MALE & FEMALE CREATED SHE THEM

 

MALE & FEMALE CREATED SHE THEM

The ship lay in stealth mode, hovering on silent jets a mile above Earth.

The crew prayed before beaming their precious cargo into the still waters of a clear lagoon, and watched as the eggs flared briefly before sinking out of sight.

Nurtured by Earth’s waters, they would grow and change to fit this alien planet, before emerging to live, unremarked, among the indigenous population.

Only they would recognise each other, and mate to send their offspring into this world, their own planet nothing but a glowing cloud of space dust.

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Of course they are eggs! I expect I won't be the only Friday Fictioneer to interpret David Stewart's photograph as such, and you can find out for yourself by following the Frog Link from https://rochellewisoff.com/

I am feeling rather pleased - in the past few weeks I have been asked twice for copies of all four of my LIVING ROCK series of books! If you would like to buy them, they are available on Amazon, as is my little book of poetry for children. (See top of this page for the link.)

NEEDS MUST

 NEEDS MUST

Pub landlord Clive had erected an open-air shelter for his customers, many of whom were waiting when he opened his doors after lockdown, and there was instantly a party atmosphere. Those who had booked tables for the evening found the afternoon crowd reluctant to leave, and by nine pm the place was heaving.

When the downpour started, everyone scuttled beneath the shelter, social distancing forgotten.

With his licence at risk, Clive hoped that the inevitable needs after hours of drinking would send the diehards home, but he’d reckoned without their ingenuity – and the ornamental bucket in the pub garden.

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My husband went to the pub on Monday but, with the temperature freezing, I opted to stay at home. I shall go when the weather is warmer, though only for one drink - the thought of not being allowed inside the building is daunting when one has a weak bladder!

Thanks to Anne Higg for this week's photo prompt, and to Rochelle at   https://rochellewisoff.com/ for continuing to host Friday Fictioneers - sometimes the prompt is all that wakes up my writing muse!

AND LAST BUT NOT LEAST - allow me to remind you that my book of poems is now available on Amazon. My illustrations are just asking to be carefully enhanced with coloured pencils, so why not treat yourself ? Just click on the cover at the top of the page to order.

CRISP PACKETS

CRISP PACKETS

Jin opened the shutters, broom already in hand, but the alley was clean! He looked down the row, but he was first to open. He returned inside, shaking his head.

Each morning for a month was the same, until one night he stayed to watch.

A boy, maybe eight years old, collected all the rubbish, eating every scrap of food. Unseen, Jin followed him to a back-street shack.

Inside, children were melting drink cans to make jewellery – Jin had seen them selling it in the street – and in one corner a baby slept on a crackling sack filled with crisp packets. 

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This story popped up the moment I saw Brenda Cox's colourful photograph, but I had great difficulty fitting it into the 100 word limit - I hope it worked! Go to Rochelle's blog to follow the frog link and read other stories.  https://rochellewisoff.com/

FAMILY WISDOM

 

FAMILY WISDOM

It’s okay to chew on your chicken bones

So you don’t waste all that meat –

Just remember it’s not considered polite

When the Queen invites you to eat.

 I learned this way back when I was a child

And repeated it to all four of mine;

Now my granddaughter knows not to chew at the Palace –

Old wisdom has passed down the line.

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I have no idea why this poem evolved from Jennifer Pendergast's photo - food and a family of four children, perhaps - but this is my offering of a less-than-one-hundred-words story for this week! To read other stories you can follow the frog link from Rochelle's blog:  https://rochellewisoff.com/

Allow me to wish you all a Happy Passover and a Happy Easter, hopefully with a few more friends than you were able to see last year. And also to remind you that my little book of gently humorous poems is out on Amazon - just click on the cover image at the top of this page.

BLUR

BLUR

Cataracts - Operation - No guarantees. The words drop like stones. She stumbles home in a blur of eye drops and fear.

The day arrives. More drops on arrival, so nothing to do but wait and worry. Bright lights, a blur of movement, she squeezes the nurse’s hand bloodless.

She goes home wearing a pirate patch and a relieved smile. Gazes at her unfamiliar reflection, restyles her hair, and walks in the rain without the blur of raindrops on glasses.

Now she’s a veteran. Cataract operation? Nothing to it – a doddle – roll on the second one!

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Thank you to Dale for the photo, which reminded me of what street-lights looked like in the rain when I wore glasses. Covid has delayed my husband's second cataract operation by a year, with no guaranteed date to look forward to. The wait is making him very grumpy, even today, which is my birthday - my second one in lockdown.

If you're in the mood to cheer me up, buying a copy of my book of poems would help! Click on the link at the top of this page to buy STRIPEY CAT, an illustrated book of poems about a collection of toys.

CLARA'S DREAM

 

CLARA'S DREAM

Clara’s dream was coming true – the trees had reached out deliberately to trip her up! She could hear them breathing – their trunks were moving closer together, whispering and plotting her death. Any minute now the ground would open up to swallow her and she’d be gone forever.

They would search, of course, but they wouldn’t find her, and no-one would miss her because they all hated her! She opened her mouth to howl, but then she remembered the mist of green tree-breath in her dream, covered her mouth with her skirt, and rocked backwards and forwards in utter, delirious despair.

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Rochelle choosing my photograph, taken in Tenerife's Jardin Botanical, is a rare honour, and as good an excuse as any to adapt an excerpt from my WIP 'Carousel' which I hope will be published in the summer. The Clara in my story is the 13-year-old daughter of Albie and Maria, who are gypsies living in England in the 1950s, and whose earlier story I told in Helter-Skelter. 

Also I would like to share my latest publication - A Book of Verse. I wrote these little poems in celebration of the numerous soft toys owned by my four children, incorporating some of the adventures those children remember, and illustrating each one. After adding a few more recently for my grandchildren, this is the result. Do buy a copy, for yourself or a child you know, and leave a glowing review - please?

Amazon.co.uk : stripey cat

ON THE EDGE

 

ON THE EDGE

Katherine stood at the very edge of the beach, the ebb and flow of the moonlit sea echoing her emotions. Each retreating wave dragged shingle from beneath her feet, and she fought to keep her balance, just as her mind struggled to maintain equilibrium in its turmoil of thoughts.

How could things have gone so wrong? 

She was briefly tempted to let the sea take her, but when the seventh wave knocked her over she scrambled up and back – back to life without him, back to prove she could do it alone. 

No man was worth her death.

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Back in my distant adolescence I lived near the sea, and took long moody walks on the beach, thinking how guilty the people in my life would feel if I drowned. That was the nearest I came to contemplating suicide - a passing thought - and telling my family about it would have been inappropriate and cruel.

I am aware that some people in other countries believe every word that is reported about England. The media are only interested in the sensational, of course - there is nothing newsworthy in real public service, performed for decades, without any thought as to how photogenic it is. I am proud to be British and a royalist and, despite their faults, our Royal family is respected and envied in many countries.