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Weekly Contest #196
In Another Life Megan ducked her head as she entered the office building. The security guard paid her no attention, the ground floor reception did not acknowledge her. It was easy for Megan to be invisible in this hive of fashion, a publisher for top name magazines loaded with glamor and glitz. A secretary for a copy writer. A fetcher of coffees and lunch bagels. The invisible person who made sure there were no clashes in Ms Farrel’s day planner and that her dry cleaning was on time. Megan’s mousy hair, thick spectacles and diminutive s...
Weekly Contest #164
Where I come from the sea is wild. The beach is a forest of torn up forests one day, a jungle of seaweed ripped from its beds the next. Waves crash relentlessly over jagged rocks spouting foam high into the air. My village nestles in a protected cove, cliffs soar high behind. Access is by a road for the stout of heart that twists over the bay, or a narrow channel to be braved only at high tides. Not surprisingly the population is small. It had grown though, over the years of my absence. Until now. I have been aware of a sudden drop in ...
ADVANCE NOTE: This an NZ story. dairy = convenience store kumera = sweet potato kai = food hangi = ground oven whanau = family boil-up - pork bones and puha boiled for long time. puha - a common spinach-like weed. I was home for a family dinner, back in the old hood. It had changed a bit. The big Pak’n’Sav supermarket had never been here when I was growing up. It sits where the fish’n’chip shop was that gave me my first after school job. There was a dairy here as well, and a stationer. Those and a whole bunch of houses had gone for a f...
Weekly Contest #162
Fish and Chips My life took a U turn at the tender age of six. A memory of alarm, followed by change. Punctuated by crispy battered deep fried fish. I know my early years were comfortable, but I recall a sense of claustrophobia. I was smothered in love. My every need was met, every desire catered for. Momma was my world, and I was hers. I was too young then to see what I can from an adult perspective. I did not run freely with the other kids in the park, or go on playdates. We never had visitors, we never visited any other friends ...
Weekly Contest #161
I saw Mother today, across the street. Our street. She looked at me, I am sure she saw me. Her eyes connected to mine before executing a barely discernible flicker to her grandchild at my side. The word ‘Mother’ began to form on my tongue, a ridiculous surge of hope flared hot in my chest. She turned away and walked on as if we did not exist. I think I saw one of those small rises in the corner of her mouth, her semblance of a smile that was not a smile. Resentment and anger pushed deep over the years now rose in a suffocating s...
Weekly Contest #67
You don’t win your case. Or get paid when your client turns up dead. I saw him die. I saw his deceased form being dragged into this alley seconds ago, but the body and the perp are gone. I rub the birthmark on my neck, it is burning. Who am I? I am Indra, a private detective for those who wish to keep things private. This is what I do. Who I am is another mystery. I have no idea who my parents were, I am the cliché baby in the basket, but no cliché happy ending. Orphanage, foster homes. One to another. Way back somewhere I tried to b...
Weekly Contest #65
A nice night for a chat 39/10/2019 Ella enjoyed her night walks in the Pembleton Cemetery. Despite a name that invoked stately residences, Pembleton was not an upmarket zone. The grid of unadorned streets was lined with 50’s wooden boxes in various states of dilapidation, high fences boasted a variety of graffiti; some bordered on art, others sported ugly botches and ill spelled profanity. The pavements were cracked, in parts weeds were winning the battle to regain control. Not the path to the cemetery though. Age worn well-attended cob...
Weekly Contest #64
Charlotte Charlotte was a resolute silhouette on the grey path. Her black coat flared sharply from her small waist, short cut raven hair raised in small tufts in the prevailing wind. She had dropped her battered leather case beside her. The pair of them frozen indefinitely before the bleak fortress before them. Linton’s School for Wayward Girls. For Nelly, It was the best she could now do for her daughter. Including withholding parts of her own history, her own blood. She turned her battered Volkswagon down the ill-used road back to...
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