Fandango’s Flash Fiction Challenge #99
Grandad’s aged worn hands
Counting his shrapnel
Saving for his granddaughter’s birthday
Remembering the days when his time
Would have been spent
Looking in shop windows for her gift
These days he is trapped
Telling himself he will see her soon
As they both gaze through their windows
Looking at the same moon…
© anita dawes 2021
Photo Challenge #348
The forest floor found her lying still
Naked, seemingly new-born
Gently covering her with soft green foliage
The forest spirits gathered
Their whispers carried to the high-top trees
To the low born mushrooms
Birds held their trill
Breeze stopped between the leaves
Their sigh held in abeyance
The word spread throughout the forest
She has come, our new Queen
We must be ready when she wakes
Birds now sing the news
Each leaf swayed in applause
The forest floor ran with life
The breeze had the last word
God save our queen…
© anita dawes 2021
Three walked the riverbank,
their wellington boots
sucking the mud with every step.
The cold wind whistled about their ears,
making their eyes water
as they searched for the missing child.
On the other side of the water,
teams of police officers systematically covered the area,
heads down, grim expressions on their faces.
To a man, they all hoped the search would be called off
when the child was found safely elsewhere…
© Jaye Marie 2021
What do you see # 62 – December 28th 2020
( For the visually challenged reader, this image shows a puppy wearing a Christmas hat, sitting in a bed. You can see the Christmas tree lit up in the background)
Jack, my husband brought home
A golden four-legged friend
What he doesn’t realise is
This furry bundle of joy
Is terrible twos wrapped up in one
He is going to eat us out of house and home
Literally anything that stands still
The couch, shoes, slippers, you get the idea
Just when we had said goodbye
To the last of our two-legged bundles of joy
I finally had the house to myself
Everything where it belongs
Now we must go walkies
Pick up small, warm bundles to carry home
After a few days you will find
This furry stranger has taken your heart
And made it his own
He will lead you where he wants to go
And you will be happy to do so
Another happy new year
With my new best friend Toby…
© anita dawes 2020
Last Night’s Dream
My youngest son ran off across the park
I thought he won’t go far
He crossed the bridge
Over a large pond, the water almost black
I am screaming now, Stop!
Too late, he falls in
With me a second behind him
I dive in, fully clothed, visibility poor
I could just make out
the form of a small body
Grabbing hold of an arm
Letting go swiftly, telling myself
Not that one, he’s dead
Grabbing a second floating arm
I pulled my son to the surface
I gave him my breath
Pushed against his heart
So limp in my arms but alive
Later I got to wondering
Did I save a soul from a different lifeline?
As my own son has never fallen in a pond
He is in his fifties now and doing well…
© anita dawes 2020
The Temperamental Christmas Tree
We didn’t want a big tree this Christmas, so when we saw this pretty fibre optic tree in the shop window, we took it home, content with our preparations.
The next time we went to town, we spotted a wonderful tree in a charity shop window. This was a small tree too, although quite different from the one we already had. Old fashioned ribbons and flowers gave it an old-world charm, as if it had come straight from a Dickens novel.
We had to buy it, even though we already had a tree.
It was decided that the Dickens tree would be in pride of place in our decorations, relegating the fibre optic tree to the dining room.
And this, as they say, is when the fun started.
On the first night, the fibre optic tree turned itself off at 10 pm. Puzzled, we checked the instructions, but it wasn’t supposed to do that. It hadn’t overheated either. Before we could turn it on the second day, it turned itself on and then off again at 10pm!
We made sure it was switched off, thinking it just a fluke, although it felt distinctly weird. We are quite used to weird in this house. Remember that red light reflecting on our window, the one we never could find the reason for?
The next night, we switched it on and waited. It felt uneasy, as if someone we couldn’t see was controlling the tree.
It was one of those trees that has the capability of a choice of different light patterns. Twinkling, fading and several other combinations. We only wanted the static light, so we were very glad it didn’t decide to muck about with the sequence too.
Despite the weirdness, we have kept the tree… and it has turned itself on every afternoon, and off in time for bed.
What would you have done in these circumstances, chucked it out or run for the hills?
© Jaye Marie 2020
What do you see # 60 – 14 December 2020
( For the visually challenged reader, the image shows an outdoor scene. An old fashioned radio is placed next to a couple of candles and a wicker basket. Behind the radio is a pot full of blooming red flowers)
Step back in time
The scene is set
As it was sixty years ago
The radio still works
Wine in the wicker basket
Red flowers in bloom
He’s ready to pop the question again
To the one lady in his life
He will have to do this standing
Time has taken its toll on his knees
He waited for hours
Until his daughters came to take him home
Each year it’s the same
He waits for their mother to renew their vows
His daughters know this time next year
He will do the same, on their anniversary
Since their mother’s departure
They know this is something he must do…
© anita dawes 2020
My tv controls are beside me on my side table
Every now and then, they crackle
As though someone is handling it
The phone too, makes the same noise
Today I had the tv controls beside me on the couch
There it goes again, someone touching it.
I got to wondering if the previous occupants are
Still living here with me and my family
Touching strange objects and wondering what they are
Do they sit and watch tv with me?
If so, they may realise what they are touching
Trying to change channels
I often have the controls beside my leg on the couch
We might be watching something long waited for
When the tv changes channels
I get, ‘Mum, I’m watching that!’ from my son
A sideways look from Jaye
I say it wasn’t me.
I didn’t touch nor did my leg
These are old cottages we live in, built in 1887
One last thought
The people living here must be very clean
For the bath creaks late at night
Could be their time is different to ours?
I don’t mind the noise,
It has been said that houses can speak to you
Do they also have the odd shadow
Passing you in the hall?
The creak of your bed, long after you have left it.
I have the feeling they know I don’t mind them being here
Sharing our space
After all, they were here first…
© anita dawes 2020
A slip in time
“What’s your name,” I ask the old man, sitting on the park bench feeding the pigeons. I liked the look of him. Small, with a slight hunched back. White hair and the beginnings of a beard.
“My name, do I have a name?”
“Everything has a name.” My reply did not fuel the conversation. Something about the way he moved his hands, the way the small bag of seed did not empty, the way the trees around us held their breath. The silence and the sharp pain at the back of my head, stirring, waking something in me.
“You are Merlin.”
“Am I?” His blue eyes sparkled with the mischief of a five-year-old child. “Yes, yes, you could be right. My memory is not as it should be these days. I have little to offer you, young man. You are wondering who you are.”
“Not true, I know who I am.”
“Do you know when you are?”
“Yes, I am here, in the park, talking to you.”
“Look around you, do you see what lies before your eyes?”
I did look around me and the trees parted, like an ancient curtain being pulled aside. Wondering if I had named him wrong. Could he be Moses with no sea to part, he split the trees. I see a castle, dark jagged rocks surrounded by vast ocean. I look again at the old man. I could see a tear in his eye, the smell of apples filling the air.
He vanished. The air had taken him. It looked for all the world as if I sat there, talking to myself.
I cried out, “Merlin, where are you?”
Rushing through the trees, calling again, I heard his voice.
“Here I am, look again…”
© anita dawes 2020
Let it Grow
I found a pot on my windowsill
A tiny flower growing
Who placed it there is still unknown
I watch it grow, lost in dreaming
A pure white land, filled with voices screaming
I step on in, hope to help
Swallowed by cotton wool
I recognise the voice calling
It’s time to wake from your world of dreaming
Turn back before you are lost
The flower scent, a warning meant
Tell him now, you’re not the kind of girl
You hold for one night only…
© anita dawes 2020
