The Games Children Play


An early prompt this week, thought I was still caught up in jet-lag-holiday-mode.

Once again, Queen Rochelle gathers her workers about her with a new prompt, this week the photograph is courtesy of John Nixon. I love the wizened looking trees and twisted roots, and guess the photo will provide the usual brilliantly inventive stories from the other Friday Fictioneers. You can read mine below the photograph.

Copyright John Nixon

Copyright John Nixon

 Genre: Fiction

Word Count: 100

The Games Children Play

‘You abducted him, admit it’

‘No!’

‘You say you know where he is’

‘Sort of’

‘So you took him?’

The world slows, the mist comes.  I see a blindfolded child standing in front of a tree; five older boys are running away.

‘I can see him, in a wood’

‘You can see him in a wood, what sort of crap is that?’

‘I came here to help. I see things. I didn’t take him, but I can see him’

‘You see things?  Then I guess you know what’s coming! Lock him up Ben’

I see the bough break.

And fall.

 

You can read more stories here 

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Jake and the Dolphin


Thanks to Rochelle for shepherding the Friday Fictioneers throughout the year.  I have thoroughly enjoyed posting a story almost every week, and thanks to constructive comments from some very talented writers, I feel my writing has improved a great deal. The lovely photo this week is courtesy of Jean Hays – I seem to remember having another of her beautiful stained glass panes as a previous prompt.

 

Not long now until Christmas, only five sleeps as youngest son told me (he is 36).  So, may I take this opportunity, whether you celebrate Christmas or your own particular special celebration, to wish you all peace and happiness and a wonderful holiday with friends and loved ones.

 

Copyright - Jean l Hays

Copyright – Jean lL Hays

 

Genre: Fiction

Word Count: 100

Jake and the Dolphin

 

Every year Jake’s parents took him to Florida for Christmas, hoping the holiday sunshine would help him.

‘We’re going to swim with dolphins this trip.’

Jake didn’t react; that wasn’t unusual.

Late in the afternoon on Christmas Eve, as they splashed about, a dolphin appeared alongside. Gently nudging Jake, it guided him through the water. Jake held him tightly. People stopped to watch the boy with the dolphin, seemingly playing together.

When he was put to bed, Jake turned to his mother and whispered ‘Love you’

She stared momentarily, not believing her ears, then hugged him.

‘Jake, you can talk.’

 

This is based on something that happened to a friend’s son. He was diagnosed with autism, a most cruel affliction, when he was two years old. He had no speech at all and although seemingly happy in all other ways, his frustration at not being able to make himself understood, gave rise to terrible temper tantrums that affected all the family. It got so bad that at times they just couldn’t take him anywhere.

When he was nine, he went swimming with dolphins and a short time afterwards, he was able to speak.  Not fluently, but enough to make himself understood.  The medical team was very doubtful that the dolphin had anything to do with it.  His mother believed that the dolphin had helped her son and I like to think so too.
  for more stories from the Fictioneers click the little blue froggy

Free


There has been quite a lot happening in my life just recently and the urge to write just got up and walked out. I had to have the lenses in my eyes replaced – not as horrific as it sounds I assure you – but a worry nevertheless. My work has also taken up too much of my time and I found I didn’t want to write – anything.  I have missed Friday Fictioneers very much indeed; missed the contact with people who had become very supportive friends; missed the exchange with people who are kind enough and interested enough to follow my blog, such as it is. I did try to post something for the prompt last week, then deleted it as it was not much good.  I am back to try again.

Forgive the out-pouring, but it matters to me that you know why I have been AWOL.

 

Copyright - Sandra Cook

Copyright – Sandra Cook

 Genre: Fiction

Word Count: 100

FREE

 Beth found the bones at 6pm.

They lay in a shallow space between the overhanging rock face and the old irrigation channel she was working in; she had been clearing stones and old debris from it for the past two weeks.

Rob came over when she called and casually inspected her find.

‘Looks small, a child perhaps?’

‘No!’ Beth shuddered at the thought.

‘Children worked in places like this; the find is not unusual.’

As he gently moved the bones to one side, a soft sigh whispered past them and floated up on the cool evening air.

Free.

At last

 

Read other stories here

 

One Child – for Right2Write Prompt 9 Stop Terrorism


One Child – for Right2Write Prompt 9 Stop Terrorism
Amazing piece, we all should read this

helenvalentina

The death of one child
is the death of the world

Sand arising as mother earth
shakes off her despair
and hungers for an artist’s vision there

Reptile brain awakens
flooding the system
with fear and alarm

The eye watching over us
blinking so slowly
means us some harm

The death of one child
is the death of us all

The universe turns
slow and elliptical
creating and recreating itself through pain

Grasping for a victory
or a vengeance creates
blood on blood

Devastation fields
Streets of fallen limbs
Nothing is good

The death of one child
is the death of the world

(c) Helen Valentina 2013, All Rights Reserved

For Right2Write prompt 9 at http://howanxious.wordpress.com

Checkout the other prompt entries and join in! Spread the word on a prompt on such a vital topic to us all!

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Another Girl!


I have been so busy these last few weeks with the birth of my second granddaughter. We were so excited to have one, but to have two girls is just so amazing. They are both coming on really well and the mums are doing fine too.

I haven’t got an answer to my question yet but I’m sure a name will emerge in a little while. Funnily enough my sons have tentatively referred to me as Grandma and Gran, as if they are trying to get used to calling me something other than mum!

I look forward to the coming months and will update the blog from time to time to let you know how they are getting on.

What do I want to be called?


This lovely cartoon is by Pamela
Perry courtesy of http://www.babyclipart.net/

I have recently become a grandmother for the first time and
will soon be a grandmother for the second time – did my sons and
wives get together and plan this? I did have a few
words about the lack of grandchildren, but that was AGES ago!! So
now, I have an adorable granddaughter and am waiting very excitedly
to see what the next baby will be. I have been more
interested in the names that are to be given to my grandchildren,
but it seems that everyone wants to know what name I am to known by
and, to be honest I haven’t got a clue. My granddaughter already
has a Grandma and I’m told that two grandmas would be confusing for
the child, unless of course we are known as Grandma A and Grandma B
which does sound silly and why use grandma again when there are so
many other names I could have. Grandmother Grannie Gran Nan Nannie
G-ma And a few foreign
ones too

  • NaiNai
  • Lola
  • Bomma
  • Grandmere
  • Meme
  • Oma
  • YaYa
  • Tutu
  • Savta
  • Nonna
  • Oba-chan
  • Halmoni
  • Busia
  • VoVo
  • Babushka
  • Abuela
  • Bube

There are some great names there, but I still haven’t chosen mine.
I thought there was no urgency as it will be a while before
either of the babies calls me anything, the parents however, demand
a name! So if any kind person would like to help me with
this, I really would be very grateful

A morning in the attic – up to my knees in memories


This all came about because my OH couldn’t find the black luggage label.  The label is one of two we purchased in a little shop in Jasper, three years ago; it is made of black leather, with a cut out of the first letter of our surname in a contrasting pink leather – sounds a bit OTT, but trust me, it looks very smart when attached to one end of a piece of luggage. And different. I have never seen any more like them anywhere. I found the other one, the pink one with the black letter, but there was no way he was going to take that one with him on his trip!

I thought perhaps it had got inside one of the other bags and said as much, which was a mistake and  resulted in an attic search on Saturday.  Our attic, like most I guess, is the respository for things that don’t quite fit anywhere else, or you can’t quite bring yourself to throw out. Like luggage which takes up far too much room to be stored anywhere else; an old artificial Christmas tree, which gets a revamp every year and placed in the porch and all the decorations that adorn the “real” tree when it comes, various tins, boxes, bags, records, my old hockey stick, a pair of crutches (??) the list goes on. 

So, rather begrudgingly, I took myself off to the attic, armed with a couple of bags for sorting the rubbish and my phone in case there was an emergency and I was needed (please) and the thought I would catch up with my twitter friends if I got bored!  That worked out well,  until I realised I was spending a little too much time tweeting and not enough time sorting!

I checked the luggage and found the black tag, yes! That is when I should have stopped and gone downstairs triumphantly with the find, but I didn’t because underneath the oldest of the bags, was a pile of photographs.  And so I started going through them. Big mistake, huge.

You remember those pre-digital days, when we took snaps on rolls of film we bought at the chemist or supermarket, wound carefully onto the spool in the camera, away from bright light in case we damaged it?  Then when we had finished the roll, it rewound, if you had the latest camera; or you had to rewind by hand, turning for ever until the film was wound back into its’ case. Then you took it out and handed it in to be developed.  You waited with bated breath, hoping that the photograph you had taken of your grandmother’s 80th birthday party, with all those relatives you had never met before, turn out OK as they all want a copy as a keepsake.  Well, there were envelopes full of photos like that!

Photos of my children on their first bikes,  at the beach, on a slide, running in the egg and spoon race; a birthday party with a cake in the shape of a fire engine all red icing with white ladders on the top; school outings and new uniform days,  the first day of “big school” all wide-eyed and anxious; scrubbed within an inch of their lives, ready for whatever was coming their way.

There were photos taken at friends weddings – why did I ever think I would look good in an outift like that? It is the clothes that date the photographs more so than the people, who somehow manage to stay more or less looking like they always have. Then the babies started to come along and there are piles of photos of them.  Then, from somewhere at the bottom of the pile I found photos of my parents.  They have both gone now, but looking at them, laughing into the camera lens, on holiday in Ibiza, the Yorkshire Dales or the Scottish highlands brought tears to my eyes and I remember them more clearly seeing the photographs, than  I ever do just thinking about them.

I spent a long time in the attic. My knees were sore and I only had a small pile of rubbish to show for my morning’s work, but there were lots of happy memories

Christmas Eve – one more sleep


I went to a carol service last Monday and I’m ashamed to admit that I can’t remember the last one that I went to.  It was a beautiful evening, the church which is very old, was lit by hundreds of candles which made the occasion magical. The service was lovely and the singing just amazing.  All the carols I knew from childhood, “Hark the Herald Angels Sing”, “Silent Night”, O Little Town of Bethlehem” …. were sung with gusto by all the congregation.

As I walked home through the snow that had fallen earlier that day, I got to thinking about past Christmases and, as a child, how excited I used to get. Making paper decorations with my sister, going shopping with my mother, seeing all the lights in the windows, hearing people calling out “Merry Christmas” to strangers as they passed in the street.  It seemed everyone got caught up in the Christmas spirit.

I tried to give my children the same wonderful Christmases that I had and relived mine again through them.  Watching their excitement as the time drew nearer, counting the sleeps till Christmas Eve, when HE would come, hopefully with the sackful of  presents they had asked for. Hanging up the stockings, which somehow became sacks over the years and the frustration of trying to find small inexpensive things to fill them with –  a tangerine, a handful of nuts, a bag of chocolate coins, football socks, gloves, while still somehow manging to put a pile of presents under the tree for them

They are all grown up now, but still come back home with their partners for Christmas.  Their rooms are all ready, the shopping is done and I will be waiting to greet them when they arrive this evening. I will watch them as they put their presents alongside ours under the tree and wonder where all the years have gone.

After a late supper, when we have had time to catch up on everyone’s news we’ll got to bed for one more sleep………….and then it will be Christmas