Bob hadn’t be able to offered a new shelter roof after the storm blew it off. He thought at first that his pub’s clients wouldn’t mind just standing outside. Summer was still lingering and the nights were warm and dry. Weeks later, autumn fully arrived, sweeping and washing away summer.
Bob needed a simple and cheap idea to give people shelter. Umbrellas had come to him as he had been watching the rain falling outside. He stock piled boxes full and fixed them across the roof frame. The shelter looked like the stage of a colourful musical but the pub’s clients loved it.
Butch could swim for hours just like he chased balls, so combined he was in heaven. I enjoyed watching him; his yellow coat flowing across the water, his black eyes and nose pointed towards the ball. When he grabbed the ball, he would turn and come back with no encouragement, knowing his reward would be the ball thrown again.
That was how I would always remember him. Even when the cancer meant he couldn’t walk anymore and everything was a struggle. Saying goodbye to him was the worse day of my life. I didn’t just lose my best friend that morning, I lost myself too.
Walking through the houses of the Old World, Peanut was always fascinated by the items they could find.
Today, she had turned up a dial TV which Grand Pops explained was used to show information in moving pictures with sound direct to people, but it had also been a part of the Old World’s downfall because it had forced everyone to stay inside.
The tale was easy to believe because generations of the last humans had remained behind the steel door and it was only now they were adventuring out to see what they ancestors had left them of the world.
I wiped condensation from the stopped bus’s window and peered out. A road, stretching with lawns and trees which hid the houses, was before me. We where in the fanciest part of town and I always wondered what life was like for the people in those homes.
I pressed my head to the damp, cold glass. The voices of the comedy podcast I was listening to chatting away in my headphones. My thoughts were far away, picturing posh rooms and furniture that were more Victorian and Edwardian in nature then modern.
One day, I told myself, I’d live in one of those houses.
The mists were down heavy, covering everything with a white cloud blanket that wasn’t as pretty as snow’s. It was too dangers to go jogging, though I had attempted it but after being almost hit by a car, I had retreated home.
Running on my treadmill inside my attic instead, I saw something merge from the mist; the ghostly outline of a manor house on the hill. I stopped and stared, knowing full well there was nothing there.
It was just my eyes and brain playing tricks on me, or was it?
The sisters hadn’t wanted their home to be at the top of a split road, then again they hadn’t wanted their fourth generation family house to be knocked down either. So everyday, they cast warding spells in the morning and evening to keep the devil away.
One morning, the oldest sister decided that by painting themselves on the side of the house and casting an everlasting, unbreakable spell upon that would be an easier thing to do. The sisters set about that one summer and their art piece remains still, protecting the house evermore.
Everyone morning, she got up, walked out onto the makeshift porch attached to her tin home and watched the sunrise over the green and brown land, not seeing anything else for miles around and that was how she liked it.
Out here on the edge of the world, she didn’t have to hide from anyone because there was no one to see her true form, however that was all about to change.
Her hands stroked her huge stomach, she felt a small kick from the baby, it was almost time and then she wouldn’t have to be alone anymore.
The unreal moon rose, full and dull white, shining in a too sea wash blue sky. I moved the netted curtain and opened the window. There should have been the sounds of the town; the cars, the people, the too loud TVs and crying children, but there was hardly anything.
I looked out, wasting more seconds, as I vented silent hatred over how this had all come about. The Government said it was for our own good, war was on, everything was being faked for our protection. I didn’t believe it, but what could one man do against all of this?
I was lucky to find this postcard in an antique shop and I thought you’d like it. No one living now can remember season changes, it’s always summer. (Of course, you know all of this!) How is your museum of the Old World doing? Busy, I hope! I’ve found a few things for your collection but I can’t post them to you whilst I’m flying! It’s letters only. In a few days, we will have reached the Drown Tropic Islands and then I can find an airship who will deliver.