She’d always been a great Maker of Lists: (her memory was awful) to do lists, shopping lists, books to read, movies to see, places to go, even lists of lists!
She’d always said: ‘if I put it on the list, it will happen’. And usually it did.
But now, on this, her birthday, another milestone passed (largely unmarked), it dawned on her.
Perhaps now, not everything on her great List of Lists could be achieved (especially the books).
Future plans might have to be a little less ambitious.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Image credit: Google images The image shows a chalk board with a caption, “Before I die” on the top. Below are slots where people can write their opinions.
Ceridwen shivered as she closed the door, Joey was a nice lad, a bit rough around the edges but he had a good heart – and he had Cullen’s approval; she smiled at her feline companion, she’d had him since he was barely weaned, having seen him cowering in the bushes all alone and mewing piteously, she’d known immediately that his little soul had been reaching out to hers.
She drew her cardigan around her narrow shoulders, armour against the unexpected feeling of foreboding that had accompanied Joey’s passage across the landing.
The feeling persisted as she fed Cullen, and as she nibbled on her own frugal supper; she glanced ceiling-wards where she could hear Joey moving about, the feeling was one she couldn’t quite describe, almost a vibration in the air, something she hadn’t experienced since that young woman had brought the strange little amulet to her.
The nagging feeling accompanied her through her dreams, faint glimpses of things that made no sense.
In the morning, sipping her herbal tea, she heard Joey’s rapid footsteps on the stairs; moments later the front door slammed. It was immediately apparent: what had been troubling her had left the building along with Joey.
Arriving at his flat, one of many in a long street of dilapidated Georgian buildings, a grey cat wearing a velvet collar twined around Joey’s legs: ‘Alright Cullen, mate!’ he grinned down at the feline as he unlocked the door. The cat bounded up the stairs and stopped outside Flat 4 where it mewed expectantly; Ceridwen’s face appeared, her smile turning to a puzzled frown as Joey passed her door.
Inside his attic flat, Joey shed his parka and dropped onto the worn couch; shoving the crumpled quilt aside, he ripped open a grease-sodden packet of chips, laced with lurid-looking sauce and wolfed down a few mouthfuls, before leaning forward to switch on the TV; the flicker of the grainy monochrome picture the room’s only illumination as he devoured his supper.
Retrieving the prize that the river had given up earlier, Joey held it in the palm of his hand – a crouching camel, carved from greenish-brown stone – surely a find of great antiquity. His fingers tingled and his heartbeat quickened, a smile lit up Joey’s face; he felt energised, optimistic!
Joey stared at the camel, its mouth was slightly open; the little carving seemed to be grinning back at him.
She sits alone, staring into the crimson flames, a glass of ruby wine in her hand, the half-empty bottle on the wooden floor beside her. Muddy rivers run down her cheeks from red-rimmed eyes. She takes another sip and puts the glass down. Carefully. She rips off the pretty new blouse which he’d failed to notice – his eyes were elsewhere all night – flings it into the fire where the fabric curls like dead leaves; buttons pop in the heat. More wine sloshes in the glass.
betrayal revealed in long lingering glances scales drop from her eyes sorrow seeps into her heart dying embers fill the grate ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Image credit: Tathanhtaun @ Pexabay The image showsa pair of spectacles to which a pair of rose-colored clip-on attachment is affixed. You can see a view of skyline near a shore through these colored clip-ons.
Joey hunkered down in the corner of the heavily-graffitied bus shelter, trying to evade the spiny tentacles of the stiffening breeze blowing off the river Mersey and up the eponymous street that led from Otterspool Promenade onto the busy pavement-cracked main road.
Jealousy coiled its long yellow fingers around him, clutching at the frayed edges of his grungy army-surplus parka as he watched the rich folk in their fancy cars hurtling past him on their way back to the city, while a dull summer sun slipped slowly into the west, raising an ironic eyebrow and casting a rose-tinted light over the poverty-stricken suburbs and abandoned factories of the urban fringe.
Now fumbling his pockets for his last fag, Joey’s grubby nail-bitten fingers fell upon his latest treasure; a smile twitched about his lips, smoothing his habitual scowl and suggesting the possibility of a less desolate future for its twenty-something wearer. His latest jaunt down to the low-tide river, grubbing about among the detritus lodged in the sludgy mudflats, had yielded his best find yet.
He gripped the object tightly, a glimmer of hope kindling; he’d be popping around to visit Phil ‘The Fence’ tomorrow.
solo traveller striding through life’s long journey youthful confidence casts trepidation aside to reach the ultimate goal
he seizes the day glorying in his triumph all demons vanquished
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Image credit: Suliman Sallehi @ Pexels The image showsa person standing on top of a rock, his feet straddling two projections. In the background, you can see the skyline and down below some houses.
The True Owl-King beckoned his rescuers to follow; he flung open the front doors so forcefully that they hit the pink palace walls with a crash, causing the creatures on the emerald lawn to flap and fluster in a flurry of fluorescent wings.
The Owl-King’s gentle brown eyes found Florigia’s and he inclined his head, his gaze fell upon Lobelia and he grinned, then stepping onto the lawn, he prodded the glaucous insulation that encased the fallen Captain Stinger with a wary wingtip.
‘Your crafty and clever charms saved us all, elegant ladies,’ he beamed; he opened his wings to encompass the entire company: ‘let there be feasting and fun, let there be singing and stories,’ he swung around to face the palace doors where a collection of pastel-uniformed retainers had appeared, ‘bring honey cakes and nectar juice!’
‘I still don’t understand,’ mumbled Mr Eyre through a mouthful of cake as Bryony tilted the travelling-bracelet against the inside case of his pocket-watch; its message now read: Prophesy fulfilled, time’s up!
Greta squeezed Bethany’s shoulder: ‘you were the golden-haired child after all.’
The bracelet started to vibrate; pocketing his watch, Mr Eyre hastily grabbed the girls’ hands; moments later they vanished.
Thisconcludes our little tale. I think we can safely assume that Mr Eyre, Bryony and Bethany returned as if they’d never been away, just in time for breakfast…
Bryony, Bethany and Mr Eyre first appeared in my historical fantasy fiction novel, Following the Green Rabbit. They’ve been begging to go on another adventure and now they’ve got their wish! The novel is now also available as an audiobook – free on Audible with a 30 day trial.
emerging at last from an underground cocoon pale sun still shrouded yet emerald shoots glisten birds are calling to the dawn
post-apocalypse nature is undefeated what will man do now?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Image credit: LuizClas@ Pexels The image showsa young person’s silhouette against a pink sky.There is a subdued sun in the sky and birds flying in circle.
The window frame gave way and Mr Eyre burst through the opening: ‘Stop!’ his voice echoed around the almost-empty room; Bryony clambered after him and scurried over to join her sister, who was crouching behind the throne, wearing an expression of pained concentration.
Before Bryony could say anything, Bethany popped her head up from behind the throne and fired a stream of incomprehensible utterances at the tottering trio of arm-waving owlets; a moment later they crumpled like string-severed puppets and three white mice scuttled away into the shadows.
A low murmur accompanied what the two girls and their tutor initially took to be an optical illusion, as a shadowy figure started to assemble itself from the dancing dust motes, disturbed by the breeze from the breeched window; slowly, eyes and mouth materialised within a moon-shaped face. ‘Thank you,’ it beamed at Bethany, ‘your charm worked – you overcame those evil imps who impersonated me and tried to kill me; fortunately they couldn’t find me, even after taking my poor palace apart.’
The figure solidified into a regal, golden-robed individual, who retrieved the discarded crown and placed it on its head. ‘There is one, only one Owl-King, and I am he!’
Bryony, Bethany and Mr Eyre first appeared in my historical fantasy fiction novel, Following the Green Rabbit. They’ve been begging to go on another adventure and now they’ve got their wish! The novel is now also available as an audiobook – free on Audible with a 30 day trial.
luna's on line 