WOKE
Punch and I
have been performing on Swanage beach for a century. I don’t look old enough? So
kind. It’s amazing what a touch of lipstick can do – and years of covering
bruises with greasepaint!
What was I
saying? You’ll have to forgive me – memory’s not what it was. Oh yes – the Woke
Brigade. They’ve decided we’re too violent. Can you believe it? Compared with
the way those kids’ parents behave, a few head-bashes are mild.
Here we are,
two pensioners without an income, and they’ve stopped our winter fuel allowance.
They want rid of us.
That’s the way
to do it!
It is a month since I joined in Rochelle's Friday Fictioneers' party. I have had major surgery on a badly broken ankle, and my mind hasn't been in the right state for writing. But Sandra Crook's photo of Swanage Beach - I could hardly resist, could I? I spent a summer there 50 years ago, and have fond memories of my children digging on that very beach. There were even donkey rides in those days - something else that has gone, I suspect, with an increasingly obese population becoming too much for the poor beasts to carry.
This was us back in 1973!
BUNKER
We won our
places in the nuclear bunker in a lottery. Five thousand people who’d bought
the right to live and, eventually, re-populate the world.
After ten
years I was too busy raising our kids to worry about the anarchy – no-one had
thought to stock birth control pills.
The building
contractors hadn’t followed the specifications either, and things were always
breaking down.
Ted and I
were, naturally, the maintenance team, so we were first to spot fungus growing
through the skylight.
“Get the kids,”
Ted said, “I’ll grab some guns.”
If outside was
breaking in, we wanted a head start.
It's a whole month since I last wrote any flash fiction - life has been busy with family visits, a damaged ankle, and working on my next novel. I've kept my short fiction and poetry going with frequent posts on Twitter - @young_liz if you'd like to follow me.
Meanwhile, thanks to Lisa Fox for the photo prompt and to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for encouraging us to join her select group Friday Fictioneers.
Next month I've been invited to join a small group of local poets to read our work at an Arts Festival, so my next job is to decide which poems to choose from my recently published book: Footprints, which you can find on Amazon along with my other books. Be aware that I'm not the only Liz Young out there!
Yesterday, with my back door open, I smelled smoke. From my garden I saw smoke coming from my neighbour's upstairs window. Banged on the door, no answer, so I called 999.
The firefighters arrived just in time to save his dog.
It reminded me of ten years ago, when my daughter's apartment burned due to a candle and a wafting curtain. A whole month it took us to erase the stink.
A salutory lesson never to leave a naked flame burning, and keep your insurance up to date!
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And my poor neighbour! His windows are no longer blackened - the glass has all been replaced by boards, and he can't even clean up until the insurance assessors have been. His dog survived by a whisker - scorched but alive.
SPADE
I left her taking her muddy trainers
off while I put the allotment tools in the car, dropping my guard for one
minute, but it was enough.
She screamed as he bundled her into his
van. By the time I’d got my car started they’d vanished. But she’d told me
about the hut on the moor – and what he’d done there.
I sped through back roads, hid my car,
and when he reached into the van to drag her out I hit him with the spade. Hard.
The hut’s just a heap of charred embers now. So is he.
I bought a new spade.
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Any mother would do the same, wouldn't she? Thanks to Ronda del Boccio for this week's image. To read other interpretations of the prompt, follow the frog link from https://rochellewisoff.com/
While I have your attention, please take a look at my latest publication - a 'slim volume of verse', as we poets say! In other words, a small book of poems, selected from a lot more written over a loooong lifetime.
FOOTPRINTS: Amazon.co.uk: Young, Liz: 9798328843089: Books
LIBRARY
I wish I was better at marketing
my books, 'cos they’re really quite good,
but I plucked up the courage to ask
at the library in my neighbourhood –
I donated a copy of two of my best,
which are now on display on a shelf –
‘New books by A Local Author’ –
I’m inordinately proud of myself!
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Dale's image of a roadside library reminded me of Covid lockdown, when I put a box of books in the village bus shelter and an invitation on Facebook for people to help themselves. Any one who was afraid of contamination could stay clear. Others donated too and itt grew exponentially - in fact it became a chore to keep tidy - but for that year (when was it? - I forget) a lot of people were grateful for their reading matter.
Must dash - it's my granddaughter's school sports day and I have to go and cheer.
TRAINING
They trained the orcas intensively in their
secret location, then sent them off with attached cameras to spy on the enemy
fleet.
The gamble paid off – every whale returned
to their beloved trainer Edwin. The management took the cameras to be
recharged, but Edwin overheard them talking over late-night drinks. ‘Kamikaze whales’
they dubbed them, laughing.
Edwin amended the training sessions and surreptitiously
replaced the glue with his own concoction. Next time the orcas left, they
scraped their backs under the jetty before departing.
Two days later the scientists stood on the
jetty and pressed the control button.
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Perhaps it's the lighting, but they look like orcas peering over a jetty to me! Thanks to Lisa Fox for the image, which also reminds me of warm evenings in Tenerife. To read what other writers 'saw' in her image, go to https://rochellewisoff.com/ and follow the Frog trail.
