Drifting in Time.100 Word Wednesday
Image by Sandra Jane
My relief; we made it back to the docks. Exhausted, I’ve been rowing with the current ever since the Meridian sank. When? How strange that the harbour is in a dilapidated state and abandoned, all in a space of one week. I sense an eerie chill, of being observed, that bristles the hairs on my neck. This is no welcome and this is not home.
I nudged Holmes awake from his sleep, he is delirious due to his allergy to sunlight and I note his aversion to physical exertion, except puffing of hashish from his pipe. Well, Watson, he had said before we sailed, if I can’t get the true elixir then this potpourri will suffice.
‘We made it Holmes,’ I shouted, glad to be alive.
‘Yes,’ he said and sat up in the boat for a better look. ’We are indeed here, but at the same time we are not.’ He grabbed at his pocket watch and checked the hour. ‘Oh! What year is this? Ah! Doctor, yes yes how very clever.’
‘What!’ I didn’t get his demented drift. ‘Clever?’
‘Oh yes, the Doctor is afoot.’ He grinned. ‘Let’s tread with care.’
‘Precisely, Watson. The Time Lord himself.’
Posted in 100 word wednesday, Blog, Flash Fiction, Uncategorized
Tagged Doctor Who, Flash Fiction, Humour, Kurzgeschichte, Mystery, Sherlock Holmes, Short Stories, Writing
Image by Bukurgurl
The Lighthouse (100 Word Wednesday)
Oh lonely, oh lonely was the lighthouse keeper.
and for ninety years he guided ships in this cove.
But now he haunts the night with a ghostly flicker.
Street Art in Glasgow, Scotland
They said she’s nice, so don’t be late
You’ll recognise her beautiful smile
And she’ll be wearing the latest Prada style
My nervous excitement, on a blind date
I saw her, gorgeous, laughing at the bar
Dressed in fashionable hugging stripes
Enchanting, attracting extroverted types
Like a prowling stag, ready armed for war
There is something about the fading light
That brings out an instinct in my mind
A sort of sublime emotional mating kind
That drives survival, but perhaps not tonight.
Three Line Tales – On a Wing and a Prayer
Over the world and in peace, feeling the quite serenity
of flying and softly floating free from earthly responsibility.
But all too soon, we’ll land on the insecure realities of insensibility.
Alice Wants Home – Three Line Tales
photo by Fleur Treurniet via Unsplash
‘Only the Unicorn knows your way home,’ the owl screeched. ‘Which way, which way, which way.’ It glided into the dark.
‘Wait!’ shouted Alice. Alone she looked around. No entry, one way street going both ways. A window in the yard.
She stamped her foot and wept. Could she really climb the drain pipe? But she must to find the Unicorn.
Chocolate Desire – 100 Word Wednesday – Week 6
See how I shiver with lecherous impulsive greed as you tempt me with your dark smooth and sultry sweetness.
See how I drool, as I am forbidden to stroke your caramel coloured skin, as my fingers warm with desire to caress your buttery interior.
See how I gasp, as you open and part your chocolate softness and I lust after to lick the musty slit clean of oozing sweet cream.
See how I blush, as you provocatively tease and I quiver as if in the silent moment of commitment before the touch of an adulterous kiss.
I’m yours, Dark Temptress.
Three Line Tales -Great Expectations.
Photo by Annie Sprat via Unsplash
Just another large gin to steady the nerves, must be presentable; you understand.
I hope they bring a red and some Jack Daniels or better, a Glenmorangie.
Food! Too late they are here. Why the white coats? What have I done?
Photo by Rebecca Johnston
Three Line Tales – Week Thirty Five
The Ghost of Nature
I am the evolution and future of Earth’s existence.
The protector of all species within nature’s kingdom.
But, Man with his weapons predicates only the world’s extinction.
The picture below reminded me of Daphne du Maurier’s novel “Rebecca” and its ending few words.
“… but the sky on the horizon was not black at all. It was shot with crimson, like a splash of blood. And the ashes blew towards us with the salt wind from the sea.’
The implication was that Mrs Danvers discovered the truth about her beloved Rebecca, and in revenge she torched the large country house, ‘Manderley’.
Disused building West Glasgow opposite my daughter’s flat. (Live Friday 20 May 2016)
Fire is fascinating; it is like a cleansing of the past, as the flames leap and twitch. There is finality in the burning where all the elements disintegrate in smoke and leave behind a powdered residue, and is a very practical solution to get rid of the unwanted items in our lives. (I don’t mean people like witches and Guy Fawkes).
In my household it is impossible to be rid of such items, to me they are unnecessary clutter. The ‘others’ with their emotional claptrap always resist trying to make space and taking ‘their stuff’ to charity shops, and so the ‘big clear out’ becomes a day wasted by reminiscing about the good times and the sad times and those bloody times that drive me mad times. Everything is boxed up again and put back into the shed or else up into the attic to be forgotten. Perhaps it is the excitement of rediscovering items from your past, and the past of deceased relatives that sub-consciously makes us hold on to the most ridiculous of items.
Remember this scarf; Granny knitted it for my first day at school, shame about the mice gnawing the wool, and on it goes. Mementos slowly deteriorating and their only function are to reflect on our lives, perhaps we need to hold on to them. Since, once they are gone we’ll miss those ‘big clear out’ days.
No wonder fire is associated with insanity.