. I blinked several times to make sense of what was where my window had always been. I love storms. The shapes of illuminating fork lightning. Counting chimpanzees till the next crash of thunder..
A tempest in daylight or darkness fills me with an adrenaline rush.
Others cower in cupboards, unplug electric sockets and try to make more noise and think of other things.
But now all was silent. Tiny water droplets filled my attic bedroom. An illuminated line of trees had replaced my urban view of rooftop aerials.
I hide away under my duvet, all excitement flattened.
Andie Green
March 2022
In Captivity
I’m a fine specimen of a gastropod. As such, I’ve been chosen for the annual snail race. I’m being kept in perfect conditions, fed on the finest plants and fungi, and have been kept in a cool, dark place where I can hide beneath large wet stones. My owner is obsessed with snails. Hermaphrodites, we are allowed to mate. He breeds us to race and always brings home a rosette. I’ve heard terrifying tales about living in gardens, where we are preyed upon by humans and birds alike. I’ll take my life as it is, in captivity, safe and loved. Maggie Storer |
Moving On
I’m crossing the tarmac. The humans are outraged by the holes in their hostas and snail snot trails. They scatter little green pellets, and come looking for me and my friends. A greedy blackbird took mother, but we molluscs are wising up. Some of my siblings fell prey to human feet, I’m still haunted by the terrible squelchy crunch I heard as they expired. I shrank into my shell and lay hidden for ages. What did mother say? “Never eat green pellets, keep off the tarmac when the fast machines are about, look out for humans. Time to move on.
Betty Taylor
I’m crossing the tarmac. The humans are outraged by the holes in their hostas and snail snot trails. They scatter little green pellets, and come looking for me and my friends. A greedy blackbird took mother, but we molluscs are wising up. Some of my siblings fell prey to human feet, I’m still haunted by the terrible squelchy crunch I heard as they expired. I shrank into my shell and lay hidden for ages. What did mother say? “Never eat green pellets, keep off the tarmac when the fast machines are about, look out for humans. Time to move on.
Betty Taylor
That’s how she saw it now, this long tired relationship. He, always needing to get up, get out, get going, while she thrived on slow steady plans, time cherished and stealing just one moment more. The move had been fraught, frantic, and full of fuss. She sorted laboriously while he chucked away, treasures for her but to him not needed, obsolete. Perhaps a snail and a rabbit were incompatible. Time to make new patterns glistening with dew. A last look at the garden, take a memory photo. Lie down amongst the gone-to-seed lettuce. Feeling lovely as her stylish forever home. Andie Green |
Perseverance
Phew! That was a close call. Car nearly had me. It’s the second time this week he’s done that. Pulled me off a cabbage leaf and tossed me over the wall. I know we’re an acquired taste and most people hate us on sight. But does he have to be so cruel? Although I suppose he’s better than the man next door. He thinks nothing of poisoning us with pellets. I don’t know why there’s such a fuss about a few cabbages. I’ll just turn around and make my way back. Slow but sure. You’re not going to win. Ever. Linda Birch |
February 2022
Page Turner
Let’s flick through the pages. No, I don’t like this one. It’ll evoke dark memories for some... bad choice. Maybe they thought it suits a dull dreary month… good job it’s a short one. Mother always referred to it as “February fill dyke”. I remember the old rhyme we chanted at school, “February brings the rain, thaws the frozen lake again.” With climate change rampaging I wonder if these little ditties will become out of step with the seasons. It’s March tomorrow, I can turn the calendar page. “March brings breezes loud and shrill, stirs the dancing daffodil.” Nice picture! Betty Taylor |
Watercolour Challenge When they said En Plein Air, I didn’t expect this. A flight, a coach ride, and we even paid for the privilege to experience the reality. The night time set up was dramatic, offering light and dark tones, heavily emphasised by the glare of golden yellow search lights. The look-out Tower a deep contrast against a silver grey sky. Did the inmates realise what a backdrop we had? The vertical lines of the high wire fence and the tangled barbed wire beneath. Even the night sky stayed constant until at last dawn broke and we crept back to civilisation. Maggie Storer |
Regrets
This place is a living hell. Certainly not where he should be. Jodie flicks the wipers to see more clearly. She stares at the towering perimeter fences, sees miles of barbed wire coiled, ready to pierce like the devil. Eternal glaring lights, searching for the truth. The watch tower standing in judgment. This is not how it was meant to be. On the other side of the fence Joe is thinking about a girl he once knew. He won’t try to escape anyway. There’s nowhere to run. No-one is waiting for him. It was not meant to end like this. Linda Birch |
An unflinching vigil must be maintained so stay alert at all times.No radio contact, only in an emergency. Keep your eyes peeled- be ready to pounce, scream and fire. The last breakout was ten months ago.
A tunnel from hut twelve. They popped up just below the lookout platform. Like rabbits in the headlights. Easy pickings. One was shot on sight, the others burrowed back down, they’re in there still, buried alive.
I’m on solitary confinement for strangling my cellmate. A room with a view this is. Smoke effect floodlights provide a majestic light show covering thirty miles of wilderness.
Andie Green
A tunnel from hut twelve. They popped up just below the lookout platform. Like rabbits in the headlights. Easy pickings. One was shot on sight, the others burrowed back down, they’re in there still, buried alive.
I’m on solitary confinement for strangling my cellmate. A room with a view this is. Smoke effect floodlights provide a majestic light show covering thirty miles of wilderness.
Andie Green
CHALLENGE - January 2022
The View
‘Hi Mum, this is the view from my bedroom window. Not much to look at, but plenty of sky to let the light in. I’m at the top of the house, so it’s very quiet. The others haven’t arrived yet. We’ve all got our own room with a little kitchen area on the landing, so Nana’s kettle will be very useful. That’s the back of the hospital you can see, so not far to walk. Will keep in touch. Don’t worry. Love Daisy’. I close the attic skylight and feel the dark room closing in. Time for my first shift. Maggie Storer |
More of the Same
Georgie stirs, moves his limbs gingerly. Yes, all still there. He looks up and sees a stormy sky but there’s a touch of blue. That’s better. But what’s he doing up here? Ah, yes. He remembers. Someone said there would be a good view of the fireworks. They were right but whose idea was it? Where are they now? Perhaps it was Jessie, with the nice smile that goes up to her eyes. He stands up, the all-seeing Eye is in the distance. There’s no sign of anyone. He’s alone again. Like before. It’s just another day. Nothing truly changes. Linda Birch |
Supercalifragilistic Expialidocious
We’re in London for my seventh birthday. Dad said it will broaden my mind. We’ve had a ride on the London Eye, it’s just over there. We visited the Tower of London and Madame something’s wax works, and Buckingham Palace. Today, we’re having a boat ride on the River Thames before getting the train home. I’m extra tired because every night I stayed awake to look through the window just in case Mary Poppins was about. She often goes on the rooftops of London and she’s the only thing I really wanted to see. You know, Dads never ever listen. Betty Taylor |
CHALLENGE - December 2021
The Perfect Day Appearances can be deceptive. A happy couple enjoying a meal with a small child. The child trying to grab the attention of her parents. The mother, happy to be enjoying a pub lunch in the English countryside, a break away from work and the chores at home. The father, trying to bring happiness to a small family picnic. It’s what happens next that no one can either see or predict. The sudden blast from a shotgun, the screams, the way life can change in a nano second. But for now, everything is calm. Nothing to worry about. The perfect day. Maggie Storer |
An Unexpected Outcome
Well, what was I expecting? A fairy tale ending? I’ve waited a long time to meet Jodie and I’m disappointed. She’s certainly not the loving daughter of his description or my imagination; she’s pushy, bossy and a real bully in the making. Now I’m seeing Mike in a different light. He doesn’t seem able to control her. What I see is that she will not listen to her father, let alone me. I know I can’t replace her mother, I wouldn’t even try, but we’d have to get along somehow. How is this going to work? Time for a rethink. Linda Birch |
Bon Appetit
Dad seems much happier these days. When Mum died, he was sad for ages. I got worried about him. He said that Annie will never replace Mum but could I try to like her. I like her a bit because I like being a family again. Dad said I might get a brother or sister. How cool is that? Annie is a veggie and a vegan, and she does the gluten free thing too. If they'd let me eat a proper big burgher, with real meat and melty cheese I’d promise to never chuck away the lettuce and tomato again. Betty Taylor |
Still Rockin’
She’d followed the band since their early days. Heady Saturday nights at the Starlight in 1971. Her eyes always on Sam, their lead singer. They’d been lucky at first, several minor hit records, countrywide tours and a couple of trips to Germany too. They never hit the ‘big time,’ their popularity waned, but they kept going and a faithful group of fans had followed them over the years. Now here they were again. Fifty years on and it’s their farewell gig. From the stage, Sam catches her eye. Final song. It’s time to get out back to sell the CDs. Linda Birch |
CHALLENGE - November 2021
Night Watch
They swayed to the beat coming from the giant speakers, lost in their own world. Hearts beating in tune to the floor vibrations. No one noticed me, a lone figure at the back, trying to figure it all out. Strobe lighting fought against the migraine I could feel crawling at my temples, the zig zag aura I knew would develop into an almighty hangover. I couldn’t figure out the smoke haze in a no smoking venue, but an acrid smell still hung in the air. I felt vulnerable but my story needed research. I had to experience this for myself. Maggie Storer |
Eye of Horus
The advertisement showed an Egyptian symbol - The Eye of Horus. Hundreds attended the meeting. Some curious, others knowing the symbol represents protection, sacrifice, healing, regeneration. Inside the arena a huge eye shone down. Theatrical, contrived, but aptly putting everyone under scrutiny. The speaker opened the debate. The meeting became raucous due to feelings of anxiety, enthusiasm, anger. Finally a consensus: "we must all share the blame". Actions were planned: badger the politicians, hold world leaders to account, make them listen before the point of no return is reached. Everyone in the room agreed. It's now or never. Go! Go! Go! Betty Taylor |
CHALLENGE - October 2021
Trouble with Eggs
It was another disastrous domestic science lesson. The ingredients for the wretched Victoria sponge had been carefully packed into a wicker basket, covered with a checkered cloth, and miraculously survived the bus journey. The lesson started well but I lost control of the egg. Somehow the hostile cookery gods intervened again and I watched in horror as the egg slithered across the formica worktop. I can still feel the sickening panic as I tried frantically to scoop up the slippery, sliding mess with the plastic spatula. I managed to before the teacher arrived but never could make a decent sponge. Linda Birch |
No Laughing Matter
My neighbour drives me wild. I'm contemplating poison, alternatively it might be a high wall so each time I pop into the garden he won't shout across to me. The problem is he thinks he's comedian of the year. This morning as I nipped to the bin, he called, "Mary, what do you make of this?" He held a tray of eggs. "They're just eggs." I said. "But they're sitting so still in their little tray. They're eggs static." I groaned. "Shell you be telling me they're egg-citing. And while we're at it, only the corner one cracks me up." Betty Taylor |
CHALLENGE - September 2021
Driving My Life Away
Mickey loves this life, out on the open road, it’s freedom. Only another 50 miles and he’ll be at Ollie’s Diner, catching up with Jez and the others. Great mates. They’ll chill, maybe shoot some pool. Long hours and days away from home, but it’s worth it. A trucker through and through, like his father before him. But Mickey didn’t really know his Pa, he was often missing. ‘Good job too,’ his Ma used to say, ’only thing that keeps this marriage alive.’ Now he thinks about the wistful look in Tammy’s eyes when she shared her news last night. Linda Birch |
ruckstop
Miles from home, there’s always someone to chat to on the CB radio. I’ve arranged to meet up with Foxy Loxy. He knows me as Chicken Licken. I think I was drawn to him because we both use the same nursery story handles. We are meeting at the Iowa 80 Truckstop, the largest stop in the US.
I park up and call in. “Chicken Licken calling Foxy Loxy.”
Minutes later Foxy’s truck is pulling up next to mine
“Hey Chicken Licken, how ya cooking?” And he throws his hairy arms around me.
Was Chicken Licken’s sky about to fall in?
Maggie Storer
Miles from home, there’s always someone to chat to on the CB radio. I’ve arranged to meet up with Foxy Loxy. He knows me as Chicken Licken. I think I was drawn to him because we both use the same nursery story handles. We are meeting at the Iowa 80 Truckstop, the largest stop in the US.
I park up and call in. “Chicken Licken calling Foxy Loxy.”
Minutes later Foxy’s truck is pulling up next to mine
“Hey Chicken Licken, how ya cooking?” And he throws his hairy arms around me.
Was Chicken Licken’s sky about to fall in?
Maggie Storer
CHALLENGE - August 2021
In the Briefing Room “Okay, what have we got? “A very bad phone shot of an empty pool, Boss. If I’d taken that as a holiday snap I’d have deleted it.” “Exactly. Why was it taken? We have a dead body found in this pool and a mobile phone at the scene, with this shot of the pool.” “Doesn’t give us much to go on, Boss.” “We need to know why this shot was taken. I need everyone in the hotel questioned, especially the occupant of this view of the pool. Then interview the residents of the flats opposite. Someone must have seen something.” Maggie Storer Heavenly Holiday
An exciting new relationship put my head in the clouds. When Jason suggested a romantic weekend away I’d said, “OK, surprise me.” He surprised alright excitedly waving a hotel brochure. Look he said, “rooftop pool. We can lie up there all day under the sky with non-stop pina coladas and bar food. Jason grinned, leered towards me, “we have all night to get some exercise.” Then the bombshell, “give me your credit card, I’ll get it booked?” Guess what! My euphoria suddenly vanished. I handed back the brochure. " Goodbye Jason, I’ve no head for rooftop heights!" Betty Taylor |
Sweet Revenge
Maria leans over the balcony. She’s furious. Che brutto! Of all the guests, these football fans are the worst. Here for the Euros and there’s always trouble. She takes a photo to show the hotel manager, hands trembling with rage. It’s one thing to clean up after a party, but this is too much. She’ll have to ask Giorgio to help her drag the furniture out of the pool. Teppisti! Hooligans! The manager should throw them out of the hotel immediately. If he doesn’t – well, she’s seen their tickets for the match on the dressing table. La vendetta e dolce. Linda Birch |
CHALLENGE - July 2021
Finding Solace
At first, it had been a relief to enter the cemetery, the oozing dampness cool after the city’s heat. He would find her soon. But this place was too dark and decaying, showing decades of neglect, the sun struggling to filter through gnarling trees. There was no air but whispers filled his head. He must show respect, but surely the dead deserved better than this. How could they have left her here? Even so, the moss gave comfort. It reminded him of home, growing along the stone walls that edged the village church. He had never felt so far away. Linda Birch |
Temptation
When my Japanese studies took me to Tokyo, I never expected to find myself in an ancient burial ground, where according to legend, no dead people rest. Their souls are waiting to continue their journey into a spirit world. Strange hieroglyphics adorn the ugly tombs.
I chanced my luck with the spirit souls and scratched my name on the largest monument, which may have belonged to some historical leader for all I knew. Was I tempting fate so far from home? Maybe I was, but something made me want to challenge those Gods that will one day be my nemesis.
Maggie Storer
When my Japanese studies took me to Tokyo, I never expected to find myself in an ancient burial ground, where according to legend, no dead people rest. Their souls are waiting to continue their journey into a spirit world. Strange hieroglyphics adorn the ugly tombs.
I chanced my luck with the spirit souls and scratched my name on the largest monument, which may have belonged to some historical leader for all I knew. Was I tempting fate so far from home? Maybe I was, but something made me want to challenge those Gods that will one day be my nemesis.
Maggie Storer
The Past
The earth beneath my feet sank as I walked in this place of death. My fingers caressed the soft moss of the walls surrounding the huge sinister monuments. I wished I had not come alone. The battle of Culloden happened long ago 1746, how could I expect to find anything to connect me to this past. Then there it was, James Campbell 1720-1746 fell at Calloden, my heart leapt a beat, the note in the locket was true, my ancestor Kathrine Frazer had born his love child a forbidden union, between the clans’ hatred for each other. Carol Hipkin |
RIP
As I entered the cemetery the surreal atmosphere had me wondering if those resting here were resentful of my presence. Smothering moss gave a ghoulish glow to the silent stillness. The chill damp air clung to my coat leaving tiny droplets on the fabric. I walked between the monuments and towering trees as they reached for daylight. I kept my eyes on the gate at the end of the long path ahead. No sun, no birdsong, just the suffocating emerald moss and recalcitrant tombstones. A sigh-like breeze shuddered... I closed the gate leaving the dead to resume their rest. Betty Taylor |
CHALLENGE - June 2021
A Hand-Me-Down
We make sure it’s on show when the in-laws come round, but otherwise it lives in a cupboard out of sight. Molly screams whenever she sees it and we don’t know why. There is something sinister about it though. Apparently it was Joyce’s favourite toy when she was a child back in the 50s. Whatever possessed her to keep it is a mystery. We are going to have to tell her that the rabbits have disappeared. Molly couldn’t have opened the cupboard on her own, and she isn’t talking properly yet, but I’m sure she chuckled, ‘rabbits gone,’ this morning. Maggie Storer |
Stuck Behind
Aunt Judy gave me the model for my tenth birthday. She made it in pottery class and was very proud of it. “That one’s called Mary,” she said pointing, and that’s you.” Mary is my elder sister.
I don’t suppose Aunt Judy meant anything by it, but I thought ‘there I am, trailing behind Mary again’. The prettier, smarter, more popular sister whom I adored, who never seemed to have time for me, always outshining me.
Funny how silly childhood moments can stay with you. Did I let Aunt Judy’s comment influence me? Is that why I’m always second best?
Linda Birch
Aunt Judy gave me the model for my tenth birthday. She made it in pottery class and was very proud of it. “That one’s called Mary,” she said pointing, and that’s you.” Mary is my elder sister.
I don’t suppose Aunt Judy meant anything by it, but I thought ‘there I am, trailing behind Mary again’. The prettier, smarter, more popular sister whom I adored, who never seemed to have time for me, always outshining me.
Funny how silly childhood moments can stay with you. Did I let Aunt Judy’s comment influence me? Is that why I’m always second best?
Linda Birch
CHALLENGE - May 2021
Alternative View
She lay back on the grass, letting the sun’s caressing warmth calm her. Another argument. “There’s always another point of view you know.” The door slammed and he was gone. She pictured herself: lying on the grass, then floating away on a cloud, high above the house, the lake. She wanted the house by the lake. “It’ll be damp” he said. She travelled on, further away across the meadow, higher up, seeing the two halves clearly, and herself the tiniest speck. Insignificant. This was a whole new perspective, another way of looking at things. She can see the other side. Linda Birch |
Picture the Scene
The paper weight in the shop window caught my eye. A port hole to a convex village scene, where a 3D picture displayed itself; a distorted image as beautiful as it was puzzling. The shop was full of mirrors, glass domes representing crystal balls; the dazzling effect totally magical. In my hand, the dome was a clear glass sphere, my own image reflecting a huge, unnerving clear glass eye. The artist’s painting flat on the table beneath.
I knew I could paint my own pictures, change them with my mood; create my own magical world; see into my crystal ball.
Maggie Storer
The paper weight in the shop window caught my eye. A port hole to a convex village scene, where a 3D picture displayed itself; a distorted image as beautiful as it was puzzling. The shop was full of mirrors, glass domes representing crystal balls; the dazzling effect totally magical. In my hand, the dome was a clear glass sphere, my own image reflecting a huge, unnerving clear glass eye. The artist’s painting flat on the table beneath.
I knew I could paint my own pictures, change them with my mood; create my own magical world; see into my crystal ball.
Maggie Storer
CHALLENGE - April 2021
1951
That’s me, seven years old in the navy dress and peter pan collar. Sadly, I can only remember a few of the names of my primary school classmates. I travelled to school by local bus, no one was from my area, so I lost touch with all my first chums when I moved to secondary. Back then no one had a house phone. How different it is now; mobiles, facetime, Zoom . Young people can keep in touch throughout their lives. Where are they all now? What pathways have they chosen? Do I ever pass them by and never know? Carol Hipkin |
I watched the children on the climbing frame and wondered at my daughter’s friends. There were show-offs, leaders and meek followers.
The loud girl in lemon claimed the right to be top of the frame, and when a big boy pushed her down a level I was pleased when she got some girls to gang up on him. I helped lay out the picnic and they all laughed and sang when Ginny blew out her candles. But where was the bully boy from the top of the frame? Fourteen cake smeared faces grinned and shrugged. Andie Green |
Best Friends
That’s Shirley, my best friend, the one looking at the camera; the centre of attention even at seven years old. I’m next to her, showing off my knickers, trying to push Jimmy Braithwaite off the frame. We had a great time in the seventies, all our lives ahead of us not knowing what the future held. We met up occasionally; had our last reunion in 2019 before Covid struck. Said we’d meet up again when it was all over. Not sure when that will be, but we’re hanging in there, hoping for the best. Sadly, Shirley won’t be with us. Maggie Storer |
A Helping Hand
My pupils were particularly boisterous. Little wonder, after incessant rain for weeks, this was the first dry day to play outdoors.
I spotted George, as usual, not playing with the others. Then I saw Rose approach him.
“Come on George, I’ll help you.” He shook his head, but Rose insisted, “You can do it.”
Hesitantly he stepped onto the frame. Rose stood by, glaring at anyone who dared come too close, a small, fierce protector. Gaining in confidence, letting go of Rose’s hand, he clambered higher up the frame.
George never forgot Rose. Her helping hand made all the difference.
Linda Birch
My pupils were particularly boisterous. Little wonder, after incessant rain for weeks, this was the first dry day to play outdoors.
I spotted George, as usual, not playing with the others. Then I saw Rose approach him.
“Come on George, I’ll help you.” He shook his head, but Rose insisted, “You can do it.”
Hesitantly he stepped onto the frame. Rose stood by, glaring at anyone who dared come too close, a small, fierce protector. Gaining in confidence, letting go of Rose’s hand, he clambered higher up the frame.
George never forgot Rose. Her helping hand made all the difference.
Linda Birch
CHALLENGE - March 2021
The Grownup Hare
Harry hare was having a lesson from his Mom. He was nervous and scared. For six months he had felt safe and happy living and playing near the wheat field. But now he was being taught how to cross the unknown territory that was The Road. ’You are ready to cross over to the cabbage field, you’re great at hopping so you can do it,’ his Mom coaxed. 'There’s no traffic this time of night.' Harry ran and hopped to the edge of the blackness. Sadly Harry’s screams of determination drowned the cacophony of the speeding truck with enormous wheels. Andie Green |
Mugged and Jugged
Head chef and owner of the exclusive restaurant was feeling pleased with himself. He and a couple of his trainees had been up early that morning. They’d caught a few, providing them with cost-free ingredients for today’s main course. He was more than happy with the profit margin today’s morning excursion would provide, and his county set clientele never complained about his high prices. Caught and cooked in a matter of hours, it doesn’t come fresher than that. He opened the recipe book. "First catch your hare,” he read in Hannah Glasse’s jugged hare recipe in her eighteenth-century cookbook. Betty Taylor |
Homeless
It was our favourite walk. On the edge of the village, cross over the road from the lighthouse and down the lane towards the church, alongside the ploughed field. It was best in summer at dusk as the shadows were lengthening. We could watch the hares feeding and playing. It was a privilege to see them. They were watching too, sometimes sensing we were there and moving on a little, then stopping and waiting again. One day a board appeared; later came the concrete, bricks and tarmac. Smart new homes for happy families. What became of the hares, I wonder? Linda Birch |
In Full Sight
Just a hair’s breadth, or a hare’s breath from the gunman, in full sight of the shotgun, he rested, then darted behind a tree. So what, if he chomped on his crops for a meal; he had leverets to feed. Found one of them earlier, strayed too far and was caught, shackled and trapped with a broken back. Always ducking and diving, boxing his way out of trouble to find a mate. Too late for this mad March hare? Cornered, nowhere to hide; one last dash across the field. He swerved, heard the shot whistle past his ear, then dropped. Maggie Storer |
Run Rabbit, Run Hello, Thumper’s the name. I’m sorry to have my back to you but I’m in a spot of bother right now. It’s not all chocolate and fluffy tails you know, being a rabbit. There’s real danger out here. Too many people are trigger happy. I don’t understand it, all this fuss about a few lettuces. If they can’t put up proper security and fence their crops, what do they expect? Plain selfish, I reckon, there’s plenty for all of us. Oh no, I can hear footsteps getting closer, must be off. I hope the others are safe. Cheerio for now. Linda Birch |
On Reflection…
I dared place nervous feet where heavy black crows solidly stood.
Small pools topped with dirty icy floes.
Push ducks away and crawl to the middle.
Peck and pick my way over to them. Slip with care. No sudden stamping. Safer now at the thick deep core.
I will try a glide on silver knife blades.
That caused a creak of slush, thunder groans!
Sky too dazzling with light more from snow with sun so winter weak.
Down now with black feathers reflecting specks of dark icy blue cold as death forever frozen with such barren vain carelessness.
Andie Green
I dared place nervous feet where heavy black crows solidly stood.
Small pools topped with dirty icy floes.
Push ducks away and crawl to the middle.
Peck and pick my way over to them. Slip with care. No sudden stamping. Safer now at the thick deep core.
I will try a glide on silver knife blades.
That caused a creak of slush, thunder groans!
Sky too dazzling with light more from snow with sun so winter weak.
Down now with black feathers reflecting specks of dark icy blue cold as death forever frozen with such barren vain carelessness.
Andie Green
CHALLENGE - January 2021
Library of Secrets
They keep all the old records there in the library, locked away under heavy security. Even the staff are segregated, unable to communicate, tagged and chipped. There is no escape. But I escaped, if you can call a life in hiding as an escape. I still have the scar where I had the chip removed by a discreet doctor friend. I have the disc too, proof if it’s ever needed. There is a price on my head, but one I am prepared to pay for freedom and the truth. I have to work out my next move before they do. Maggie Storer |
Page Turner
Martha, tired after her walk home from the library, placed her bag of books beside her armchair before tootling out to the kitchen to make a cup of tea. She pondered the long walk to the library and the approaching winter. There were the library stairs to consider, the miles of shelving she always searched and, of course, now she was older the books seemed heavier. Plenty of reasons for her current idea. Yes, she thought, dunking a gingernut biscuit into her tea, the time has come. Credit card at the ready, she logged into Amazon and ordered a Kindle. Betty Taylor Click here Photo Opportunity
Like many things in Jack’s life, it had seemed a good idea at the time. The perfect photograph. A bird’s eye view of inside the library just as the sun rises, illuminating the books. Shining a light on the knowledge of the old world and glinting on the screens of the new world. Jack liked that idea so he climbed up here in the late evening to wait for the dawn. ‘Out of Darkness’, that’s what he’d call the picture. He set up his equipment and settled himself down to wait. But the moment passed by as he soundly slept. Linda Birch |
Hallowed Halls
Cathedral of learning Portal of culture Abbey of education Dome of concentration Court of study Feel and hear the hot brains working Frenetic frissons of electricity Solving equations and rocket science Computing problems Finding answers Searching All consuming Time ticking by Scribbling and tapping away Cramming, hothousing, stressing Burning the midnight oil Revising, reworking Exams approaching It’s not easy Futures decided High expectations Investing in our common future On the treadmill To earn a decent living Education is the answer A passport to freedom The sky’s the limit And your imagination The futures bright The futures here I am here Ann Bickley |
CHALLENGE - December 2020
Lost Forever
They loved walking in the forest. Her father said there would always be trees here. How could there not be. Once a royal hunting forest, it had survived the coldest winters and drought hot summers, like 1976. “Some things are too special to lose,” he’d said. But now there are just a few spindly conifers, awaiting the return of the chainsaws to finish the job. She wonders how he could have been so wrong. But who would have imagined destruction on this scale in the name of progress? Snow is falling. Nature herself wants to hide the shame of it. Linda Birch |
Desolation and Salvation
They said it was the Promised Land, no more poverty nor starvation, plenty of work to be found.
Snow began to fall, it was cold. The smouldering, barren ground, hard and lifeless, no animals running nor birds flying high. Nothing moved but the softly falling snow and his heavily laden, exhausted body, trudging through the ever deepening snow.
He must rest, but where? No wood to light a fire, icicles beginning to form on his frozen clothes, he must keep moving, the snow was falling heavily now.
They found him in the spring, he had found his promised land.
Gwen Whitaker
They said it was the Promised Land, no more poverty nor starvation, plenty of work to be found.
Snow began to fall, it was cold. The smouldering, barren ground, hard and lifeless, no animals running nor birds flying high. Nothing moved but the softly falling snow and his heavily laden, exhausted body, trudging through the ever deepening snow.
He must rest, but where? No wood to light a fire, icicles beginning to form on his frozen clothes, he must keep moving, the snow was falling heavily now.
They found him in the spring, he had found his promised land.
Gwen Whitaker
Little Tree
We are on the market patch now. We were wrenched from our tranquil forest, already I miss it. There is loud music, crowds of people. Someone points to me. “Who would choose that thing? Too small. Too scrawny. It couldn't hold baubles?” An old lady moves forward. “That one please," she says, pointing at me. The beautiful tree next to me flutters in a visible snigger.” “Are you sure Madam? We have better ones,” says our captor. The old lady nods. "It’s perfect. Little tree and I will do Covid Christmas together, I feel we have much in common." Betty Taylor |
The Perfect Storm
I think I took the perfect shot. After the hurricane had passed, I had to capture and record that moment; those trees still standing after being hail blasted, pummelled against each other. We arrived there in full sun, but a menacing grey shadow sat eerily on the horizon, waiting to bare its full force on the forest. We heard it overnight, thrashing it’s way along the coast, roaring through the trees. This is what we came for - storm chasing is a thrill I learnt from my father. This time we stayed to witness the devastation, as nature took its course. Maggie Storer |
CHALLENGE - November 2020
Nub End
Addiction is a funny thing. Sex, Booze, Nail-biting, Tobacco. Sweet things, Prawn crackers, Pork Scratchings come in a myriad of guises. Some say from an absence of being breast fed. Wanting to stuff your face with pseudo dummies or hands. But it really is down to will power, or more to the point, a lack of it. I know someone who has the will power of a gnat. Maybe that’s doing a great disservice to the poor gnat. This picture is their ashtray and over spill after a particularly perplexing and stressful telephone conversation. One about the weather? Election? Covid? Ann Bickley |
Best Laid Plans
They’d promised to meet up after finishing doing time for the robbery. One perfect job before they retired. So here they were outside Jamie’s flat, smoking, patiently going over and over every detail. Jamie and Bill doing the business in the bank, Mickey driving the car. After, they would dump the car at the industrial estate, split up, meet again when the heat died down. Even if the police came looking for them, they’d planned so meticulously that nothing could trace the robbery to them. Nothing that is except the DNA on the fag end Mickey left in the car. Linda Birch |
The Party
The glamorous Hostess greeted her guests, welcoming them to her party. She offered them crystal glasses of champagne. ‘ Would you like to try one of these?’ She passed a pack of gold -tipped, Sobranie Black Russian cigarettes to the assembled group, before placing one in her elegant silver cigarette holder. ‘Or maybe you would prefer one of these’? She smiled, ’choose a colour to compliment your outfit’. Each cocktail cigarette in the pack was wrapped in a pastel shade. This brand of cigarettes was a sophisticated accessory to any occasion, long before the health warning about smoking became apparent. Gillian Rawlins |
A Hopeless Case
She arrived at the apartment every Monday and Friday. Each time she was greeted by the overflowing ashtray. It had spilled over onto the paving slabs. Esther enjoyed her cleaning job, a chance to see how the other half lived. She left a note: I enjoy working here and hope to continue, but if you don’t stop smoking you will die, and I will lose my job. Next time, the ashtray had been replaced with a bunch of flowers and a note: Thank you for saving my life. I might be a hopeless case. Could we discuss this over dinner? Maggie Storer |
Ashtrays
Shiny souvenir shells from Cornwall; Grecian pottery shapes; exquisite crystal saucers from Caithness; heavy bowls of ruby and turquoise glass from Italy. Everyone smoked so never at a loss for gifts as ornaments to show off and admire. There was always someone to visit and ask, ‘Have you got an ashtray?’ What I could not stand was folk who stubbed out fags in their teacup or saucer. That’s mucky, disgusting. Smoking was pleasurable, made the smoker calm, relaxed. We all did it, either to be sociable or to look grown up. Then the big C struck and ruined everything. Andie Green |
Nub Ends
No Filters, small paper rolled around pure Tobacco, smoked to the stub, lined up in neat rows ready for consumption. The small girl was proud of her job, she enjoyed doing this for her farther, unknowing. Clouds of dark grey patterns circled the room, like demons menacing, unnoticed. Back in 1940 his obsession began, Brown stained fingers, chain-smoking, crammed into dugouts, waiting for the surge to come. In the end breathless, gasping for air. Had he Known then, brave, and youthful, would it have changed his addiction? The ever-ticking clock of his life silenced too soon Carol Hipkin |
Life After Death
She’d grumbled about him smoking when he’d been alive, always flicking ash from surfaces. So when he died she was surprised to find comfort in the smell of tobacco that always seeped from the very fabric of the house. She’d kept one of his wardrobes with his tweed jackets, woollen hats and scarves. Over the years the aroma had faded. So when she saw the discarded cigarette ends, she gathered them into a muslin bag and hung them beside his jackets. They may have robbed him of life, but they would keep him alive to her long after his death. Maggie Storer |
CHALLENGE August 2020
Apologies for the missing picture. It was inadvertently deleted.
Too Late
The Cyclops pawed at his eye. Scorched dust particles and other pollutants in the air, caused him great irritation. He stared down through his wonky organ of vision; the beam of his gaze distorted. “They wouldn’t listen,” he growled. “The fools think it’s a pretty sunset. Idiots! It’s too red, too dry, the air is thick with man-made poisons. The idiots have conjured up their own Armageddon. We knew it would come, someone mentioned it centuries ago. Parched planet, plastics, resources gone. Their hedonism got out of control, they’ve no time for going back. Now it’s just a waiting game…” Betty Taylor |
The Story
‘Every picture tells a story Evelyn; let’s have your version of your masterpiece.’ ‘All I’m saying is, I was in the right place at the right time. Walking over the hills of Dinas Oleu, to capture the dipping sun disappearing into the calm rippling sea, of Barmouth Bay. It came from nowhere! Peeping from behind a floating cloud. Mischievously it began hovering above the cloud. I closed my mouth shut tight for fear; I might swallow the great thing. I froze in a moment of time ready to take the shot. Too late, this is my only evidence.’ Cora Boffey |
Destiny’s Child
The sunset was stunning. Alexis had been on the jetty all day long, watching and praying. “I told you not to go.” As usual she’d just laughed at him, hugged him tightly. “You’re such a worrier. I know these waters and the weather’s set fair.” True, he’d always worried about her but somehow this time he had known. But how could he have stopped her? How could he tame her wonderful spirit of adventure? “Trust me, the sea is my true home. It’s where I want to be.” He could feel her with him now and saw her spirit rising. Linda Birch |
Farewell
Through the window deep shades of red, streaked with ebony clouds, twisting swirling, casting shadowy figures in the calm water below. My heart leapt as a white shaft of light illuminated the darkness, like the brightest star, stirring my emotions, a voice from the sea like a sensual caress, enfolding me in a soft embrace stirring deep thoughts within me. Wild, free, restless like the untamed wind whispering, catch me if you can. Longing to reach out, grasp this special moment to treasure forever. Betrayed only by its fin as it plunged swiftly to the depth of the ocean. Carol Hipkin |
Out of Sight
Such a beautiful sunset - the light fading to red as it dipped over the horizon. I thought I’d caught the image perfectly with my Nikon Coolpix. Returning home, I uploaded it to my computer. Failure - a white shadow streaked down the frame, ruining the sunset. It was my last night on the QE2. I would never have the chance to take that picture again. I slept fitfully that night; an annoying headache keeping me awake. At dawn I stumbled out of bed feeling slightly disoriented. The room came into focus; a white shadow obliterating my vision down the left hand side. Maggie Storer |
Marred Beauty
That question has come up before, "why are the first and second albums so different?" We met at school and started off as a tribute act, then began writing our own songs, slogging up and down the motorways. We got a record deal, laid down all our old songs. We supported Kasabian and Kaiser Chiefs. The next batch of songs were written on the road, Europe, America, Japan. They love us in Japan. But life got jaded, living out of a suitcase, sometimes not knowing which city or country we were in. The album cover reflects that world-weariness, "Marred beauty". David Morgans |
CHALLENGE - July 2020
'You Looking at me?
Algie stared through the aquarium glass. He was having an identity crisis. Earlier a rather fat and, in Algie's opinion, stupid man had looked at him swimming around. The man had turned to the tall, elegant woman beside him and said "All life began in the oceans you know. Just simple microorganisms. Then, before the dinosaurs, around 500 or 600 million years ago, sea life, fish and so on, evolved. The next big step was creatures moving from the sea to land. So our distant cousins were like our bug-eyed friend in the tank." Algie just glared. "Bug eyed? Idiot". David Morgans |
All fish are called Bob…
Bobby Bog-eyes they call me. We’re all called Bobby something in my school. There’s Bob the swerver, with his swerve right, swerve left, around and under any obstacle. Bobbie the Beauty told me she saw him slalom through an octopus’s eight legs. Oh! when she shimmers her lacy fins at me I’m like a spineless jelly fish. But she’s goggle eyed on Bob the Crab Catcher who says he once swallowed a teeny weeney albino crab. No Bobbie fish fancies me. I try to swallow my hurt when bullfrogs croak, ‘There goes Bobby Bog-eyes’ They need to look in the river! Andie Green |
Don’t Judge a Book…
My granddad said he’d won a fish at the fayre when he was ten. Sitting in his chair at the care home, he was recalling his past. He said the fish had such a deformity; he’d taken extra care of it as those big eyes followed him round the room. It wasn’t until he saw a picture in a book years later that he realised it wasn’t deformed after all. He said you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover. I looked at the large strawberry birthmark covering granddad’s cheek. I’ve never loved him so much as I did then. Maggie Storer |
Google Eyes
‘Well it’s not a Shubunkin, they’re too common. Could be a Demekin, they have protruding eyes, like a Chinese dragon; on the other hand, Celestials have telescopic eyes, just like him.’ ‘Do you think the Perton photography judges give a Nemo what type of goldfish it is? Or me for that matter! My picture is blurred; that’s all I care about.’ ‘It’s probably the dirty tank George; what if I put it in that clean goldfish bowl for you and put some fresh water in it? Sure they won’t mind.’ Inspiration flashed as he shoved Mabel’s head in the bowl. Cora Boffey |
A Little Fish’s Lockdown
At the moment there’s a lot of news about lockdown easing for human beings. I’m in permanent lockdown, swimming round & round in this glass bowl. How I long for a good stretch of interesting water. I don’t have to abide by the social distancing rules and I would just love to rub fins with a like-minded fishy friend! No wonder I’m goggle-eyed I normally have this view of the room to myself, now all I see is humans milling about. Gill Rawlins |
No Life for a Goldfish
It was a grand day. My brother and I had behaved ourselves all week so that we could go to the Fair.
We tried our luck on the hoop-la stall and we won a prize. But no cuddly toys for us. Our sights were set on a golden prize. We clutched our jam jar tightly and peered at our gleaming treasure swimming endlessly round and round.
We proudly took our trophy home and tipped it into the goldfish bowl. Days passed; we were bored, and new games entertained us. A sprinkling of food if someone remembered.
How cruel we were.
Linda Birch
It was a grand day. My brother and I had behaved ourselves all week so that we could go to the Fair.
We tried our luck on the hoop-la stall and we won a prize. But no cuddly toys for us. Our sights were set on a golden prize. We clutched our jam jar tightly and peered at our gleaming treasure swimming endlessly round and round.
We proudly took our trophy home and tipped it into the goldfish bowl. Days passed; we were bored, and new games entertained us. A sprinkling of food if someone remembered.
How cruel we were.
Linda Birch
Challenge - June 2020
Maggie says: Hello Everyone, After last month’s grey photo, I was hoping for something a bit lighter. Sadly I think this month’s photo is even more dreary. However, if you feel inspired please have a go and see your work on our website. Remember, it’s 100 words exactly, and don’t forget to give it a title. I've posted the cash on the washing line picture in case the original pic (left) is too daunting. To see what others have written, visit this website: www.100wordstory.org/photo-prompt/. Have fun!
|
Betty says: just in case you're wondering, the picture on the left is a famous and valuable painting by American artist Robert Rauschenbrg. I certainly did him an injustice as I thought it was just a blank notice board (oops!). Time to trip out my favourite adage.... "there are no dull subjects only dull writers"
|
Kids’ Play
‘Ruth what is the child doing now? Why can’t she just be normal like all the other kids and play with her dolls and do what little girls do with their dolls?’
‘You never have a positive word to say about our Juliet, she’s just different, has her own imagination. You should try it yourself sometime, instead of being so critical. Why don’t you just go out and play with her; maybe she gets bored being out there on her own; Go on!’
‘Juliet, why have you washed all my money?’
‘I saw Grandpa, and he said it’s a game!’
Cora Boffey
‘Ruth what is the child doing now? Why can’t she just be normal like all the other kids and play with her dolls and do what little girls do with their dolls?’
‘You never have a positive word to say about our Juliet, she’s just different, has her own imagination. You should try it yourself sometime, instead of being so critical. Why don’t you just go out and play with her; maybe she gets bored being out there on her own; Go on!’
‘Juliet, why have you washed all my money?’
‘I saw Grandpa, and he said it’s a game!’
Cora Boffey
Playing with fire
She had always said that smoking would kill him. And she was right.
Emily look around and cried. Her dad was everything to her. She had
said too much and too little. Yet saying something didn´t mean it
would happen, but she still felt guilty.
The incident report said he died in the fire that engulfed his lounge. She thought cancer or heart disease would get him. He probably fell asleep; dropped the cigarette on the carpet, or the filter had burned though and set light to his chair.
Then whoosh. "Whatever", she thought, "I´ve still lost my best friend."
David Morgans
She had always said that smoking would kill him. And she was right.
Emily look around and cried. Her dad was everything to her. She had
said too much and too little. Yet saying something didn´t mean it
would happen, but she still felt guilty.
The incident report said he died in the fire that engulfed his lounge. She thought cancer or heart disease would get him. He probably fell asleep; dropped the cigarette on the carpet, or the filter had burned though and set light to his chair.
Then whoosh. "Whatever", she thought, "I´ve still lost my best friend."
David Morgans
Bill’s Madam
‘Just what I’ve been looking for; what do you think Bill?’
‘I can imagine it now covering the floor, sparkly plinth lighting casting stars across the room, picking up the minute white flecks against the black.’
‘Adding more luxury to my grand design, I’ll take the same around the four walls. Glamour is developing, feel the richness in the high sheen; what do you think Bill?’
‘What would Madam like on the ceiling?’
‘Romance; blend the colour with dotted modern swirl LED lighting.’
‘I’ll do my best Madam.’
‘Excellent Bill, you’ll be on the VIP list, when Anthracite Bar opens.’
Cora Boffey
Bill’s Madam
‘Just what I’ve been looking for; what do you think Bill?’
‘I can imagine it now covering the floor, sparkly plinth lighting casting stars across the room, picking up the minute white flecks against the black.’
‘Adding more luxury to my grand design, I’ll take the same around the four walls. Glamour is developing, feel the richness in the high sheen; what do you think Bill?’
‘What would Madam like on the ceiling?’
‘Romance; blend the colour with dotted modern swirl LED lighting.’
‘I’ll do my best Madam.’
‘Excellent Bill, you’ll be on the VIP list, when Anthracite Bar opens.’
Cora Boffey
Phone a Friend
“Hi Lisa, I bumped into Norma today in Asda, I couldn’t believe what she said. Her friend Josie’s husband is in jail for forgery. Notes and cards, they say the best they have ever seen. It’s true, I swear, Josie said he forgot to lock his dark room, always pretended he was printing photos. She went in when he was out and saw the notes hanging up to dry and never grassed on him. She told me in strictest confidence, so don’t breathe a word. ” “Of course not.” Five minutes later, “Hi Wendy, can you keep a secret?” Carol Hipkin |
Untitled
I stood before the untitled painting, it was large taking pride of place in the gallery. I gazed for quite a while. “Creativity takes courage,” so said Matisse. Yes, I could see that Rauschenberg had courage all right. Francis Bacon had put his oar in too with, “The job of the artist is always to deepen the mystery.” I thought about this and waited for the picture to reveals its secret. The work was highly textured and the final surface had been worked in black gloss paint. I wished Mr Rauschenberg were in the room, I needed to question him. Betty Taylor |
Party Spirits
Of course, we all knew the ending would be bad. The party of all parties set under a golden sun on a Mediterranean beach. Ouzo and Margaritas overflowing. Long bronzed limbs interlocking as the lanterns flickered against a soft breeze. The raid came about 2.00am; bags searched; rolls of Euros recovered along with Class A drugs. Then, deflated tourists bundled into cars, driven away, sirens blazing. We arrived home, cases unpacked, soggy beach wear recovered along with our booty, which is at this moment hanging out to dry. We hope to do it all again next year, Corona Virus permitting. Maggie Storer De omnibus dubitandum * Martin couldn´t resist looking over the garden fence. He hoped to see Laura, his neighbour, sunbathing. But she wasn´t. However there was a line of crisp 100 Euro notes pegged to the washing line. Martin´s mind immediately went into overdrive. Had Laura´s husband Jacob started printing money, forging banks notes? The couple had an odd sense of humour. Maybe they were doing a photographic project on "money laundering". Martin would never know but the truth was more prosaic. Jacob had dropped his wallet in a cow pat and all of his foreign currency had spilled out. The smell was disgusting. David Morgans * Be suspicious of everything |
Wood-chip
A decorative innovation born out of desperation. Or should that be burnt out of desperation? He made a fire of her letters, photos, concert tickets and goth clothes. He threw in some black wooden beads and bangles. The result was black cinders frozen hard by overnight temperature. He placed the mass in a frame. He made another bonfire of white wooden trinkets, wind chimes and half built shelving. He placed this result in a frame. The surface was not blank or plain. There was texture, shading and depth. He reproduced it on a huge scale. How folk loved his wallpaper. Andie Green tistic Licence
I warned him it would happen one day. He mumbled some obtuse response and carried on anyway. I wouldn’t have minded if he hadn’t grumbled about my needlework which invaded the spare room, and then the dining room. But the money came in handy - he didn’t mind that. It was the shock more than anything; arriving home to see two fire engines; black smoke billowing, which was what killed him in the end - not the fags. That’s his headstone over there, which has been carved to look like flakes of paint peeling off the walls. An artistic touch I thought. Maggie Storer |
Out to dry
Sid was chuffed, this was real money making. A simple photo of the note, special euro paper and his own chemical concoction Pegged out in the garden he waited for comments from the nosey neighbours. ‘Did the missis forgot to check your pockets? ‘ ‘Is that what they call money laundering ?’ Two months later Sid was sweating in a Spanish gaol. He’d been confident the notes were good as he settled the hotel bill in cash, and had ten euros for a taxi. But his big mouth had not reckoned on the cab driver speaking English…. Andie Green |
Toning It Down
This is so dull and predictable. Joe moaned about all her other colour choices so reluctantly Ellie chooses dark grey for the kitchen tiles. It hadn’t been that bad really. The magenta in the living room may have been a little adventurous, but she wanted to be different. She’d admit the red stripes in the dining room took some adjusting to but she chose them because he’d moaned about the magenta and thought they would cheer him up, like the yellow in the kitchen. So now she’s playing safe with grey, and maybe just a nod to her inner goth? Linda Birch |
Washday Blues
This gives a whole new meaning to money laundering. How was she supposed to know the money was in Jack’s pocket?
To make matters worse, it had been a hot wash. She’d salvaged some of it, but much was beyond saving and lay forlorn in a pinkish mushy ball.
But the question remained. What was the money doing in Jack’s pocket? He had looked furtive recently she thought.
Jack comes into the kitchen. He looks aghast at the congealed mess.
‘What’s happened? Where are the tickets and my passport? I’ve booked a surprise trip to Disneyland Paris for us all.’
Linda Birch
This gives a whole new meaning to money laundering. How was she supposed to know the money was in Jack’s pocket?
To make matters worse, it had been a hot wash. She’d salvaged some of it, but much was beyond saving and lay forlorn in a pinkish mushy ball.
But the question remained. What was the money doing in Jack’s pocket? He had looked furtive recently she thought.
Jack comes into the kitchen. He looks aghast at the congealed mess.
‘What’s happened? Where are the tickets and my passport? I’ve booked a surprise trip to Disneyland Paris for us all.’
Linda Birch
Challenge - May 2020 We have two images for May - take your pick or maybe write two 100 worders.
I stood staring down at the tiles. "Wait your turn here," said the handwritten message on the white tape. I glanced up. The badge on his uniform read "Acme Security". He was looking at me then shook his head. "How much longer?" I thought to myself. A minute later he nodded and I stepped forward. Surging through my mind was a tune I hadn´t heard for forty years. "How much longer". Alternative TV. "How did it go?". "How much longer, will people wear Nazi armbands and dye their hair"? "The past is a foreign country: they do things differently there".
David Morgans Coming Out “It’s that new caretaker; he can’t let go. It’s been two years now and he’s still making signs.” “Well it works in one way, stops all the pushing and shoving and somehow keeps the noise down, signs do seem to stop you in your tracks?” “He’s let the social distancing go, that’s one good thing.” “No choice, the Head said the queue was too long, the lads were desperate and peeing behind the bushes; not a pretty site, considering the bushes were seen from his office window.” “You’re late again Jones! Why?” “Ah – AAh- AAAH- AAAAHHHH – QUEUE!! Sir. Cora Boffey |
A Mouse’ Plea
My proper name is Apodemus sylvaticus, but you can call me Woody. I’m a wood mouse and I wanted a word. I know you humans don’t like us very much, especially when the cousins get into your houses. But we don’t mean any harm. We always scuttle away when you approach, don’t we? You know, it’s not nice being on the dinner menu for so many others: cats of course, but foxes, weasels and hedgehogs too, and worst of all, those owls. Makes me shudder. Anyway, I just wanted to say, live and let live. There’s room for us all! Linda Birch Hide and Squeak
Scurrying, sliding, this way and that, This dried out leaf will serve as a mat. Places to go, small mouths to feed. Left for the birds, I take what I need. I'll scramble for berries and fruit in the fields. I'm partial to raisins and apples and cheese. I'm quite at home in the back of your shed, With plenty of stuffing to make a soft bed. But Spring is the season I like the best With love in the air, we'll make our small nest. Then out to the fields, our family to rear, Watch out, we'll be back at the end of the year. Maggie Storer |
Next Please
Dora headed to the checkout having decided she couldn't afford to spend any more. Tracy impatiently zoomed round her to grab the waiting spot. The old lady sighed and thought selfish little madam. Tracy quickly piled her goods onto the counter then grimaced as her debit card was relieved of £250. Tracy made to move her heavy load when a fanfare blasted from the store's address system which announced, “Aisle Two is our lucky spot today. The next customer will not be charged today as a goodwill gesture in these troubled times.” Dora smiled, feeling a sudden surge of joy.
Betty Taylor
Dora headed to the checkout having decided she couldn't afford to spend any more. Tracy impatiently zoomed round her to grab the waiting spot. The old lady sighed and thought selfish little madam. Tracy quickly piled her goods onto the counter then grimaced as her debit card was relieved of £250. Tracy made to move her heavy load when a fanfare blasted from the store's address system which announced, “Aisle Two is our lucky spot today. The next customer will not be charged today as a goodwill gesture in these troubled times.” Dora smiled, feeling a sudden surge of joy.
Betty Taylor
Why Wait?
Jennifer, never Jenny, is good at queueing. Brought up to be always polite, never ever pushy, considerate of others’ feelings, she waits her turn. At work she defers to others, doesn’t draw attention to her successes. Some might say she’s too modest for her own good. Promotions pass her by; her turn does not come. In love, as in life, she’s restrained. Who would it have hurt if she had danced, sang, shouted ‘I love you’, her long hair flowing free in the wind? No-one. There’s no turning back but it’s never too late. The time for waiting is over. Linda Birch Slate Grey
Beneath her feet, the perfect colour. Slate grey. Laura’s beautiful new kitchen was nearly finished. She’d sanded the doors before applying a pale grey coat to the units. Such a pretty change from the dull oak brown. They had needed four coats, as had the wall tiles, painted in contrasting red and black to match the kettle and the toaster. The decorating had stalled. She needed to paint the dull terracotta floor tiles. The marble effect would be difficult to replicate, but she was sure she could do it. Standing in the queue had refocused her thoughts. ‘Next customer please.’ Maggie Storer |
La Vie en Rose
I may look like a mouse to you, in fact a field mouse, but to a predator, a cat, badger or bird, I am lunch or breakfast or dinner or maybe just an in-between snack. In the wild I will live to be about a year old, then glump, I will be eaten. In a research lab, used for testing drugs or cosmetics, I might reach the venerable age of four. So, is it better to have a short life in the wild, or a longer one in captivity? Sadly mice aren´t renowned as moral philosophers, so it is up to you humans to decide. David Morgans Mr Seedsqueak Has a Surprise
He approached the door in his usual confident manner. Mister Seedsqueak smiled as he looked down at the white-and-black "welcome" mat. He took out his small but perfectly formed pocket-watch. Flipping open the case, he tapped the clear glass. "Eleven of the clock," he muttered to himself. He scrutinised the shabby pink door. A bedraggled planter to one side. Taking his cane he rapped crisply on the door, which he noted had no handle or keyhole. "That", he thought, "is a mystery". Silently a buzzard swept down and grasped the meadow vole, unaware he was food for the raptor´s young. David Morgans |
A night in the life of a ?
Well, here you are again, you and your thieving ways. But I’ll get you this time, you can’t escape me forever. This is my home, my domain and my servant’s food that you keep stealing. And although I’m the boss around here and to a large extent run the show; I still need to earn my keep. And so little mouse I’m afraid, you’ve got to go, Bye-Bye, Sayonara, Auf Wiedersehen and all that. While I pride myself upon being a patient girl, I shall lie in wait for you whilst purring quite contentedly. Remember the mouse police never sleep! Graham Peebles Amarilla, The Crinoline Mouse
Amarilla wrinkled her little nose and sniffed the fresh air in the sewing room, so different from the stuffiness of the mice’s nest, which was her home. She was very excited, Jasper, the best- looking mouse in the nest had proposed marriage. She was hoping to steal some scraps of discarded material dropped on the floor by the mistress of this house as she pedalled away at her sewing machine. She spied scraps of frothy white lace, perfect for her to make into a wedding dress. Then she heard footsteps coming into the room, picking up her find in her paws, she hurriedly scampered back to the nest. Gillian Rawlins |
Mouse With Leaf
Ok... you’ve caught me! Nearly home with my nice brown leaf. Will make a sturdy wall covering or under mattress for the winter. Taking it for my new girlfriend. She’s going to be a mummy soon. She came around three months ago nibbling lettuce and worms in my back garden. I heard some chomping on a warm and still Summer’s night. The moon was full of cheese that evening. I could see English Cheddar and Blue Stilton veins. I crept noiselessly; well, as much as you can with size 12 mouse toes. The rest is history... Ann Bickley A Mouse on the Stairs
The little boy sat on the stairs, his chin in his hands, he was very sad. There was a wolf outside his house and he could not go out to play with his friends. Suddenly a little noise; he could see nothing. “I’m down here.” A little Grey Mouse sat next to him on the stairs, his chin on his paws. “Can I be your friend?” the Mouse asked, “I’m lonely too just like you.” “Of course,” said the little boy. “Would you like some of my Chocolate?” “Oh! Yes,” said the Mouse and snuggling up to his new friend. Barrie Cooper |
Challenge April 2020
Rocky Hollow
“Who lives in a house like this?” “Frankly who cares Ruby, it looks ideal to me. I’ve been looking for somewhere unique to live for years.” “Let’s sit by the stream and read the estate agent's spec.” “Down to earth area. Sun drenched frontage; with eco friendly shell shade. Inviting pink door, has latest security system; no visible locks. Finger print system.” “It sounds a bit modern for you Scarlett? You’d need to move the WELCOME rock first, in case someone still goes looking for the key.” “Stop being negative Ruby; just look at those beautiful toadstools.” Cora Boffey |
Daydreams
Everyone needs a special place to sit, to dream, to wish, and hide away. This was hers at the bottom of the garden, behind the large laurel bushes so quiet so peaceful. The shell and the pebbles were from pleasant seaside holidays long ago. The door and fountain from a broken dolls' house on a rubbish tip. They became part of a happier past. Here she was a carefree child again entering the magical fairy-tale world behind the weathered pink door. Now she must leave and walk the pathway to face the traumatic real world that she was part of. Carol Hipkin |
The Pink Door
The asking price was low. A shabby pink door in a dismal side alley looked hostile, unwelcoming. After a total refurbishment we were thrilled. A new outside light dispelled the gloom of the alley. One final job was to paint the new door. We opted for pink again, a silly notion to retain an iota of the house’s personality. Excitedly, we finally moved in. Our first supper was interrupted by the loud dong of our new doorbell. It was a stranger, he winked, grinned and asked, “are you open for business? My mate told me about the Pink Door place.” Betty Taylor |
The Sweet Things of Life
The Sugar Plum Fairy lives here. How the little people had laughed when she painted her door shocking pink. This upset Fairy and she shut her door and refused to come out. Which might have been fine, but she took with her the keys to the sugar cupboard and her recipes. The people pleaded but to no avail. Years passed; the door faded to a trendy dusky pink but still Fairy would not relent. The people had no sweetness in their lives, all was sharp and bitter. So, be careful who you upset. She could be the Sugar Plum Fairy. Linda Birch |
The Wrong Door
I fold my wings and knock. I notice the peeling paint, the canopy, which is a pleasant touch, but in need of a coat of paint. These little people need a helping hand, and some discipline by the look of those rocks in the bird bath. But I am well equipped. My references are impeccable, having nannied for Queen Bee and her brood of bumblies. My syllabus will teach the little people well. I hear the sound of scraping claws, and a millipede of footsteps are creeping under the door. Critters! I fly. I’ll call the agency in the morning. Maggie Storer |
The Pink Door
Pink shabby door. An opening into another world. Children understand this. Like Monsters, Inc. and Neverwhere.
You can be grabbed or fall into these lands through them.The last time this pink door was used was for Ariel the mermaid. She brought the clam shell and the stone pebble welcome mat.
But now, everyone is looking for something. The owl and the pussycat stole a ring from the wolf and he is looking for them. The Queen is looking for her tarts. The Gruffalo is looking for the mouse. I think I can see the door opening...
Ann Bickley
Pink shabby door. An opening into another world. Children understand this. Like Monsters, Inc. and Neverwhere.
You can be grabbed or fall into these lands through them.The last time this pink door was used was for Ariel the mermaid. She brought the clam shell and the stone pebble welcome mat.
But now, everyone is looking for something. The owl and the pussycat stole a ring from the wolf and he is looking for them. The Queen is looking for her tarts. The Gruffalo is looking for the mouse. I think I can see the door opening...
Ann Bickley
Challenge March 2020
Wedding Day Blues
No, the buffet hadn’t been a success. Which was a pity as she had put a lot of effort into it, really thought about colours and flavours. It looked wonderful. But no-one had seemed very hungry somehow. Daisy and Phil’s wedding had been a long time in the planning. Daisy had hesitated, changed her mind a lot, and changed it back again, which was not at all like her. But at last it had all been agreed – the date, the dress, ceremony, bridesmaids, guests, honeymoon all arranged. So why, oh why, had Joe chosen today of all days to return? Linda Birch |
Gourmet Weekend
Advertised as a Gourmet Gastronomic Experience, we arrived at the Chateau. A work in progress. Dust motes danced. We tripped over paint pots to our sparse rooms. By contrast, the kitchen had already received the makeover. It shone black and silver. Our ingredients lay on a centre island. Aprons on, we chopped and whizzed, sliced and blanched. Left in moulds, jellies waited for setting. Arranged on a buffet, we helped ourselves and tucked in. After washing the dishes, we left feeling conned and deflated. But we did secure a contract to renovate the bedrooms in exchange for a free weekend. Maggie Storer |
Jellied Fruit
An afternoon tea party for the oldies in the nursing home. Little or no teeth left so soft eating is required. The soft slurping of Granny Groves in the corner with horse teeth chomping sounds of Cecil. His teeth never stopped growing like a rabbit with his large over-bite. He does remind me of Red Rum. Appreciation from Gladys as she slips a jellied peach slice into her handbag for later. Oops, somebody’s denture slithers across the floor firmly attached to an apple segment. Swiftly retrieved by Hubert, ‘Waste not, want not, he proudly announces after putting them back in. Ann Bickley |
"I looked at the dessert buffet. As an experienced portrait painter I thought the composition lacked a certain light and shade, though the contrast between the browns and greens and the white plates did highlight the offerings. The green garnish, probably parsley, was slightly surreal and didn´t really fit with the overall look. One thing puzzled me, the clear brown bricks with fruit embedded in them. My American girlfriend had called them Jell-O, not jelly like us Brits. Was there a chemical process that made them set but still wobble? Shut up. I really had drunk too much last night."
David Morgans
David Morgans