It’s Snowing

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PHOTO PROMPT © Sarah Potter

“It’s freezing out there Jimmy, and it’s started snowing. Why don’t we give it a miss and go down the pub instead.”

“No chance mate! The boss was insistent, said it had to be tonight, and what the boss says, we do.”

“Suppose so, but why tonight?”

“All to do with the weather Billy. Seems we’re in for the coldest night of the winter. By morning the lake will be frozen solid and will stay that way for weeks. That’s why we have to kill her tonight and get her body in that lake while we still can. You ready?”

MikeJackson©2017

Another 100 word story for this week’s prompt from Friday Fictioneers.

How Does Your Garden Grow?

 

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The sign in the flower tent had her name on it. There it was as clear as day, ‘Ms M.Mary – Gold Award – Best In Show’ and underneath it one of the judges had scribbled, “Just like a row of pretty maids.”

She should have felt elated but she didn’t, on the contrary, she felt extremely nervous. She looked around to see if there was any way out of this nightmare but, just as she was making a dash for the exit, a voice stopped her in her tracks.

“Mary! Mary Mary. Congratulations. I didn’t realize what a talented horticulturist you were.”

Mary looked behind her. To her horror she saw Jane Dobson, Chairwoman of the Women’s Institute, local snob and village busybody, bearing down on her.

“I was just talking to some of the ladies on the committee,” said Jane, “I was saying, we must get young Mary Mary to come to our next meeting and tell us the secrets of her hollyhocks.”

Mary felt quite faint. This was her worst nightmare. How on earth could she talk about something that she knew nothing about? They weren’t her hollyhocks. She had so wanted to enter this year’s village flower show but everything she’d tried to grow had just withered and died.

She realized now that it had been a silly  idea to go out to the local B&Q last week and buy some beautiful looking hollyhocks to enter in the show. She never dreamt that they would win.

“You’re certainly a dark horse,” prattled Jane Dobson, “I thought you didn’t like gardening. Why only the other day I’m sure I overheard you telling the Vicar that you couldn’t grow anything. My but you are a contrary one Mary. Whenever I’ve been past your garden it just seems to be full of shells, I’ve never seen any flowers.”

“Well, yes, but no, you see ………” stammered Mary.

“That’s it!” interrupted Jane Dobson, “That’s what we shall call your talk – ‘Mary Mary Quite Contrary, How Does Your Garden Grow?’ – splendid, we look forward to hearing what you’ve got to say. Will a week on Wednesday be OK?”

MikeJackson©2017

The Naughty Chair

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PHOTO PROMPT © Ted Strutz

“Billy, what is it with you? I’m forever telling you to clean your bedroom and still you take no notice. You know what this means?”

“No mum, please, not the chair.”

“It’s for your own good. Twenty minutes on the naughty chair will give you time to think about doing as your told.”

“But mum, last time I was on it that old crocodile was swimming around.”

“No buts Billy. Any more arguing and I’ll make it thirty minutes. And Billy … best you don’t dangle your feet in the water, that old croc gets real hungry this time of day.”

MikeJackson©2017

A 100 word story for this week’s Friday Fictioneers prompt.

A Real Lady

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PHOTO PROMPT © Al Forbes

 

The ignominy of it all! The stares she was getting from passers by, the derisory honking of horns, all so utterly embarrassing. Didn’t they realise she was a classic, a beautiful example of an age when cars were cars. Yet they had the audacity to tether her to this platform and tow her along behind, what nowadays was laughingly described as a modern automobile. Oh, how standards had dropped. If only she could shake off these shackles and drive off under her own stream. Then she would show these philistines what a real lady of the road was capable of.

MikeJackson©2017

A 100 word story for this week’s prompt from Friday Fictioneers.

The Last Man On Earth

Apparently I’m the last man on earth.

It would appear that some kind of virus has wiped out mankind – well mankind minus me, that is. There’d been dire warnings about it but nobody had taken a lot of notice, we’d heard it all before. Turns out this one was for real. It was frightening how quickly it happened. You could be walking down the street and literally watch people drop down dead in front of you.

That was two months ago. Since then I’ve travelled around much of Europe. The same scene wherever I go, lots of dead bodies and an eerie silence.

I’ve no idea why the virus left me alone, lucky I suppose, or unlucky, depends how you look at it. I used to believe in God but now, I’m not sure. I’ve got so many unanswered questions. I mean if there is a God then why this? Why has he spared me? What am I supposed to do? Even Adam had Eve, I’ve got nobody.

Keeping myself alive is easy, there’s no shortage of food and drink and I can live wherever I like. The problem is the loneliness. There are only so many conversations you can have with yourself. Every now and again I think I catch a glimpse of someone in the shadows but there’s never anyone there, just my imagination yearning for the impossible.

I’ve started popping into any churches I come across. I’m working on the theory that I should find God in one of them, surely. In desperation I’ve even started talking to him again. In the old days it was something I did privately. Now I do it out loud. Once I used to be reverential now I tell him what I really think and I don’t hold back on the bad language. I just wish he would talk back, get angry even.

Once or twice, when the isolation really gets to me, I’ve been tempted to end it all. At those darkest times I feel as if I’m losing my mind completely. Then I stop and realize that if I go, if I give up, then that’s it, the end of the human race. I can’t let that happen.

So I’ve got no choice really. I’ve started leaving notes in each of the churches that I visit just in case God drops by when I’m not there. I’m hoping that he’s going to give me a sign soon, let me in on his grand plan. There has to be a plan – doesn’t there? I can’t just be the last man on earth. Can I?

MikeJackson©2017

The Death Of Words

It all started with words.

We spent endless hours chatting about anything and everything. Our deepest thoughts, dreams, desires – everything. The love that developed was forged from those late night conversation, by that sharing of words – they were the core of our togetherness.

We’ve been a couple now for 30 years but somewhere along that journey, I don’t know when, the words dried up. I began to find his anecdotes tedious, his funny little stories no longer funny. So, slowly but surely, I stopped listening.

Now we spend endless hours simply glaring at one another. The air full of unspoken thoughts. I think about how much I hate him, how every minute in his presence is a nightmare.

If only I could find the words to tell him.

MikeJackson©2017