I am amazed how the BMW in Liz Young’s photo-prompt does not appear to have any damage, considering the wall and railings are in pieces.
You can read more Friday Fictioneer’s contributions and stories here.
She drives wearing high heels, rummages in her handbag and, at junctions, if she stops, she has to text the kids. When we are in the car, she will nag at me. You missed the kids’ school play and games day–-a crime in her eyes. The traffic accident held me up. I didn’t get home until midnight. Apparently, I never liked her Mum. Hell! the poor lady died before we met.
You are wearing the wrong shirt, and Martha will comment on it.
My thanks go to Dale for her picture of a flooded patio area, after a heavy rainstorm. Does this happen every year or just occasionally?
Many will suggest climate change as the reason for the flooding. Although climate change has been a constant drift over hundreds of years, we now know how this drift has sped up over the last tens of years. But as a planet of humans, are we heading for extinction?
Extinction is not a choice–Survivors
We stood in a circle and held hands. Everyone understood the ritual; our strength and fortitude were the foundations of the past and our future.
Greta, believe us; we will not move and live in the forests. Our generations have survived by this lake, our home.
We are the descendants from Lucy and accept Earth is a living monster of storms and earthquakes with an infestation of a multitude of life. As the environment changes, we will embrace technology and adapt.
Let us honour Mother Earth as she nurtures us.
We pray for humanity since extinction is not a choice.
This week’s photo-prompt , thanks to CE Ayr, has a sense of isolation and one I am sure many people are feeling in the present atmosphere of Covid restrictions. At the same time there is a sense of peace in the image that I feel when walking along a quite beach early in the morning, preferable on a Caribbean island rather than along a cold, wind swept coast.
John relished the solitude of his dawn stroll. He walked and breathed in time with the natural rhythm of the waves as he listened to the soft adagio whoosh of water washing along the sand. His mind relaxed and emptied of all invasive thoughts as he concentrated on the peace of the moment. Mentally refreshed and calm, he felt prepared with emboldened fortitude and leadership expected from a head teacher.
His knees trembled as he watched. After an enforced break, over excited, chattering children arrived as their pale-faced parents waved anxiously from the gate. He wiped his forehead and smiled.
This week’s picture prompt, thank you Dale Rogerson, reminds me of the odd freak snowfall we sometimes get in May. Also, how sometimes we get caught out by a sudden spring frost that decimates the border flowers planted out the week before. Weather around the world follows a similar pattern each year, yet nature surprises us with unpredictable events. Nature loves us, really.
We had held hands on the veranda listening to Spanish guitar music, watching the meteors streak across the night sky. We had bread with bratwurst dipped in Dijon and drank Pilsner. One shooting star momentarily lit up the entire street and Baxter scampered indoors whimpering, Caroline followed to calm our Labrador. It was a hot summer with an uncomfortable, sweaty night, but in the morning, I woke to a sharp frost with a snow-covered garden. I saw footprints leading to the rose-bed, then stop. By midday the snow had gone, as was Caroline and Baxter. It has been three years.
Remember the office days with paper and files kept in dusty rooms and cabinets. When people borrowed your pen, just for a second, and you never saw it again. Those were the days before management demanded efficiency and screen time took over. There is no turning back.
It’s those little things I miss, like fiddling with paper clips while I study company reports. Opening bursting folders and laying out charts and graphs all held down with rocks I brought back from a picnic. We were people then and you my gregarious secretary. We once sat by the Thames and drank Bollinger while eating salmon sandwiches for lunch. I asked, and you said yes.
We grew as business partners and you travelled the globe in executive jets. Apart, our love became metamorphic in Cyber Space and on Zoom.
Siri recommends picnic rugs. It’s those little things I miss.
We were ten-year-olds huddled in a spinning Alice In Wonderland cup at the fairground. Martha, my sweetheart, kept our dream alive, and we created Dolly’s Amusement and Theme Park.
Just one last look. Early morning, quiet, and I feel so proud for the pleasure people get from our dream. Soon, excited children and anxious dads goaded and dared to a ride on the Hell-Coaster will arrive.
We did good, Martha had said. She is calling me.
It is time. I feel my soul discard this body as I journey free and home to the other side. Is that you, Martha?
Everyone is in hiding, that is what we are told to do. Hide. At night it is worse than ever. It’s an unseen enemy, but I can sense them; watching, waiting, wanting to invade my body. I must fight back, as I did in Korea, for my country. Well, I am watching them too; the specks of lights hovering, menacing, grouping, slowly surrounding me. Wear masks, that is what we are told. I don’t recognise myself anymore, or anyone. Who is who? I can’t stand this confinement, I need fresh air and freedom. I am going out, I’ll show them.
Literally Stories have aired my short story as one of their Sunday re-runs. I must thank them. Their site holds hundreds of worthwhile reads from a variety of writers; you may find yourself engrossed for hours. Every read is free or you may wish to contribute your own story for others to enjoy.