Previously

Gary paced the floor in front of his girlfriend, Gina, struggling to regain his composure after speaking to Joey – the moment the interview had ended he’d grabbed his jacket and sprinted back to their flat, ‘I have to get the camel off Joey!’

‘Aye, aye, what’s the shouting about?’ Bob entered the sitting room breathing heavily, having taken the stairs two at a time, followed by Fingers, his pet monkey, ‘we only took a little detour to fetch that paper for me Nan.’

‘Bob, mate, I need your help… it’s about the camel,’ Gary grabbed his friend’s arm, ‘we have to hurry!’

A moment later, Gary and Gina piled into Bob’s van, ‘assuming we get the camel back, we need to make a plan to get rid of it, we can’t dump something like that in the trash,’ she shouted, gripping an agitated Fingers as they sped off.

Bob pulled in behind a large midnight-blue car; the man who was leaning against its glossy bonnet calmly lit a cigarette with an elegant silver lighter and turned towards them, a malevolent glint in his blue-grey eyes.

‘One thing at a time,’ said Bob, ‘we have to get past him first.’

next episode

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Written in response to two challenges:

Di of Pensitivity 101’s Wednesday’s Three Things Challenge: DUMP, TRASH, REGAIN
Denise Farley of Girlie On The Edge’s Sunday’s Six Sentence Story Word Prompt: DETOUR

More #SixSentenceStories here!

Photo credit: illustration from a book somewhere on my bookshelves which has mysteriously disappeared🐪

Previously

Ceridwen gazed out of the open window watching the pink May blossom float like confetti over the path outside her flat and inhaling the yeasty smell from Cain’s Brewery, which was carried on the same soft breeze; Cullen, purring on her lap, stretched out his front paws, kneaded her thigh for a moment, then curled up again, his purr drifting to silence, only to be replaced by a louder, throatier purr as a sleek, midnight-blue Silver Shadow glided to a halt outside; a vehicle which was definitely out of place in the neighbourhood.

The driver’s door opened and an immaculately dressed silver-haired man got out, carefully adjusting his white shirt cuffs a precise half-inch beyond his grey-wool sleeves as he watched four strange squat little men descend from the car.

Ceridwen craned forward and Cullen sprung from her lap, jumping onto the window sill to observe the scene below.

As the four little men gathered around him, the silver-haired man stared upwards, his gaze meeting Ceridwen’s; Cullen’s tail began to twitch.

The first of the strange little men advanced to the front door and applied a doughy finger to the bell labelled five.

A low growl stirred in Cullen’s throat.

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Written in response to two challenges:

Di of Pensitivity 101’s Wednesday’s Three Things Challenge: DOUGH, KNEAD, YEAST
Denise Farley of Girlie On The Edge’s Sunday’s Six Sentence Story Word Prompt: CONFETTI

Join us at the #SixSentenceCafeAndBistro for more stories

Photo credit: illustration from a book somewhere on my bookshelves which has mysteriously disappeared🐪

Previously

Joey, flush with his wad of winnings, tucked into the Philharmonic’s lunch-time special, a steaming bowl of meaty scouse*, congratulating himself on his escape.

He’d only just started on his second glass of stout, when he remembered he was due to sign on; he gulped the smooth liquid down, just as the original antique clock hanging above the bar was beginning to strike two: he was already late.

Gary, the counter supervisor, hadn’t been amused, so much so that Joey had found himself staring back at him across a sticky Formica table in Interview Room One; Joey looked down at his bitten fingernails, ‘sorry, I must’ve left me card at home’ he muttered.

To Joey’s surprise, Gary slid his UB40 across the table, ‘listen Joey, I brought you in here for a warning, but it’s not about being late,’ Gary’s grip on the table edge tightened, ‘it’s about the jade camel, trust me, mate, you’re better off without it.’

Joey held up his hands, ‘if that’s all, I’ll be going.’

Gary, rapidly losing control, flew round the table and grabbed Joey by the lapels, ‘I mean it, mate, it’s like it’s cursed; bad people are coming after you for it.’

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*I’ve an idea one of my characters will be sharing their recipe for this iconic Liverpool delicacy sometime soon…

Written in response to two challenges:

Di of Pensitivity 101’s Wednesday’s Three Things Challenge: ORIGIN, BEGIN, START
Denise Farley of Girlie On The Edge’s Sunday’s Six Sentence Story Word Prompt: CONTROL

Many more #SixSentenceStories here – why not bring your own?

Photo credit: illustration from a book somewhere on my bookshelves which has mysteriously disappeared🐪

Previously

Aurora’s carmine lips formed a determined line, as she received Patterson’s latest up-date; she favoured him with an ice-blue stare: ’and when might I expect the camel’s return?’

The suave, silver-haired man spoke smoothly: ‘a plan is being put into place.’

On the south-side of the city, in the DHSS Office on High Park Street, Gary glared across a yellowing Formica table-top at his subordinate Reg, a short, squat individual whom he’d never taken to, waiting for his response.

‘It was just a favour, like, for a mate; Joey Moran’s got something of his and me mate wants it back,’ Reg shrugged, ‘said it was valuable – even showed me a picture of it – I dunno what’s so special about a little curled-up camel statue, it looked more like a turd to me.’

‘Your mate has Mr Moran’s UB40 but he doesn’t know his address, so you took it upon yourself to look it up in the office records?’ As Gary spoke, dread rose from the pit of his stomach – a curled up camel – his fingers gripped the edge of the table-top, purple veins standing out on the backs of his hands – surely not that same evil little statue?

next episode

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Written in response to two challenges:

Di of Pensitivity 101’s Wednesday’s Three Things Challenge: YELLOW, PURPLE, BLUE
Denise Farley of Girlie On The Edge’s Sunday’s Six Sentence Story Word Prompt: TERM

More #SixSentenceStories here!

Photo credit: illustration from a book somewhere on my bookshelves which has mysteriously disappeared🐪

Previously

As Joey stepped over the threshold, the music he’d heard from outside the building stopped abruptly; light filtered from the lofty windows, illuminating the dust-motes that danced in the large space before him, empty apart from a long wooden counter running along one wall with a dozen mis-matched chairs arranged at intervals along it.

Joey looked around, at the far side of the room was an imposing entrance door, topped with a fancy fanlight; Joey jogged over and drew aside the heavy steel bolts before twisting the night-latch; the door swung open easily. After pulling the door closed and hearing the latch click home, Joey sprinted up the three stone steps to street level. Suddenly the music started up again; Joey looked around, puzzled for a moment, before hurrying off up the narrow side street.

Emerging onto busy Bold Street, Joey ducked inside the nearest shop, its interior thick with cigarette smoke and lined with TV screens; the little camel statue in his pocket vibrated, pursuers forgotten, Joey approached the counter, ‘2.30 at Aintree, two quid on Oracle to win.’

Meanwhile, in the flat below Joey’s, Ceridwen turned over the Five of Swords: the tarot card predicting a cheap victory.

next chapter

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Written in response to two challenges:

Di of Pensitivity 101’s Wednesday’s Three Things Challenge: ARRANGE, PREDICT, ORACLE
Denise Farley of GirlieOnTheEdge’s Sunday’s Six Sentence Story Word Prompt: TREE

Join the #SixSentenceStory readathon here

Photo credit: illustration from a book somewhere on my bookshelves which has mysteriously disappeared🐪

Previously

Patterson finished the careful adjustment to his starched shirt cuffs, lining them up half an inch beyond the end of his jacket sleeves, before running his gaze over the group of short and stocky individuals standing before him; a slight furrow grazed his forehead, ‘there are five of you now and still he eluded you?’

Louis shuffled forward as if to offer an apology, feigning a sad expression, ‘the lad might’ve got away, but we’ll find him,’ he looked up, holding something out to Patterson with a triumphant grin, ‘look, he dropped this!’

Patterson held the grubby piece of cardboard between his thumb and forefinger, a look of distaste on his face as he examined it, ‘his Unemployment Benefit Card, there’s no address, how is it supposed to help?

Jimmy stepped forward, ‘allow me to introduce the newest member of our team,’ he indicated a fresh-faced young man, ‘this is Ron’s baby brother, Sam,’ Ron nodded, pushing his sibling forward, Jimmy continued, ‘he doesn’t say much either, but he has special skills.’

Patterson inclined an eyebrow.

‘Sam also has a job at the DHSS*,’ Shacker added; ‘don’t worry, Mr Patterson, you can count on us to catch up with Joey.’

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*Department of Health and Social Security, responsible at the time (among other things) for the administration of Unemployment Benefits. The card which Joey dropped is a UB40**, the card you had to take when you went to ‘sign on’ at the ‘dole office’. It has the claimant’s National Insurance number from which Sam will be able to trace Joey’s address.

**From where UK band, UB40, took their name. The title of their song ‘One in Ten’ refers to the number 9.6, being the percentage of the local workforce claiming unemployment benefit in the West Midlands in the summer of 1981 when the song was released – the figure was double that in Liverpool by 1985.

Written in response to two challenges:

Di of Pensitivity 101’s Wednesday’s Three Things Challenge: UPHOLD, SAD, APOLOGY
Denise Farley of GirlieOnTheEdge’s Sunday’s Six Sentence Story Word Prompt: BOARD

More #SixSentenceStories here

Photo credit: illustration from a book somewhere on my bookshelves which has mysteriously disappeared🐪

Previously

Joey returned the man’s gaze; it wasn’t that he was afraid, but something about the unwavering stare and the uncompromising stance of the cigar-smoking man made him slightly wary, framed as he was by the double-leaf doorway in an otherwise blank-faced building, like the gate-keeper to a secret world.

Glancing back into the alleyway, Joey saw that the five strange little men were now huddled together; although he couldn’t make out what they were muttering, by the way they were wildly gesticulating it was apparent that they were arguing amongst themselves. He wondered if he could somehow slip past them, it was either that or face the strangely intimidating man on the other side of the wall; Joey made his decision and eased himself down into the yard below.

Whilst Joey had been concentrating on his descent, the doors to the blank-faced building had closed; Joey jogged across the empty yard, the only sign that someone had been standing in the doorway was the still-smouldering cigar butt on the ground. Beyond the peeling wood, the strum of a rhythm guitar and the boom of a steady blues beat echoed inside the building.

Drawn to the music, Joey gripped the door-handle.

next episode

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Written in response to two challenges:

Di of Pensitivity 101’s Wednesday’s Three Things Challenge: TIMID, WARY, AFRAID
Denise Farley of GirlieOnTheEdge’s Sunday’s Six Sentence Story Word Prompt: RHYTHM

More #SixSentenceStories here!

Photo credit: illustration from a book somewhere on my bookshelves which has mysteriously disappeared🐪

Previously

Joey shot across the road and hurtled down the narrow alleyway that divided the terrace of tall buildings ahead of him, the northerly aspect of the dank thoroughfare rarely allowed the sun’s rays to penetrate, and his feet slid on the slippery cobbles.

Hearing a shrill whistle behind him, Joey skidded around a corner into an even narrower passage and then another, losing himself in the maze of Victorian dereliction. Behind him, pounding feet were closing in, their speed more than a match for Joey’s; he swung around the edge of another building only to find himself faced by a huge, crumbling brick wall. He turned to face his pursuers – five unusually short, squat individuals crowded in, filling the width of the alleyway.

Joey spun round and launched himself at the wall, fingers and toes desperately scrabbling for purchase in the missing mortar between the bricks; finally, with a heroic effort, he hauled himself to the top and straddled the wall.

Joey peered down into the yard on the other side, where a bearded man leaned on the edge of an open doorway, smoking an unpretending cigar; the man stared back up at him and slowly raised an eyebrow.

next episode

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Written in response to two challenges:

Di of Pensitivity 101’s Wednesday’s Three Things Challenge: HEROIC, PRETEND, ASPECT
Denise Farley of GirlieOnTheEdge’s Sunday’s Six Sentence Story Word Prompt: MATCH

Read more #SixSentenceStories here!

Photo credit: illustration from a book somewhere on my bookshelves which has mysteriously disappeared🐪