My Friend Gerald

Wednesday again and time for Friday Fictioneers. A 100 word photo prompt based on the weekly changing picture (no murders for going slightly over).

copyright-adam-ickes Photo Copyright : Adam Ickes

The last box was done, taped and sealed. So much of her life packed into boxes.  An inventory of memories, wrapped in yesterday’s paper, the irony wasn’t lost on her. Each box held a time, a place and a piece of her past.

Cedar Acres retirement village would be just what she needed. No more lonely nights with only Gerald for company. Gerald’s glass eye almost winked.  Bob had said he needed more rams for his computer and an idea had struck. When the stuffed head arrived by courier, his weak heart had given out on the doorstep. The life insurance arrived not long after his porn subscription ended.

 

Love in Disguise

Why does love,

Have so many disguises,

So many questions,

So many surprises,

Like the one on the plane,

Or the one on the bus,

The one on the train,

Or the one in a rush,

The one with the earring,

The one with the beard,

The one with the eye patch,

I particularly feared,

The one with the right leg,

Shorter than his left,

The one with the fur coat,

His mother was bereft,

The one with the moustache,

That ran ear to ear,

And the one with the toupee,

With his cross eyeing leer,

*

Maybe I should get a dog.

Fifty Shades of Magnolia

Time again for ‘Friday Fictioneers‘. My weekly addiction to 100 words of flash. I loved the photo, but no matter how hard I tried I couldn’t think of anything serious so my excuses for where my imagination went. Follow the link and have a go yourself. plus don’t forget to read the other fantastic devotees.

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I said I was sorry,

I heard you the last time,

You said you wanted more excitement,

You thought I wanted this?

Well, not this exactly, but you sa…..

Stop, don’t say it again,

What if next door heard?

I’m sorry Brenda,

Oh my god, what if they come round?

I locked the front door,

They have a spare key,

I’m sorry Brenda,

Stop saying sorry, just untie me,

I’m sorry Brenda,

And take that bloody helmet off,

I’ve tried, it’s stuck,

This isn’t working Brian,

Sorry Bren, I could be Zorro next time?

 

The Sound Of Music

Time again for Friday Fictioneers, hosted by the fabulous Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. A 100 word photo prompt, although you’re not shot if you go over a tad. After last weeks despair I’ve gone lighter this week, however my humour may be so bad that I still make you cry………

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Photo Copyright : Bjorn Rudberg

Simeon felt the corrosion in his ears before the singing fully reached his shack. He pulled a pillow round his head, trying to muffle the impact.

“High on a hill lives a lonely goat herder”

Lifting the pillow slightly, he shouted back “Down at the bottom lives a bloody frightened goat, Peter”

It took a few minutes before he realised the singing had stopped. Then suddenly an almighty crash flew the doors wide open.

Peter stood, hands on hips; a 6’4 wall of solid muscle wearing a long black habit and a set of wooden beads.

“I TOLD YOU TO CALL ME MARIA” he screamed.

The Twelfth Day Of Christmas

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On the twelfth day of Christmas,

My husband gave to me,

Twelve headache helpers,

Eleven buzzers buzzing,

Ten children screeching,

Nine glasses braking,

Eight lights a-fusing

Seven crackers snapping,

Six oldies napping,

Five ———-broken ———nails,

Four smoking pans,

Three bottles drank,

Two laddered tights,

And a paper crown slipping off my head.

 

Three Men in a Bus Stop

Time again for Friday Fictioneers. A 100 word story for a weekly changing photo prompt provided by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. I can’t recommend it enough, give it ago or just read the many other, far more talented efforts.

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Leggy tapped his foot against the stone, as a disgruntled Hedley sucked in a breath, swallowed and looked up,

“Will you stop that ruddy tapping, you’re killing me”

The tapping increased. Hedley growled.

“Thanks for the support guys” he mumbled. Not really caring which one of them heard.

The wall of muscle on his left moved forward “What time did you say the next bus was?”

Leggy’s tapping went into over-drive,

“FOR THE TENTH TIME, I DON’T KNOW”

Muscles’ instantly flexed his chest, his aggression was almost palpable,

The other two shot back “Back down Big Man, we all know your ‘armless’….

Daddy’s Been Swimming!

My first attempt at a Trifecta writing challenge. Using only 33 words to follow the cartoon below –

http://www.poisonedplayground.com

Mummy, Mummy there’s a monster in the water,

I think you’ve had more chocolate than you outta!

Mummy, Mummy, he’s waving his arms at me,

Oh my, you’re right, what’s happened to Daddy?

A Little Book of Happiness

Today’s prompt was to write a story using the words Grandfather, post office, photo album and folder………….

chfphotoalbumIn the little cluttered sitting room, I’m savouring the stillness. Sitting back slowly I let the familiar scent of beeswax and polish, and cabbages and greens waft around my nose. I always call on Pops on a Wednesday. It’s my afternoon off and when the kids are at school and the ironings been done and piled high on beds that I’ve just freshly changed I bustle in the kitchen to bake his favourite biscuits. No matter what else that comes on a Wednesday I always bake him half a dozen or so oat & raisin flapjacks to have with a mug of tea. The scourge is, I hate baking, always have done. I hate the mess and the annoying sweat patch that runs up my back as I murder the dough to just the right texture.  I still make them though. I imagine his skin crinkling at the sides of his eyes and the little twitch of his mouth as he grins and I know how much he loves them.

“Hey Gina, look what I found in the cupboard under the stairs” he says as he shuffles his feet into a pair of threadbare slippers and plops down into the opposite armchair.

“What’s that” I lean over and tug at a slice of tomato that’s got stuck to the underside of his cardigan sleeve.

“It’s your Grandma’s book of happiness, remember she used to call it that” I thought his eyes misted over slightly but couldn’t be sure in the dimming light.

“Yes and you used to say, it’s only a bloody photo album Edna, I’ll get my happiness from the tap room of the Rose & Crown when my horse comes in”  we both smile then, remembering her palms against each hip, her eyes squinted in a mix of fury and humour whenever she pretended she was angry at him.

She’d chuckle and say “Them happiness’s will be there long after that donkey of yours walks home, you miserable bugger” and he’d shoot her a knowing wink and stick the photos in the book for her all the same.

That all changed on the day my grandmother stood on the linoleum floor in the kitchen and started undoing the buttons on her blouse.

“I’m going to be a naturist” she said. “I want to be free and feel the cool breeze against my skin”

My Grandfather was a proud man, he’d seen off Hitler and worked in the shipyards, he was all for nudity, but that was in the bedroom between a man and his wife. “Not in the bloody Kitchen, Edna” he’d shouted over his paper. She’d stuck out her chin. You’ve never been happy, she told him. You’ve always been so uptight – so keen on your horses – and all that real ale!

She’d unhooked her bra. He tried not to look. She pulled off her skirt and her tights. His eyes caught her backside, like an oversized cushion as she went in search of the kettle.

The next Friday she went to collect her pension from the Post office on the high street.  A phone call from Mrs Brown, who lived two doors up, had stopped Pops in his tracks. He’d dropped the racing post and ran out of the house, still in his slippers. Grandma was stood by the counter, as naked as the day she was born, one hand on her hip the other waving her pension book high in the air. Her puppy dog’s ears, marshmallow pink, were swinging free in the wind. Pops had grabbed some folders off the nearest shelf and held them up across her unmentionables. Mrs Brown took off her coat and passed it to him. Nobody spoke.

Grandma worsened quickly from then, and we finally lost her last year. A part of Pops went with her. His sparkle is a little less bright now; his body seems frailer and weathered with grief. I sigh a little deeper and I’m glad of these little bits of time I can still spend with him. I put away the plates and straighten the kitchen before I leave, one less thing for him to worry about. Then I open the bin and see a mound of crumbled flap Jack buried at the bottom. Pops stands in the doorway looking guilty and rocking slightly on his feet

“Oh…… I love you Gina, but you can’t bloody bake” and he shoots me a knowing wink as my hands go to my hips…

.

Arghhhhhhhh – too much excitement……..

 

A heady sense of tension saturated the air and a whisper of ill feeling clung to the room. All was still except the dying embers of fire in the open hearth and the delicate tick tock from the clock on the mantle.  A small breath of air from the opened window made the delicate lace curtain dance against the pane and a shudder of fear braced in her chest.  Slowly moving back, with her eyes still fixed, she reached for the window and softly pulled it shut. Not softly enough. As a fluttering of wings grew ever more erratic and an ear piercing scream shattered the calm. “Mummy, the budgies on my head”……….