Crossing #WritePhoto

Something from my childhood came back into my mind as I walked across the stone foot bridge; ‘don’t trip or the witch will get you!’ I paused, hearing a memory of girls laughing. What was that about?

I shook it off and looked over the side of the bridge. A low, slow river was running under the three stone archways, making nice tinkling and bubbling music. The water was clear, thanks to the bright day and I could see a few weeds and plants caught in the current. There was no rubbish which strangely reminded me I was so far from London.

I breathed in the fragrant countryside air and tried hard to recall that memory. Something about going to school and me hating having my hair tied up in two pigtail plaits. Two girls in bright red dresses throwing stones into the water and shouting at the witch to appear.

It was all too faded to remember correctly. Resting against the cool stone, I let the flow of the water help me drift further into my memories. I had been seven when I had been evacuated from home. There was a war on and it was safe in the countryside then London because of the bombs. I didn’t really understand anything else at the time.

I was extremely lucky as my mother was heavily pregnant and also my brother was only one and half years old, so we got to stay together. The other children, I remember didn’t and they had to say goodbye to their mothers at the train station. Our other stroke of luck was that my father’s sister lived out here and she had agreed to take us in.

It was like going on holiday, mother had said and so it sort of was. Only, I had to go to a new school and make new friends which wasn’t that bad because I was so young. I missed my bedroom and our house though, sadly it got blown up in the Blitz but I didn’t know that until years later.

My cousin! That was the other girl in the red dress and she’d told me that about tripping on the bridge and a witch grabbing you.

I felt sadden I’d forgotten that but it had been so very long ago and Sarah had died a young teenager of scarlet fever. At the time, we had all ready been moved some years, to a large house on the edge of the village and daddy was back from the war and it was all over.

Hadn’t I cried for days when my parents had told me? I had gone to her funeral in red – her favorite color- instead of black like everyone else. I was thirteen or fourteen then. And just like when I was seven and I didn’t full understand the war or why we had to move away, I didn’t understand why Sarah was gone.

We moved back to London after that I think. Dad had secured a job there and we needed to be closer. Auntie came to live with us for awhile but I think the sadness of having no daughter and no husband – killed in France- got to her and she moved away.

Other thoughts tumbled into my mind, unlocked by all of this. It was strange to come back here and remember things I shouldn’t have forgotten. Maybe, it was best that they became forgotten once again though? I felt, that these memories had come back to me and I should do something with them.

‘Grandma!’ a voice called, breaking my thoughts.

I turned and saw my granddaughter, Hattie, running towards me. My daughter and husband following behind.

‘Don’t trip or the witch will get you!’ I said.

That made her stop and glance around, ‘witch? where?’ she questioned.

‘The one that lives under the bridge,’ I explained.

Hattie joined me and tried to look over the wall but she was too small.

‘She likes little girls the best,’ I carried on, not sure if I was making it up or if more was coming back to me, ‘she cooks them in her big pot and eats them with bread!’

Hattie pulled a face and shook her head, ‘I don’t believe you, grandma!’

I swooped down on her, making crackling witch like sounds. Hattie screamed then burst into laughter as I started tickling her and I remembered, a long, long time ago, two girls laughing and tickling each other on this bridge, joking about an old saying.

 

(Inspired by; https://scvincent.com/2018/07/05/thursday-photo-prompt-crossing-writephoto/ with thanks).

Advertisements

Lost Leg #FridayFictioneers

It was a strange sight to see in the middle of the street, so Janet couldn’t help but wonder about it. The prosthetic leg could be a sculptor; a creative reminder about disabled people. Some kind of statement. It was just an odd way to show it, but then what did Janet know about modern art these days?

Or, as Janet turned about at the approaching of a one legged man on crutches, someone might just have lost their leg…

 

(Inspired by; https://rochellewisoff.com/2018/07/04/6-july-2018/ with thanks).

Burnt #3LineTales

three line tales week 127: a desert

The wildfire had spread so much that the fireman couldn’t save anything and had abandoned their attempted to put the flames out.

Days later, I walked along a strip of the burnt out wildness, noticing how the once green area was now as dry and bare as a desert,  it saddened my heart to see the loss of the plants and animals.

However, my team of biologists and myself were going to try and change that, somehow we would built back what the fire had destroyed and make this a natural haven once more.

 

(Inspired by; https://only100words.xyz/2018/07/05/three-line-tales-week-127/ with thanks).

Gardeners #FFfAW

It had been a long four months but the last of the flowers were finally planted. Denise sighed with relieve and tidied away her tools. It had been a hot day and she just wanted to get home and have a long, cool bath.

‘It’s done,’ Maria spoke.

Denise turned to her business partner and nodded. She was too tried to speak.

They gathered their things and with a last look, they left. Tomorrow the gardens would open to the public for first time in years and they would see if all their hard work paid off or not.

(Inspired by; https://flashfictionforaspiringwriters.wordpress.com/2018/07/02/fffaw-challenge-172nd/ with thanks).

Chain #TwittingTales

IMG_2309

She walked down the hardware shop’s aisle of chains and selected the thickest, heaviest one. She brought some other things too, just so it wouldn’t look suspicious. Back home, she fixed the chain to the metal clips then attached it to her Newfoundland’s collar.  No longer would he been escaping the garden.

 

(Inspired by; https://katmyrman.com/2018/07/03/twittering-tales-91-chains-3-july-2018/ with thanks).

What Really Happened #WeeklyWritingChallenge

young-woman-2268348_1920

This story isn’t about them, it’s about you. Though everyone is going to try and make you believe that isn’t true but at the end of the day what does anyone else actually know? You were there and they were there but everyone else wasn’t and they’ve heard the story second hand and not the first account like you have it in your head.

It was raining in the park and you were walking under your umbrella. You had no busy there and were just out because you were bored at home. You had thought about going to the library but it was shut today. You went into the tree lined way, your favorite area.

Here, the trees reminded you of giant soldiers, lined in welcome and you could day dream about being someone special as you went by. You came to the bench you always like to sit on but today there was a note left there.

The paper was wet but you picked it up anyway and read it. It was a letter to a girl from a boy which started off sweet but then turned sour. The boy was breaking up with the girl, not through any fault but because her parents had told him to.

You felt sad. Why did this have to happen? You wonder about the girl, she’ll feel worse and what would that make her do? Fall out with her parents? Harm herself? And the poor boy! He’d be just the same.

You decide this can’t let this happen, so you take the letter. Why should the young couple be parted? You go to leave, the rain patting off your umbrella and the trees, the letter curled up in your hand. A voice calls out to you, starling you and making you look all around.

A young man comes out from behind a tree where he was been waiting and watching. He demands the letter back. You refused to give it him but he was persistent and says the letter isn’t your’s.

You give the soggy paper back to him. He tells you to go. You watch him place the note back on the bench. You tell him that it’s unfair, there must be another way, two people shouldn’t be heartbroken.

He says it’s none of your business.

You go to snatch the letter but he is closer and faster. He runs off into the trees. You decided because you have nothing else to do that you will wait and see if the girl turns up. You sit on the bench, listening to the rain and waiting.

The girl does come sometime later and before the boy can appear, you call the girl over and tell her all. She is most upset and doesn’t understand why you, a stranger is telling her all of this. You try to comfort her, but she doesn’t want to know.

The boy appears and you watch them arguing under a tree, both sometimes pointing to you. Deciding, you get up and go over, you want to fix things. The couple won’t listen though, they demand to be left alone but you can’t, you are involved now. Though you’ll wish for the rest of your life you weren’t.

You make suggestions about how they can stay together, drawing on experience and fiction. The teenagers are not interested though, they see you as a busy-body and want you to stay out of their business. You explain why you can’t and why you feel the need to help them.

They don’t want your help.

You insist in telling them of a way to escape though. You and a lover once a loped from the island and the young couple can do that to. Though when they question you about that lover, you blank over it – things didn’t work out but why do they need to know?- You tell them to buy tickets for the eleven o’clock ferry and go to the other side to start a new life together.

You pled with them not to let their young love die and to try decided what others tell them. Isn’t first love so innocent? So pure? They need to hold on to that! You try to explain it as best you can but they don’t understand. You give them some money for the boat tickets and tell them to go.

The rain starts to come down more heavily, they look at you then each other. They hold hands and walk away, you watch them go. You head home with a heavy heart and an over questioning mind. Was it the right thing to do? Will they be okay?

You won’t know for days afterwards. Then you see the first TV report. Everyone says it was a tragic accident, the young couple fell over board because the rough sea. Then, that it was murder by one of their parents, a relative, a friend, a hired hit person. Lastly, it was suicide.

It’s never proven what really happened to them. But you know.

(Inspired by; https://secretkeeper.net/2018/07/02/weekly-writing-challenge-148/ with thanks).

Tall Ships #3LineTales

three line tales, week 126: a tall ship on the liffey at sunrise

It had been a close call but everyone had made it into the dock before darkness had fallen. Martin looked at the map again and realized that he hadn’t been wrong after all, the height of the bridge was labeled wrong. It was higher by a meter in real life then the little drawing said, thank God it wasn’t a meter lower or none of the tall ships would have got in, he thought, I’ll change it and then let whoever published this map know tomorrow.    

(Inspired by; https://only100words.xyz/2018/06/28/three-line-tales-week-126/ with thanks).

Postcard #47

engine-house-510130_1920

Hi Grandma,

Hope you are okay. The weather here is really sunny. Cornwall is a nice place! Mum and Dad took us to a castle and we learnt about King Arthur. We went to the beach and I built a big sandcastle but then Laura knocked it down! Tomorrow we are going horse riding!

Wish you were here, love, Chloe.

Wave #WritePhoto

There’s nothing special or magical about Wizard’s Cove, just an old impossible legend about Merlin. It goes like this; Merlin hid out in a cave here for years when the King cast him out. Merlin did a vanishing act but all the time he was right under the castle, waiting for the King to realise he needed a wizard to help save England from invasion.

Walking along the strip of sand between the rocks and the out going tide, heading over to the caves, I decided that if I was Merlin I wouldn’t want to live here for a few days let alone years! There was nothing on this small patch of shore and getting back up the cliffs was really hard for a fit, thirty year old man who’s hobby was rock climbing. So, I couldn’t imagine an old man being able to do it!

Unless, he used his magic powers….Could Merlin fly? Could he levitate? Could he call a bird or other beast to transport him? Or maybe he could just appear and disappear wherever he wanted? How much did the stories go into Merlin’s powers?

I cast my mind about trying to remember even a hint of information. Merlin was said to be a most powerful wizard. In the Disney film, he does lots of magic; he makes things smaller, things clean themselves, he changes others and himself into different animals and he does at one point vanish then reappear later saying he’s been to the future! I was fond of that film as unlike the other Disney movies there no Princesses.

Shells and rocks crunch under my boot, bring me back to my walk. A wave came close then rolled back, leaving seaweed behind. I avoided it and approached the caves. There were three entrances close by each other but only one of them went far back. The other two were just hollowed out holes.

I stepped into the cool gloom, happy to get out of the hot sun that had been burning my neck. A slow dripping sound echoed and I could hear the rush of the sea. I got my torch out and shone it around the walls, ceiling and floor. There was nothing but sand and natural stone.

What had I been hoping for? Some scratched in words; Merlin was here? A magic spell in Latin? The drawing of an owl? Perhaps even, the remains of a skeleton? I laughed and the sound boomed, trailed and took awhile to fade.

There was nothing and even if Merlin had come here anything would be long gone now. I turned, thinking that tonight I’d do some more research into the legends. My torch light caught something, a sparkling. I looked down at the wall and there just above the sand line was a faded letter ‘M’. Or so it seemed to me.

‘No,’ I breathed and shook my head, ‘it’s a trick of the light or someone carved it not long ago.’

I bent down and scrubbed at the wall and sand. I traced the shape with my finger and decided it could just be but of course that would be impossible.

 

(Inspired by; https://scvincent.com/2018/06/28/thursday-photo-prompt-wave-writephoto/ with thanks).

Musical #FridayFictioneers

It had started with simple second hand instruments then it had exploded into a lot more. Now, what had once been Duncan’s study was his six children’s music room. He stood in the doorway, missing looking out into the garden from this window, he was glad though his children were so talented.

Duncan went to the garage which was using half of as a study. Sitting at his desk, he shuffled through his work pile. In the background, drifted the sounds of keyboard, two guitars, drums, violin and singing. Duncan hummed along with the song as he worked.

 

(Inspired by; https://rochellewisoff.com/2018/06/27/29-june-2018/ with thanks).