Plug In #FridayFictioneers

Maggie stopped in the middle of the high street and stared at the new sculpture.

‘What’s it suppose to be?’

Bright red, blue and yellow cables with plugs reached to the sky as if a giant had just dropped it.

‘They call this art?’ Maggie scoffed, ‘what’s wrong with a nice naked man?’

She tugged her wheeled bag and shuffled off, still muttering to herself, ‘it’s all this technology rotting the brain. Makes you unable think for yourself. Well, not me! They’ll never get me…..’

 

(Inspired by; https://rochellewisoff.com/2019/07/10/12-july-2019/ with thanks).

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Footprints

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Every morning, she would come down to find a trail of footprints across the floor from the back door to the kitchen door. They were small, child’s size and looked wet.

At first, she had blamed local kids for breaking into her house. She had replaced the doors and windows, fitted security locks and confronted every family in the neighbourhood.

Still the footsteps appeared.

Mopping them away, she tried to come up with reasons. Maybe, there was a leak?Perhaps, she was causing them in her sleep? Or and she keep coming back to this, it was children playing tricks on the nasty old woman who hated everyone.

‘I’ll stay up tonight and catch them at it!’ she said aloud.

That night, she made it seem like she had gone to bed but then, she crept back down into the kitchen. Sitting on a stool, torch in hand, she listened into the darkness and waited.

Hours passed, the clock chimed three in the morning and she dozed off.

The sound of a child crying and running wet feet awoke her. Quickly, she turned on the torch and saw before her eyes the footprints forming on the floor.

And there was no one there.

Postcard # 45

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Dear Rose,

I know we’ve not spoken in ages but today I saw this postcard and it reminded me of you. I hope the old people’s home is treating you nicely! It’s not been the same since you left and we were worried about the new family moving into your home. Everyone wanted to save all your flowers but it didn’t seem possible. Well, you’ll be pleased to hear that a kind old couple brought the place and they have a love of flowers too, so everything is safe!

I should visit you soon, perhaps around your birthday.

All the best,

Flo.

Dear Diary #44 Athazagoraphobia #atozchallenge

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Athazagoraphobia; the fear of forgetting, being forgotten or ignored or being replaced. 

Dear Diary,

Today has been one of those days. The phone didn’t ring and no one knocked on the door. I didn’t really want to sit in front of the TV all day but what else could I do? It’s been raining most of the time and looking miserable in between. Not many people past by my window and I guess the stray cats had somewhere else to be today too.

I tried to do a little knitting, just a scrap of a scarf I started but my hands were too shaky. I give up after twenty minutes. I can still do it every now and again, but I’m missing it more and more. I tried some other things; word searches, dot-to-dot, quizzes and coloring. Anything to keep me going. I did a little reading too of Wuthering Heights but mostly that’s from memory now. I can just about follow the words but they get jumbled.

I’m sure tomorrow there was something I had to do, something I was looking forward to but I just can’t remember it. I tried looking on the post it notes dotted around, my notebooks and my two calendars but nothing was written. It hurts to try and remember for too long then some other faded memory pops up and I start thinking about that instead.

Today has been just too lonely and emotional to bare. I’m laying in bed now, listening to the rain against the window and the wind howling. I think sometimes the weather, the TV and the stray cats are all I have left now. And the people I do see; the post office woman, the shop workers, the landlord, the neighbors I do know, they are nothing as I am nothing to them.

It’s a strange thought but I’ve had enough time to reflect on it now. I’ve accept the way things are. It’s too late to change anything. It always worried me when I was younger; this fear of being forgotten and ignored. I guess it still does worry me but in a different way now. I wanted to make people remember my name liked movie and TV stars but that career didn’t work out.

I’m starting to think that no matter what it’s the same for everyone soon enough. We all get forgotten. When the people who knew you go, if they didn’t tell anyone about you, then who’s to remember you then? If people stop watching the movies you made, using the things you invented, get rid of the things you created it, then that’s when you are officially gone.

And that’ll be us all soon enough.

Dear Diary #37

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Dear Diary,

Autumn is finally back! Though the last few weeks of August have felt boarder line. There’s been lots of rain, less sun and a dip in the temperature. So, the change in season isn’t much of a shock. I should’ve known it was getting close to September because of all the back to school and autumn themed stuff in the shops.

I brought some notebooks, pens, colouring felt tips and two colouring books. They were in the sale and were really cheap. It’s a good time of year to top up on stationary! They’ll be selling the rest of it off soon. Though how many notebooks and pens does an old woman actually needs?

The roads are going to be so bad again this week which makes me grateful I don’t drive anymore. Though, it’ll give me something to watch out of the windows in the morning! The buses will also be packed, good job I can only travel after nine on my bus pass but I’ll have to be careful getting back in-between two and four. Must remember to all my shopping before lunchtime now.

I’ll be able to lit my fire again too. I wonder if Mr. Haydock from next door will help me collect the wood and coal like he did last year? Between you and me, I’m sure his affections have grown but he’s been too busy with his gardening and veggies these last few months. Perhaps, if I put a bit more effort into things?

Maybe, I’m too old for all of that, but it would be nice! To have a companion again, someone to share meals, TV shows and a bed with….I’m getting too ahead of myself! I have Misty, but I swear she has her own life and only meows when she wants something. It’d be nice to a have real conventions with someone. Not that the chats I have with the girls at the day centre are not real but they tend to be full of gossip!

It’s getting darker outside now and it’s only about eight-ish. A sure sign that things are about to change. I need to get up and turn the lights on, plus it’s almost time for some TV shows and a cup of tea. In a few weeks, I’ll be able to feel the cold in these old bones but I won’t mind. I do so love autumn!

Post It Note #26

This was it, her chance to stock up on school supplies that had been put into clearance. A slight fear crept across her as she reached the pay here counter. Would anyone question her, an old lady, about why she need so many pens, notebooks and folders? Of course, not.

Serenity

The cathedral was the only place he felt at peace now. Shutting his eyes, he lent forward on his walking stick, the old aches effecting his long suffering back to much for him to rest comfortable on the small wooden chair. He put his hands  on top of one another and bowed his head as if praying.

Through his almost deaf ears he heard an echo of slow footsteps and the quiet rumble of voices. He couldn’t make out the words, but guessed the two people were behind him somewhere. Other sounds drifted over to him like trickling water and he heard more people walking and talking, the moving of chair legs, a rustling of maybe someone searching through a bag or moving a piece of clothing. Beyond all of that he heard the silence of the cathedral it self.

He had always thought about that stillness as like holding your breath too long so that you could hardly hear your body anymore. It was the old cliche his mother had been well known for; “the calm before the storm” which he always remembered her saying when him and his brothers and sisters had gone quiet with whatever play they had been doing.

That memory brought a sad smile to his lips. Bless them all, he thought. He felt a shuddering breath and clutched his stick tighter as pain spiked in so many places of his body that he couldn’t count. A fleeting thought had him questioning if this was his time, but then the pain was ebbing away again and he felt things settle.

‘Mr Green?’

A soft young woman’s voice uttered into his good ear and he felt a light brush of a hand on his shoulder. He became aware of his carer sitting down next to him and arranging her things with gently movements.

He hummed a response, not wishing to break the stillness he had been enjoying.

‘We need to leave now,’ she said.

He shook his head.

She put a hand to his shoulder and he felt her close by his face. Her breath touching his cheek with a slight warmth and smell of mints.

‘We must. I’m sorry. It’s Sunday tomorrow, so you can come back,’ she explained gently.

He sighed, ‘I want to die here.’

‘Not on my watch, you don’t,’ she said lightly and ended with a small giggle.

He smiled at that and finally moved his old body. He found her hand and patted it.

‘You could try tomorrow with Sunny. Just make sure to go after the service, okay?’

He nodded, still finding pleasure in the joke of at all.

Xenophobic

Finance, World, Accounting

Xenophobic: ‘A person who is fearful or contemptuous of that which is foreign, especially of strangers or of people from different countries or cultures.’ From thefreedictionary.com.

The girl making his coffee in the retirement village cafe wasn’t the normal one. Henry stopped suddenly and felt someone bump into the back of him. An angry snappy voice sounded in his ears, but he never heard what they said. He couldn’t take his eyes off the girl behind the counter. Her skin was dark, as dark as the night, he thought and her black purple hair was all twisted together in many braids finished off with plastic pony beads.

Someone, probably the man behind him, brushed hard passed Henry and up to the collection counter. He heard a low muttering and the other woman behind the counter taking the next order. He felt the urge to get out, but he still couldn’t take his eyes off the foreign girl. She turned and he saw her bright white eyes with a dark brown center staring at him. She was saying something, but he could not hear her.

She placed his cup of tea down and moved it across to him. Henry looked down at it, chewing his tongue with his remaining teeth.

‘Did I put too much milk in it?’ the girl asked with no trace of an accent.

‘I didn’t save this country for the likes of you,’ Henry growled.

The girl froze and Henry was aware that everyone else seemed to as well.

The girl opened her mouth and shut it again, her face crumpled like paper, but then she seemed to hold on and uncreased her expression.

‘I’m very grateful though,’ she muttered.

‘I don’t care,’ Henry snorted.

He turned and left, trying not to hobble so much. Behind him voices started whispering, but he couldn’t make out what they were saying. It didn’t matter, he didn’t care.

 

Knitting

It was knitting that kept her warm through the winter nights and the clicking of the needles that kept her company.

Summer Dislike

He hated summer and he had a list of reasons that seemed never ending.

The heat, the unpredictable weather, the noisy children, the flocks of people.

If it was up to him he’d ban summer. Luckily, he wasn’t in a position to carry out his threat.