Gig #100WW

 

The music was too loud, Mia only knew that because she could feel the vibrations under her feet coming from the huge speakers on the stage. The crowd around her must almost be loud, their voices screaming and shouting trying to be heard above the rock band.

Mia didn’t mind being jostled by the crowd, she was just apart of the sea of faces. No one but her best friend who was dancing beside her, knew of her deafness. Here in the crush, Mia was just another fan and she could pretend to be normal once again.

 

(Inspired by; https://bikurgurl.com/2019/08/14/100-word-wednesday-week-133/ with thanks).

 

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Comfort Food

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It was crazy, Petra knew but the flu was gripping her hard and the only thing she want was a nice bowl of stew….In the middle of August!

Though, today looked more like autumn, Petra thought as she looked out of the steaming up kitchen window. Gale force winds and heavy rain were blowing the full leave trees and bushes about as if a God was constantly sneezing on them.

Stirring the pot, she peered in, decided that was fine and put the lid on. Petra set the timer for a few hours, not a thing she’d normally do but she couldn’t smell so she couldn’t relay on that to tell her when it was done.

Back in bed, she snuggled down and tried to get an afternoon nap in. She dozed and thought of the tasty, warm, comforting stew bubbling in the pot. Soon, she told her stomach, we can eat and everything will feel better again. Lovely, stew…. 

Hidden Face #FridayFictioneers

The mall guard, Stan, made his nightly rounds. Outside in the courtyard, he came to a pause next to the new statue instalment. It was a massive female head with her hands covering her eyes done in white plaster cast.

Stan lifted his cap and scratched his head, I don’t get these new age art pieces, she’s pretty, I guess, but why is she hiding? Maybe, she’s seen something horrible or maybe she’s upset? 

Stan let his cap fall back and strolled away. He hummed softly and decided his job was guard the place not be an art critic.

 

(Inspired by; https://rochellewisoff.com/2019/07/17/19-july-2019/ with thanks).

Dear Diary

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Dear Diary,

The insomnia is back. I’m not sure why and nothing seems to be working to help me fall a sleep. I lay awake, sometimes staring up at the ceiling, other times eyes shut just begging to drift off.

I get up and clean things. I write whatever comes into my head, even though some of it doesn’t make any sense. I read books, until I can’t concentrate. I stargaze if the night sky allows. I try hot baths, pills, hot drinks, mind games, TV shows, I change bedding and sleeping positions. Whatever the advice is I’m doing it.

I’m beyond exhaustion, high on caffeine, just to keep going and surviving.

People think I’m ill and I shrug it off but maybe I am? Have I an illness that is causing the insomnia? I avoid looking it up on the internet – too many misdiagnoses.

It looks like I might have found a help tonight. I’m listening to the sounds of water dripping in a cave. It’s making me feel relaxed and my mind for a change isn’t full of things. I feel sort of floaty….

 

(Note; currently the only thing that is helping me get to sleep at night is listening to this YouTube video;

Hungry

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He sat at a table in the food court of the shopping mall, trying to blend in. Around him, people were talking and eating a range of fast foods and he could smell the hot grease, salt and mixed aromas of meals.

He looked down at his hands and waited. He couldn’t bear to watch people eating or breathe in the smells anymore. His stomach was growling loudly and twinging with pains.

Two young Muslin women at the table next to him got up and left, chattering in a different language.

He eyed their left tray, piled with rubbish. Slowly, he got up, picked up the tray and sat back down with it at his own table.

He had been seen, of course, too many eyes around but he didn’t care.

He opened the first box and saw the remains of chicken thighs inside. He took out a piece and eat what he could, nibbling the bone.

There were no fries, just a pot of gravy. He’d never been a fan and the pot felt cold when he picked it up. Placing it back, he got up and left.

He felt eyes on him once more and questions on lips, but no one stopped him.

I don’t care, he thought.

He walked around the food court. Looking at the rubbish left on the tables. Sometimes he reached out and touched something to see if there was anything left inside. He moved on to more tables, aiming for ones recently left where the food might still be warm. He ate whatever scraps were left trying to hide his actions out of habit but it was still impossible in such a busy place.

He found a quarter of a taco in a discarded wrapper and swallowed it. The cup beside had water from melted ice cubes at the bottom which he gulped down.

He found another table with children’s box meals stacked up. He sat down and looked through each box. He found an unopened bag of fruit and slipped it into his pocket for later. Desperate his starvation now, he knew the important of saving something for another day.

At the bottom of another box was a few cold fries. He ate them then found a small bottle of orange juice with some left inside which he drink.

He felt into other box and pulled out a plastic wrapped toy. He sighed but unwrapped the toy car anyway. He ran the car across the table, remembering another time.

He become aware of two people flanking him. He looked up and saw security guards of the mall staring down at him.

‘You need to leave,’ one of them said.

He thought about arguing; I’m was just sitting here, what’s the harm in that?

There was no point.

He got up and security walked him to the exit only stairs. He knew people were watching and whispering, what had he done?  

I just wanted some food.

He went down the steps and out on to the snowy, icy streets. Snowflakes melted on his warm skin and busy shoppers hurried by eager to get back to their homes.

He hunched his shoulders against the wind and walked back to his things tucked into the doorway of a closed down shop. There he huddled against the cold, abandoned by the world.

(Partly based on a real story).

A Day In Blackpool

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I smell the salty sea. I hear seagulls crying and the distant voices of excited children. Opening my eyes, I stay laying in the cloud like bed. At the half open window, the breeze moves the netted curtain back and forth as if it’s breathing. There is a waft of frying bacon.

I have eggs, bacon and toast then set off from the bed and breakfast. All day I walk around Blackpool. The morning is a little dull; heavy clouds fight with the sun, the sea waves over the dark sand of the beach. There is a handful of people about; dog walkers, families, old couples, a mini bus of school children.

I walk on the promenade. Going past all the shops selling tourist things; postcards, sticks of rock, magnets and beach toys. The cafes where breakfast is in full swing and their windows are dripping condensation. The arcades and casinos with their doors shut, locked until lunchtime. Ice cream stands, sweet treat stalls and fast food vans at every few steps trying to tempted me.

I walk on the piers. The damp wooden planks creaking underneath me. The sea crashing below trying to erode the iron supports away. The benches with their green iron frames awaiting weary bodies. The rusting memory plaques of people long gone who once loved this spot.

Just opening fairground game stalls with harsh looking aged men hanging up cheaply made soft toys. A closed beach shop, a closed arcade, a closed cafe and music hall. Near the end of the pier is a small collection of children’s theme park rides still hidden their covers. All these places will open in the afternoon when they make the better business.

Here, yet more food stalls; a white trailer selling burgers and hot dogs, a drinks bar, a sweet stand. There pink and blue candy floss swing in bags and giant ‘dummy’ suckers on red ribbon necklaces dangle next to them. In trays lay pick ‘a’ mix sweets, boxes of chocolate and fudge, mint hum bugs in jars with labels saying ‘A gift for you from Blackpool.’ Sticks of rock in all sizes stand out with their brightly coloured strips.

I buy a few sticks of rock and go to the end of the pier. I unwrap one and stand looking out to sea, sucking on the minty sweet. The waves are far out, blending with the grey sky. There are no boats or people in the water. Birds hover looking for fish. I think about being out there, surrounded by the waves.

Finishing the stick of rock, I walk back and go down a sand covered boat slipway. It sinks into the beach. I walk across the drying sand, noticing old bits of things the sea has left behind; seaweed, sticks, food wraps, drink cans, plastic bags, dead crabs, broken shells.

Close by, sad looking donkeys huddle together, their little bells chiming, their hoof prints deep in the sand. A middle aged woman in a high visible jacket gives the donkeys buckets of water and hay.

I walk pass them. The woman looks over her shoulder, sees I’m not a customer and ignores me. She pats one of the donkeys’ shoulders, muttering something to it.

I get off the beach via a long staircase which takes me back to the far side of promenade. I turn and look back. Over everything the Blackpool tower rises; a monster of iron.

It starts to drizzle. I feel the specks of rain on my face and hands. There’s only open space here, so I walk for the nearest buildings but the arcade isn’t open yet and the fish and chip shop has no seating inside.

Further on is a cafe but it’s closed, a few shops then a restaurant but going in would mean having to buy something. I cross the road and go into the shelter of rows and rows of buildings that are either eating places, shops, arcades and casinos. The rain gets heavier, the sky gets darker, I weave in and out of these places.

I realise I’m going in the direction of my B&B. I pause by a food van and get a greasy burger and a can of coke. I put them in my pockets and hurry back to my room. The front door is open, nobody at the small welcome desk. There is noise from deeper inside; a vacuum cleaner, distant voices.

In my room, I drag a chair to the window, open it and sit there. I eat the cool burger. Not enjoying it but it solves my hunger. I drink some of coke then leave the rest. I get changed out of the wet clothes and into something drier and warmer. I go back to sitting by the window. The rain is really coming down now. It sweeps across in sheets, pounding over everything.

I take another stick of rock and suck on it to get the bad tasting burger out of my mouth. I carry on watching the rain and I think about the people out there, the donkeys on the beach, the distant and constant sea.       

Too Many Books

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I went into my old bedroom which had become a storage room after I had moved into my brothers’ bigger room last year. It was hard to imagine how I had filled this room, floor to ceiling with things and that about seventy percent of the items were books.

I had always wanted my own library and without realising it over the years that had seemed to have happened! Looking around, I knew to a stranger that my book organisation would seem random but there was an actual order.

I knew where most of the titles could be found but it was times like now when I wanted a certain book and wasn’t sure where it was that problems started. First off, I had to decided if I actually owned this book and if it was in here. Had I lent the book to someone? Had I given it to a charity shop? Or was it one I had lent from somewhere?

Being sure, I had the book, I began my search. The two top shelves of my room had books that were my favourites and wanted to read. The ones on my bookcase were either series I had only half read and other books I wanted to read in the future. Under my bunk bed, were books I had read and discarded.

I knew the title of the book and had looked it up online to remind me of the author and cover. I had recognised it and knew it was in my old bedroom somewhere. The problem was, amongst the stacks of other books it could be anywhere!

London #WhatPegmanSaw

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London was everything and nothing like I had believed. The city was constantly moving like the Thames river that divided it. There were always lights, smells and noises, it was so easy to get lost.

I tapped my stick on the pavement and held onto Bonny’s guiding harness. My senses told me that my husband Zak was still walking by my side. All around me were other people moving with great hurry and excitement.

I was scared as was natural in an unknown city but also embracing the new experience. Being blind wasn’t going to stop me from seeing London.

 

(Inspired by; https://whatpegmansaw.com/2019/06/08/london-england with thanks).

Adventures Await

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In imagination he could be anything he wanted; a knight, a dragon, a explore. His childhood world never let him down.

Morning Snuggles

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She felt the dead weight on her feet and wondered what was going on. Sleepily, she turned the duvet and looked down. The rescue dog was sprawled at the end of the bed, snoring away.

She smiled and settled back down, knowing she had done the best thing.