The zeitgeists hover over us, each playing their hands and waiting for history to pick the one that stays.
Wednesday, 7 May 2014
Tuesday, 6 May 2014
A Saturday Morning Mix-Up
Saturdays were always the same when I was a child: I’d wake up at some ridiculous hour to watch kids TV, often before six, before it even started. I watched allsorts: Ulysses 31, The Shoe People, Mallett’s Mallet, Thundercats, Going Live!, Ramona, all kinds.
Then breakfast and the wait for the mid morning highlight.
We had a paper delivered each day and, before elevenses (or drink and biscuit as we always called it), my dad would walk down to the newsagents to pay for them. We would go with him, but not before we received our pocket money. About 20p a week, at first, all of which would be spent at the newsagents.
Out the front door we would start, down the path, turn left, left again, down the hill, past the postbox, over the road, along to the bollards, turn right, up through the estate to the shops at its centre.
In the newsagents, Dad would go up to the main counter, covered, as always, in the day’s news, and talk to the newsagent himself (who would, much later, get annoyed with me, but that’s a story for another day), while I would go to the back of the shop, to a separate counter-
The sweets counter.
Behind were shelves of jars full of sweets, sold by the quarter- in the future, when I got more pocket money, when I would walk to the newsagents on my own, these would be for me. During my first visits, though, I would concentrate on the boxes of sweets kept under a glass counter.
A young lady, though old to me, I guess, probably still at school, would serve me: she may have been my first crush, at about five, but it may have had more to do with the sweets, my mind’s a bit hazy over that bit. Anyway, I’d ask for a 20p mix-up and the choosing would begin.
I would mainly go for penny sweets: Black Jacks, Fruit Salads, Cola Bottles, the small ones mostly- maybe mix in a Foam Banana for a treat, all of which the sweet lady would pick and place into a paper bag, probably with her bare hands- the eighties cared less for hygiene- keeping count as we went. Oh, the decisions - how many penny sweets, two penny sweets to go for. And what ones, of course.
Once the mix was complete we would go home- sometimes via the baker’s for an extra treat to take home, the drink and biscuit becoming a drink and Doughnut or Chelsea Bun. But the main treat for the way home was the sweets, of course, a different order each week, perhaps, or always saving the best until last; again I am hazy, no doubt lost in a sugar cloud.
When home and finished, it would soon be lunch. On a Saturday it was always fishfingers and chips followed by semolina because Saturdays were always the same when I was a child. And they were wonderful indeed.
Then breakfast and the wait for the mid morning highlight.
We had a paper delivered each day and, before elevenses (or drink and biscuit as we always called it), my dad would walk down to the newsagents to pay for them. We would go with him, but not before we received our pocket money. About 20p a week, at first, all of which would be spent at the newsagents.
Out the front door we would start, down the path, turn left, left again, down the hill, past the postbox, over the road, along to the bollards, turn right, up through the estate to the shops at its centre.
In the newsagents, Dad would go up to the main counter, covered, as always, in the day’s news, and talk to the newsagent himself (who would, much later, get annoyed with me, but that’s a story for another day), while I would go to the back of the shop, to a separate counter-
The sweets counter.
Behind were shelves of jars full of sweets, sold by the quarter- in the future, when I got more pocket money, when I would walk to the newsagents on my own, these would be for me. During my first visits, though, I would concentrate on the boxes of sweets kept under a glass counter.
A young lady, though old to me, I guess, probably still at school, would serve me: she may have been my first crush, at about five, but it may have had more to do with the sweets, my mind’s a bit hazy over that bit. Anyway, I’d ask for a 20p mix-up and the choosing would begin.
I would mainly go for penny sweets: Black Jacks, Fruit Salads, Cola Bottles, the small ones mostly- maybe mix in a Foam Banana for a treat, all of which the sweet lady would pick and place into a paper bag, probably with her bare hands- the eighties cared less for hygiene- keeping count as we went. Oh, the decisions - how many penny sweets, two penny sweets to go for. And what ones, of course.
Once the mix was complete we would go home- sometimes via the baker’s for an extra treat to take home, the drink and biscuit becoming a drink and Doughnut or Chelsea Bun. But the main treat for the way home was the sweets, of course, a different order each week, perhaps, or always saving the best until last; again I am hazy, no doubt lost in a sugar cloud.
When home and finished, it would soon be lunch. On a Saturday it was always fishfingers and chips followed by semolina because Saturdays were always the same when I was a child. And they were wonderful indeed.
Written for the Light and Shade Challenge from the picture prompt:
Picture by ciscopa on rgbstock.com
Monday, 5 May 2014
250 Words: Obake (“something that is transformed”) 2 and 3: “animals with supernatural powers” and “wicked demons”
““Mwahahahaha!” I said and then I fled from that place leaving him alone to his fate.
“Give us a swig.
“Knowing that he’d want to seek retribution, I knew I needed to get away quickly and so I journeyed first around the Great Swamps, giving them quite a wide berth in fact- only a fool would travel through that treacherous area. Even animals go around it.
“Give us a little swig.
“Then the Border Mountains stood before me and I thought to myself, I thought, “He won’t be able to cross those or the desert beyond. If by any chance he does decide to follow, I’ll be more than safe on the other side of these rocks and that sand. This is somewhere he can’t follow! So I hired myself guides and got myself to safety, entertaining people in the towns en route with my tale of adventure, intrigue and ultimate victory.
“Give us another swig.
“Even for such as I, a task like that is not simple and I am sure you will agree that I have won and won well on this occasion, that I am a hero among my kind to be revered for some time to come. And a clever bastard too.
“Give us just one more swig.
“Yep, once I’ve rested up here I shall return to my king and be richly rewarded.”
On the fifth day of boring my customers with his story a small creature entered my pub and downed the loudmouth fool.
“Give us a swig.
“Knowing that he’d want to seek retribution, I knew I needed to get away quickly and so I journeyed first around the Great Swamps, giving them quite a wide berth in fact- only a fool would travel through that treacherous area. Even animals go around it.
“Give us a little swig.
“Then the Border Mountains stood before me and I thought to myself, I thought, “He won’t be able to cross those or the desert beyond. If by any chance he does decide to follow, I’ll be more than safe on the other side of these rocks and that sand. This is somewhere he can’t follow! So I hired myself guides and got myself to safety, entertaining people in the towns en route with my tale of adventure, intrigue and ultimate victory.
“Give us another swig.
“Even for such as I, a task like that is not simple and I am sure you will agree that I have won and won well on this occasion, that I am a hero among my kind to be revered for some time to come. And a clever bastard too.
“Give us just one more swig.
“Yep, once I’ve rested up here I shall return to my king and be richly rewarded.”
On the fifth day of boring my customers with his story a small creature entered my pub and downed the loudmouth fool.
Saturday, 3 May 2014
≤140 Characters, or Tweet Repeat: 28
He said, "I have returned from perdition to bring it to you up here in the sun. Tell all that hell is coming: after me comes the flood."
Friday, 2 May 2014
100 Words: Wax Drips
The wax drips should have been the sign, the smooth sculptures, equally beautiful and disgusting, creating on and staining the surface top and sides.
I despise mess, abhor untidiness and yet, for him, I was willing to overlook this because the candle had been so romantic.
When, several weeks later, the wax drips were still there I should have known he was not for me. Instead I moved things over to my place more, where cleanliness does abound.
Though my flat became a little dirtier and unkempt by his presence it dawned on me only when things went missing.
I despise mess, abhor untidiness and yet, for him, I was willing to overlook this because the candle had been so romantic.
When, several weeks later, the wax drips were still there I should have known he was not for me. Instead I moved things over to my place more, where cleanliness does abound.
Though my flat became a little dirtier and unkempt by his presence it dawned on me only when things went missing.
Written for Friday Fictioneers, in response to this photo:
Thursday, 1 May 2014
250 Words: Obake (“something that is transformed”) 2: “animals with supernatural powers”
After receiving the powers all I had to do was reach my target and utilise them. Which would be easier said than done for they had managed to put quite some distance between us during my adventures up to this point and it would take some time and effort to catch up.
I began straight away by crossing the Great Swamps (no doubt they had had to go around), ever careful not to plant my feet in any of the mud puddles that would have sucked me down to the centre of the earth.
Then I ascended and descended the Border Mountains (no simple task for such as I), clambering over giant boulders aplenty and even scaling a vertical cliff. And that was just the terrain- several times I nearly perished from the cold but, ever determined, I kept my limbs moving and never kept still long enough to freeze; all the time keeping my eventual prize in mind and wondering why I had not asked for more powers.
At the foot of the mountains I asked for directions and found myself nearly there. I skirted around the edge of three towns in the Riverlands before hitching a ride across the Largest Desert on a well-provisioned vehicle to a fourth.
There I did not speak the language but soon heard the fool drunk inside an inn, no doubt in the belief I would never catch up. I went within and, to the vast surprise of the patrons, downed the mother.
I began straight away by crossing the Great Swamps (no doubt they had had to go around), ever careful not to plant my feet in any of the mud puddles that would have sucked me down to the centre of the earth.
Then I ascended and descended the Border Mountains (no simple task for such as I), clambering over giant boulders aplenty and even scaling a vertical cliff. And that was just the terrain- several times I nearly perished from the cold but, ever determined, I kept my limbs moving and never kept still long enough to freeze; all the time keeping my eventual prize in mind and wondering why I had not asked for more powers.
At the foot of the mountains I asked for directions and found myself nearly there. I skirted around the edge of three towns in the Riverlands before hitching a ride across the Largest Desert on a well-provisioned vehicle to a fourth.
There I did not speak the language but soon heard the fool drunk inside an inn, no doubt in the belief I would never catch up. I went within and, to the vast surprise of the patrons, downed the mother.
A Dream with the power to poison Sleep
Asleep I saw a man, tall and thin with a mass of black curly hair, clad in a long leather coat. I followed him down a street much like the one I grew up in to a house similar to my childhood home.
I followed him in, up the stairs to the attic, floating all the way to the top of the house.
There I saw the man crouched over a hole, up through which shone a little light, but not enough for me to see his face. Over the hole he dangled a long wire before threading it through to the room below, removing a small bottle from his pocket and carefully applying drops of its contents via a pipette onto the wire, allowing them to travel slowly down.
Some part of my mind remembered something and I jumped back down to the landing and rushed toward my old bedroom and bunk where I found my young self asleep and dressed as Wee Willie Winkie, a candle burning on my bedside cabinet. I was too late, or, rather, just in time to see a drop enter my mouth and the candle gutter out.
As the dream began to end and I fought between waking and sleeping, I turned to see the figure I had followed standing in the doorway.
He wore my face with darkened eyes, paler skin and a wicked, twisted grin that mocked me as I lost my battle to stay there.
I have not slept since.
*
Initially I stuck to my normal routine and stayed in bed, tossing and turning, yet never getting tired enough to fall asleep; but that passed and I got more annoying.
I had this weird horny phase and started to bother my wife for sex several times a night. Some of the time this was fine and lovely, fantastic in fact, but mostly I was nothing but a sex pest.
So I tried instead to keep myself busy at nights, moving from one activity to another like fads: watching box sets, writing stories, reading, building models, jigsaws, DIY, even.... as quietly as I could, until I disturbed my wife and neighbours too many times.
Almost always alone, of course. By day I made the most of human contact because by night I was completely alone. Each little hobby was a necessity to keep myself busy and sane until morning.
I suppose I could have worked two jobs- a cabbie, perhaps, but the safety of home seemed preferable. A creature of the night I had become but the night outside was something I did not trust and did not want.
Eventually I came almost full circle to a state where I would sit in the dark all night remembering my last dream and wondering if there was a way to cure Sleep, assuming he wasn’t gone forever, or to find Dream and gain the answer. But he does not come to me and I think of nothing. Perhaps always I’ll be afflicted.
I followed him in, up the stairs to the attic, floating all the way to the top of the house.
There I saw the man crouched over a hole, up through which shone a little light, but not enough for me to see his face. Over the hole he dangled a long wire before threading it through to the room below, removing a small bottle from his pocket and carefully applying drops of its contents via a pipette onto the wire, allowing them to travel slowly down.
Some part of my mind remembered something and I jumped back down to the landing and rushed toward my old bedroom and bunk where I found my young self asleep and dressed as Wee Willie Winkie, a candle burning on my bedside cabinet. I was too late, or, rather, just in time to see a drop enter my mouth and the candle gutter out.
As the dream began to end and I fought between waking and sleeping, I turned to see the figure I had followed standing in the doorway.
He wore my face with darkened eyes, paler skin and a wicked, twisted grin that mocked me as I lost my battle to stay there.
I have not slept since.
*
Initially I stuck to my normal routine and stayed in bed, tossing and turning, yet never getting tired enough to fall asleep; but that passed and I got more annoying.
I had this weird horny phase and started to bother my wife for sex several times a night. Some of the time this was fine and lovely, fantastic in fact, but mostly I was nothing but a sex pest.
So I tried instead to keep myself busy at nights, moving from one activity to another like fads: watching box sets, writing stories, reading, building models, jigsaws, DIY, even.... as quietly as I could, until I disturbed my wife and neighbours too many times.
Almost always alone, of course. By day I made the most of human contact because by night I was completely alone. Each little hobby was a necessity to keep myself busy and sane until morning.
I suppose I could have worked two jobs- a cabbie, perhaps, but the safety of home seemed preferable. A creature of the night I had become but the night outside was something I did not trust and did not want.
Eventually I came almost full circle to a state where I would sit in the dark all night remembering my last dream and wondering if there was a way to cure Sleep, assuming he wasn’t gone forever, or to find Dream and gain the answer. But he does not come to me and I think of nothing. Perhaps always I’ll be afflicted.
Written for the Light and Shade Challenge from the written prompt, from Shelley's Mutability, A dream has power to poison sleep.
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