Green Fingers

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Happy Birthday Sally

Green Fingers.  100 Word Wednesday.

I ordered a vegetarian pizza with personality and was impressed with its photo-fit likeness of Sally. I fell over laughing. She stormed off taking the jeep. I begged her to return, but she cleared out my account and left to live up north with Hashish Bob. I counted myself lucky, it was a stolen jeep, and scammed account, but still I miss her, those pearly white dentures, large doe like eyes and her envious warm nature. Occasionally, I would find curly green fibres in my bed and I’d cry. Without her magical green fingers my life has gone to waste.

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Short Story – New Appliance

New Appliance

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ArtsyBee from pixabay.com

Mary finished cleaning the kitchen sink and she gazed out of the window at the dull dark clouds. Rain was on the way and everything seemed miserable as if her whole world had a screw loose, and she wasn’t sure how to fix it.

The fridge motor switched on and interrupted her day dreaming, its humming sound took on a rhythmic beat of da daa . . .  dum dum and she imagined herself in a Viennese Waltz cavorting with a tall Austrian Hussar and so she twirled and turned across the floor.

The hoover in the corner perked up. ‘May I have the pleasure?’ said Mr Dyson.

‘Delighted,’ said Mary and curtsied. She took the hoover by the handle, and they swept around the kitchen dancing to the music.

The sound of the fridge rumbled on as rain washed against the windows sounding like soft violins, the slow-cooker gurgled in delight and the kettle whistled as a flute. The washing machine shuddered out the bass of beating drums and the Dolce Gusto joined in with a whoosh, whoosh, sending aromatic plumes of percolating coffee into the air.

Mary skipped and spun, swinging on the arm of her handsome Mr Dyson as she moved around her tiny ballroom. From the clock, a cuckoo sprang out and trumpeted like a hunting horn as the timer on the oven played an allegro bleeping in consonance with the kitchen orchestra.

The house front door slammed. The music stopped. Mary dropped the hoover into the cupboard under the stairs, it groaned. She walked into the hall.

“I am shattered,” her husband said, “I’m completely worn out.” He gave her a gentle peck on the cheek and slouched into the living room where he slumped onto the sofa.

‘Did I hear our white goods singing?”

“No,” said Mary shaking her head, “besides that’s racist.”

“What!” he said.

“They are not white goods.” Mary undid his jacket.

“I’m too run down to argue.” He kicked off his shoes and laid back.

“We refer to them as appliances these days,” she said. She reached into his trousers’ pocket and pulled out a long flexi-cord that she then plugged into a battery recharging pack and switched it on.

“Ah . . . that’s better,” he said and closed his eyes.

Mary returned to the kitchen and made a call on her mobile.

A loud voice answered. “Mr Wong’s Magical Electrical Emporium, what can I do for you?”

“Mr Wong, it’s Mary.”

All the appliances in the kitchen gave a short gasp, the Dolce Gusto hissed, the hoover peeked out from the cupboard.

“Yes Mary, you need a replacement.”

“Sort of Mr Wong, do you have any Hussars?”

All the appliances gave out an expressive sigh, they were safe, she wasn’t disposing of them.

“You need a new man . . . why not repair the one you have?”

“Mr Wong, my husband is clapped out, worn out and completely flat.”

“We can fit a new battery.”

“It’s no use, he has lost all his energy. I need one with spark, style and stamina.”

“Okay, Mrs Mary I will bring a new one tomorrow, anything else.”

“Yes, there is a screw in my head that rattles and seems to be very loose.”

“Oh dear,” said Mr Wong, “sounds very bad, an emergency.”

“It is, an emergency. Oh, it really is, Mr Wong.”

“I will come very immediately,” Mr Wong laughed. “I bring new parts . . .  again.”

Mary put her mobile down, she grinned. There was always something special about the way Mr Wong fiddled with her parts. He was gentle and made her feel so invigorated that her whole world no longer felt so miserable.

Marie – Short Story

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Photo – Kirkandmimi – pixabay.com

Marie’s father has vowed to kill Carl if he ever returns to Italy, but after twenty years will his love for Marie prevail.

Read the short story – Marie

 

Selfish Betrayal

Three Line Tales Week 82

Selfish Betrayal

I am spirit and naked flesh, promised with eternal heavenly peace.
In a world filled with joy and gifts of fruit, in a beautiful garden of Eden.
However truth, in an apple core, reveals my skeleton on the evolutionary scale.

On the Road to Paradise

Three Line Tales, Week 80

I dream of freedom and traveling on the road.
In the morning I’d be ecstatic to see our new van waiting.
Please don’t wake me, I am living in paradise.

Falling Leaves – Anthology

Final Cover Falling Leaves Three

Available on Amazon – Paperback and e-book.

Falling Leaves – Lanark Writers Anthology 2017.

I have had this mad idea of becoming a writer and so completed a Creative Writing Course with the Open University in the UK a few years ago. The fun part was meeting other inspirational people with similar ambitions and we had some great debates on the merits of writing literature.
Once the course was over I self published my preliminary work in two books, more as a test to see what I alone could achieve, rather than go straight for the New York Times best seller – at this stage. (We are all allowed to have ambitions).

Two years later (because I didn’t know they existed previously), I joined the local writing group in Lanark and discovered, although they had been together since 1994, they needed a publisher. I took on the role and have now complete three books for them, the latest is “Falling Leaves.”

I wonder if this is what I’ve become; a publisher?

Editing and proofreading are controversial issues within the group and they insist on doing their own – (try making a slight change, and – oh dear – I am left wondering, what have I done?). I relent knowing they are a wonderful bunch who are set in their ways and it is all just a bit of fun.

Falling Leaves is available in paperback (wait for the price drop) and will be out on 4th Sept as an e-book.

I will be announcing the FREE period in September so you may all have a chance to read the complete anthology at your leisure.

If anyone of you great readers wishes an advanced PDF copy and, in exchange, are willing to provide an honest review on Amazon – (One stars reviews are better than NONE), please make contact. See my e-mail address at the bottom of the Web page.

One of my favourite pieces in the collection is by Edith Ryan. “The Elephant and the Bat”

It is a love duet between Earnest Elephant and Belinda Bat. It is six verses long in free verse, below is the first.

Dearest Little Furry Creature,
It was very nice to meet you.
Could we meet again quite soon?
I think of you, I start to swoon.
I’d like to hold you on my trunk.
For love of you, I feel quite drunk.
Write to say you’ll be my friend.
My love for you will never end.

Yours, Earnest Elephant.

Head in the Sand

100 Word Wednesday – week 29

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Head in the Sand.

(DARK CONTENT WARNING)

Josh liked it that way, in the dark – laptop on his knees.
He typed his reply.
[yea it looks good}
[are you coming]
{No}
[Oh Josh – there’s no one near us. Come on]
{so!!}
[just us – warm sand and sea – we have a wind breaker, no one will see you]
{Yea heard that before}
[Don’t Josh, we love you]
.
.
[Josh, we are coming to get you]
{no don’t come round my Ma will kill me}
{we’re coming}
.
.
Josh checked his pile of candy bars – his hockey stick.
He pulled the AK47 from under his bed, it was loaded -safety off.
.
.
The knocking on the cellar door started.
“Josh! your friends are here.”
Ma is going to kill him.
“Come on Josh! I know you are in there.” she banged harder. “You can’t bury your head in the sand all your life.”
He pointed the barrel of the AK47 at the door.
What life?

The Doctor

The Doctor

100 Word Wednesday – Week 28

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Image by Bikurgurl

Holmes was immortal, and distraught as he felt like an inanimate antique hoarded by an impulsive collector. He was in a delirious mood and was not making sense in his drug induce daze, mumbling about eternal regeneration and the beginning with no end to an infinitive universe.
“Quick, bring some hot chicken broth,” I called to Mrs Hudson.
Holmes leapt to his feet and sprinted from the room.
’Too late,’ I shouted. Running after him, I caught up and found him in a curiosity shop.
“Watson, we are but dusty relics,” said Holmes, and he blew dark smoke from his obnoxious weed across my face.
“I wish you’d refrain.” I coughed. “Why are we here? Pottery?”
“Why does the Doctor need this stoneware from Old Kent Road?”
“A gift or perhaps an inheritance?”
“Yes, his nostalgia for all things London.”
These days, I was at my wits end with Holmes as he had become obsessed, and I often recoiled from his constant rages, madness and frustrations. He was determined to uncover the identity of the Time Lord, the imposter.
“What does this collection tell you Watson?’
“He is having guests for tea.”
“No Watson, can’t you see his next location is surely eighteen hundreds mid-west.”
“Oh, I like the flowers, a nice feminine touch.”
“Damn Watson! It is a woman!”
“About time.” I chuckled, and couldn’t imagine Holmes with a wife.
“No, no, no.” Holmes fell to his knees. “I’m now searching for an elusive woman.”
I put my hand on his shoulder to console the poor chap. I smiled.

Black Coffee

Back Coffee –100 Word Wednesday; Week 23

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Image Credit Jesse Williams

Black Coffee

Of all the off beat diners in town Alma picked my haunt, Pearl’s.
‘Discrete,’ she said, ’it’s not in our neighbourhood.’
Yea, she’s a dame all right, black coffee, eggs over easy with chilli wings.
Seated with her long stockinged legs swinging, I know her type, a derringer inside her garter.
She nodded at the papers and photo on the bar, then offered to buy me a coffee. How sweet.
‘Just sign,’ she said, ‘or . . .  she’s dead meat.’
The picture said it all; Pearl’s eyes petrified and pleading, mascara running over the taped mouth, body trussed like a turkey.
I agreed, it wasn’t a great holiday snap.
I signed, and I let my lousy wife, Alma, walk away with a million dollar settlement.
Five minutes later, Pearl came screaming in, and she levelled a .45 Magnum at my forehead.
I’ll admit, she had a point.

Tempting Guacamole

Tempting Guacamole – 100 Word Wednesday.

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Dear Pips,

Please come back, I miss you, my darling Pips.
I’m sorry I was rude, about your lovely hips.
I love you and miss your gregarious smiles
I love you and forgive you for kissing Miles
Look, I’ve bought your favourite chilli tortilla chips
Because I know you love my guacamole dips.

Please come and trust me, my darling Pips
I’m sorry I was rude, about your lovely lips
I miss you, so let’s forget about you loving Jay
I miss you, see now, how my anger’s gone away
Look! I’ve spiced up your favourite tortilla chips
Because! I know you love my guacamole dips.