SIREN SONG

 

SIREN SONG

The sounds of the fair – the music, the rumble of generators – drew Aaron like a siren song. Last year he had left it too late, arriving the next morning to find only flattened grass, and no clue to where they had gone.

Closing the door quietly behind him, he jumped in his car and sped to the fairground, parked beside a caravan, and joined the crowd, trying to guess who needed a helper.

A hand on his shoulder. ‘On your own, son?’

…..

The next day his mother found only flattened grass, and Aaron’s abandoned pedal car.

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Rochelle runs Friday Fictioneers with a steady hand from her blog  https://rochellewisoff.com/  and this week she has chosen a photo by Lisa Fox with which to awaken our imaginations. Mine went in two directions - one was this story, the other a poem I wrote years ago about my son and his car. 

This poem is included in a little book called Stripey Cat and Other Poems which you can buy from Amazon.

                                                                            RACING                                                                                    

In my yellow racing car

I can go so fast,

round the sofa, through the hallway,

no-one can get past.

 Hidden in the storage box

underneath the seat,

I’ve got several passengers

and something nice to eat.

 Down the garden path and take

the hairpin by the gate,

then the long curve round the pond

and on into the straight.

 Make a pitstop for refreshments

by the potting shed –

off again, but Mummy’s calling –

must be time for bed.

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