1300

1300 Words

Julie looked around her, the library was empty again!

Alone,  she thought.

She picked up her pencil and started to write ‘The Trial’. This was the homework for this week but she wasn’t sure how to start.

A trial, about what?

The obvious answer to that was a court trial but she didn’t want to write about that. She looked at the ideas sheet everyone had come up with in class. Ideas, some were good, but none that seemed to jump from the page. A personal trial was another. She was going though plenty of them right now but she didn’t want to write about them. How could she? There’re meant to be kept to yourself and all that. She went to the window, it was getting dark, the security light came on, a group of students were heading out for the evening. She watched as the silhouettes disappeared down the drive.

Oh well back to work

She sat back down, picked up her pencil and wrote the words ‘The Trial’ again.

The trial of writing this!

At this moment, creative writing’s a trial, a trial of patience. ‘Tick Tock’ she looked at the clock, she’d been there 2 hours and all she had written was ‘the trial’.

This is not good

If only she hadn’t stopped smoking she’d have a cigarette but no, she’d given up the week before, chuffed away on her inhalator or ‘gizmo’ as she called it. And until the pressure came on, thought she was doing fine. Maybe a cup of tea would do the trick but that meant going to her room

Would she come back?

Of course she would, she’d leave her work, take her mind for a walk, have a cuppa, then come back, that’s what she’d do.

After half an hour; she was back.

That worked

She was feeling refreshed, the tea did the trick, even though singing at the top of her voice helped too! She smiled and started to write ‘The Trial’ it was the third time she’d written it. She started to think about all the things the word ‘trial’ meant to her. What trials had she been though? Illness, court cases, addiction, raising a child they all took form in regards to ‘The Trial’. She looked around the library. She wondered how many of the hundreds of books in there would have some sort of trial in them. She knew the ones behind her would have they were about Ireland. She knew there’d been trials there. They’d covered that one last term in History, the crisis over Ulster, the Easter Rising, the Black and Tans and The Treaty. They were all trials one way or another. This term is about the trials in 17^th century England/Scotland, the trials for a king trying to rule too many countries and The Russian Revolution, the part where a Russian Tsar and his family were murdered, that’s a trial in itself, even though they never got one. She’d not even thought about them yet, this was her priority, 1300 words by next Tuesday, a short story on ‘the trial’ she wrote it down again that made four times on one line. Well at least she’d got repetition sorted. There were others in the library now. One was looking for a book, pacing back and forth staring sideways at the titles, as though he hadn’t got a clue what he was looking for and the others were working away on their own but none were writing a story on ‘the trial’, non of them were in her class. She wondered how the rest of her class were getting on. Had they started? Had they finished? Were they sitting in their rooms experiencing a trial without even knowing it? Or were they out and about enjoying themselves.

 She picked up the dictionary that lay on the table next to her

 Maybe the definition of ‘trial’ might help me focus

1. A formal examination of evidence in order to decide guilt in a case of civil or criminal proceedings.

No, that’s not any good, that’s a court trial

2. A test of performance, qualities or suitability.

Test of performance maybe, no.

3. Something that tests a person endurance or forbearance.

Yes that’s the one. That’s what I’m doing right now trying to write this story. Testing, my endurance. Pushing me, to the edge of my patience.

Now how would I start it?

She picked up her pencil to write.

Think of a character? Male or female?

Female, yes

Name?

Julie

What does Julie do?

She’s a student, having trouble writing a story for her Creative Writing class

Yes, a plan was forming. Ok.

Where is she?

She’s in the library. she’s packed up smoking and finding this task hard. Could do with a cigarette but decides against it

Taking out a packet of mints, she popped one into her mouth.

‘Tick Tock’ Julie looked at the clock, she needed to be in her room at 8.30pm for a phone call. It was 8.15pm now. She wondered if she should leave it and come back after the call or carry on.

Cup of tea time, I think

Julie got back to the library after her phone call and cuppa. While she was in her room, she’d written what it said in her Thesaurus about the word ‘trial’.

1. Court case

You know the obvious one, she giggled to herself.

2. A test

Like in a drugs test, when testing a new medication.

3. Nuisance

That’s what not having a cigarette is, a nuisance

She started to giggle. There was no one in the library now they’d all finished their work and left her sitting there on her own, so she laughed out loud.

4. Troubles

She’d already thought about them, not what she wanted to write about.

She picked up her pencil, read though her notes and started to write a freewrite, she didn’t like them very much. Writing quickly made her hand ache. 15 minutes later she stopped and read over what she had written. It sounded ok.

Needs a bit of tweaking

She counted the words, not quite 1300 but not that far off. It would have to be stretched. An extra sentence here, the odd word there and that would do it. This was turning out to be a trial in its self. She tried to think of a title, she didn’t want to use ‘The Trial’. The rest of the class were doing this exercise too and that would be the obvious title. Her’s had to be a little more original. She thought for a moment but nothing came.

The Story, maybe

No

She decided to leave the title till she’d finished the story, hoping that something would pop into her head when she was finished. She continued with another freewrite, her hand was throbbing as she wrote as quickly as she could.

Maybe another cuppa or something to eat

Now what to have? Cheese and crackers or chocolate?

Chocolate, it wins every time

A little while later she was back, she sat down at the table, took a fresh piece of paper and wrote on the top ‘1300 words’. That was the title, not a great title but original. She smiled at herself and looked around the library. She loved working in there, with its fusty smell, amongst all those great novels. It was like the words flowed out of the books, down the pencil and onto the page like water from a tap. She gathered all the bits of paper she had lying around her, read over it all again, sharpened her pencil and under the fresh title ‘1300 Words’ started to write her story.

Julie looked around her, the library was empty again!

Alone she thought.

© Mills Laine

September Flash A Day: Day 11....THE TOUCH

©David Vale

THE TOUCH

Cool silent rippling trickle

fingers meander and sway

dangle overboard with eyes

closed dreaming of

distant days of echoing memories

arches cast shadow from

the golden orb that

warm a dream language

defined by cupids

letters I memorized

beneath the bridge I

wished away at the touch

of your hand in mine

©Mills Laine

September Flash A Day: Day 10...FOR THE ATTENTION OF...

© Cassie Tillett

FAO.

13 September 2013

Miss Johnson

I know putting you on the window display rota in only your second week of working for Kimonos-R-Us, may have seemed a little ambitious. This decision was based on your extensive references in this department from some of the top named retail outlets from around the world.  It has come to my attention that on the morning of September 10th not only had you placed yourself within the display but also you were completely naked. Your supervisor June has indicated to me that you had applied to go on the television show ‘How to Look Good Naked’. I myself have not seen the show but my wife assures me it is a brave thing for you to have done, for this I congratulate you.

However, following this morning’s visit from the local constabulary and being issued with a large fine for indecent exposure.  I am afraid you’re fired!!

Yours

Mr Jones

(Owner & Manager) 

©Mills Laine

September Flash A Day: Day 9: EDIBLE MEMORY

© Cassie Tillett

EDIBLE MEMORY

Cupcakes on an open stand      

creamy frosting

sponge a crumbling 

creative decorations

they’re resting on my special plate

lips smacking

flavour longing

lasting memories

now sitting in my fulfilled belly

gone but not forgotten

©Mills Laine

September Flash A Day: Day 8: IDENTITY CRISIS

© Cassie Tillett

IDENTITY CRISIS

A saxophone sounded

is brass

not brass

the metal I'm made

of played with

a reed

a woodwind

didgeridoo bellows

is wood really

brass in season

when lips force

a rasp unseen

on the bandstand

©Mills Laine

September Flash A Day: Day 7: INVISIBLE

© David Vale

INVISIBLE

They do not see me
blurred figures
in my eye standing drowning
in the rain
still they do not see me
huddled together in
the face of the night
chilled multi-colour fill
the scene with golden warmth
but still they do not see me
souvenirs placed in
lonely companionship
the hard stone razar my
bottomless soles
and still they do not see me
silent screams leave swirling
blended within the
evenings bell-song
a caring comrade rings
the turning of life
yet still they do not see me
rested on cobbles old
rain droplets dilute
crimson ripples dance
in my eye lying dying
only now do they see me

©Mills Laine

September Flash A Day: Day 6: THE TREE

© David Vale

THE TREE

She waits for me warmed
caressed by the sun
in mockled shadows
soft skin rests on
moistened pillows
of velvet moss
closed eyes awaken
long lost memories dancing
with fragrant breaths
of flowers in her hair
time becomes a distant friend familiar
she waits for me there

©Mills Laine

September Flash A Day: Day 5: PAINT

© David Vale

PAINT

Sid arrived earlier for work than normal, the place was silent.  The years of doing the repetitive job had taken its toll. The cracks on the tiled floor mimicked the ones on his face. The paint on the ceiling looked like his sun-weathered arms. Night after night he came to the arcade and set up his tools of the trade. He was a young man when he started here; fresh faced, clean and youthful. These days he felt the years. Walking down the gallery he gazed at the evening stars through the arches. He would miss this place, the peace. He looked at the walls and sighed, it was only yesterday he had made them good as new.  It had been an endless fight to keep the paint fresh. Each time he came, someone else came later. Each time he painted, someone else painted over it. It had been the council who decided the arcade would be closed off to stop the graffiti. Sid would be out of a job, but for tonight  it was safe. He reached down, chose his colour and  in large liquid like motions sprayed 'Sid was here'.

©Mills Laine

September Flash A Day: Day 4... FRIENDSHIP

© Cassie Tillett

FRIENDSHIP

He only wanted a door of his own

In the corner way out of sight

He'd pop in and out at his own free will

In the morning n last thing at night

His tapping was only a very small sound

Not one that could be heard from afar

Usually the little old lady from flat one

Would leave the door slightly ajar

He’d squatter beneath the stairwell

She’d leave nibbles for him on the ground

He’d coo in response to her speaking

She’d smile at the friend she had found

But today the door remains fastened

And her curtains still remain closed

He coos n taps as loud as he could

For his friend that no one else knows

When the door opens they pass him

No one but her really cared

About the birdie that sat in the corner

Of the doorstep that all of them shared

©Mills Laine

September Flash A Day. Day 3: CASTING PROTECTION

©DavidVale

CASTING PROTECTION

Anthony thought I was mad the day I came home with the umbrella, a large colourful striped one that sat neatly in a hole in my cart. For years I had worked this spot. Shadowed under the tall apartment buildings on either side where the sun rarely reaches the ground. The wind gusts down Long Lane and flicks up the papers on sale, I use a peg to secure them. On Monday the chatter of women echoes above my head followed by the un-oiled squeaks from the pulleys. Lifting the tines of the umbrella to its full height it casts a shield over my wares. Anthony looked puzzled at me.

‘It’s to finally protect the paper’ I said

‘Protect it from what’ asked Anthony

Drip, drip, drip

‘Washing day’ I sighed

September Flash A Day. Day 2: TRADITION

© Cassie Tillitt

TRADITION

It had become a repeated ritual

the Saturday 10am start

 four old friends shared

and laughed at the memories

of this continuing  thirty years part

They chose to meet on the corner

buy papers  from  'ye olde tuck shop'

a quick skip and

a swing passed the bakers

for  a sausage n brown sauce filled cob

They parked themselves down

by the harbour

 on the bench that sat at the head

these days it seemed a bit smaller

the curse of the middle age spread

They smiled n chat while

they waited

for the sight they had come down to see

the water lay still like a mirror

conditions the best they could be

Sitting forward, Bob shouted

‘they’re coming

I  see the ripple that’s made by the oar

highlight of my week is this passing

by the women’s cox-less four’

©Mills Laine

September flash a day....Day 1: RETIREMENT

©DavidVale

RETIREMENT

John picked up the ride token before it escaped through the gap in the pier floor.

‘I’ll save that’ he thought, as he popped it into his pocket.

He loved looking through the slats to the undulating waves beneath, lit by the multi-coloured lights that adorned the pleasure park. This was his favourite time, closing time. The smell of burgers and candy-floss still hung in the air. The latest songs echoed around the empty rides. Chip papers floated on the cool sea breeze. For forty years he had walked the pier, the gate keys hanging idly from a chain on his belt. Tonight was to be his last, unsure of what the future held for him away from here. He slipped the large clanking chain through the gates and fixed the lock, shaking it, just to make sure!  Reaching up he twisted the bulb in the light that illuminates the entrance sign till it flickered on. Standing back he read the newly pasted poster.

CLOSED

KEEP OUT

DUE FOR DEMOLITION

©Mills Laine

Tinsel, Turkey and Tina Turner

Tinsel, Turkey and Tina Turner

‘Can’t believe you whipped your shoes off and went in’

Betty were standin’ at the door with her back to the driver. Looking up he sighed and gave me the thumbs up and a wink.

‘And why not, it’s my night away from home, it’s meant to be fun’ I said.

‘But it’s November, it’s dark and you’re…’

‘I’m what?’

‘Well I don’t like to say, ducky’

‘Well you’d better say. I’m what?  Too old to go paddlin’! Is that it?’

‘Well I certainly wouldn’t been seen doing it’

The driver were givin’ a wide-eyed look and shakin’ his head. It took me nearly all me strength not to laugh. But I held me reserve and tootled back to me seat…barefoot!

‘Honestly Jan, you don’t arf make me laugh’

‘Well she deserved it Pat, stupid stuck up woman that she is!’

I squatted down and wiped me feet with the tea-towel out me bag. Sittin’ up I saw that Betty had finished countin’ the heads of the returnees and were now tappin’ the driver on shoulder with one hand and had the other gripped tightly round a microphone.

‘You can get going in a minute Bob’

Bob gestured in agreement and started the engine.

‘Now ladies and gentleman…hello, one, two, testing, is this thing on Bob?’

‘Aye’

‘Oh yes, err hello, can I have your attention please?’

‘Oh no, not the bloody attention bit again’

Rose, two seats forward, twiddled with the volume on her hearin’ aid.

‘Am not listenin’ to her rattlin’ on again about stoppin’ for a pee break in half hour, bad enough we’re stoppin’ for tea-breaks in between, I’m sloshin’ around ‘ere like a water  filled balloon, giz us a nudge Mabel will ya when she’s sat down.’

‘Aye, will do ducky’

Rose gazed out the window, while Mabel rubbed her arthritic knees.

‘We should be arriving in Bramley in three quarters of an hour. Is that about right Bob?’

‘Aye’

‘We’ll stop then in case the need to… well, spend a penny takes any of you’

‘I would love to spend a penny if it TAKES you’

Pat slapped me gently on the arm whilst whisperin’ in her usual loud voice.

‘Jan stop it! You are a one, I’m sure you do it so she’ll hear you’

‘Don’t care if she does, pee and tea every half hour, silly bissom’

Forty-five minutes later Bob pulled into the Bramley Arms car park.

‘Ok folks, we’ll stop for fifteen minutes, tea and pee break.. ok? .we’ll be arriving at the Hillview Hotel in about an hour, dinner is due about eight. Is that right Bob?’

‘Aye’

‘So be back for six ok?’

Betty threw the microphone onto her seat, grabbed her handbag and was off the bus straight into the ladies, like a rat up a drainpipe.

‘I tell ya, that woman! Me and her. We will. Am tellin’ ya’

Rose’s hearin’ aid was back up to pin drop level. She sat shakin’ her head.

‘So hang on’ I said. ‘ we’re leavin’ ‘ere at six, gettin’ to the ‘otel be seven and eatin’ at eight...so at what point are we meant to be gerrin’ changed into these flamin’  costumes?’

Mine would take me at least half hour to get in to. And that’s not includin’ a shower . Ya see I decided to go as Tina Turner. Made me sen a gold dress n everythin’,  me daughter helped me pick the material. I’d searched all over town till I found a longish curly wig. I’d watched loads of videos of her. Oh aye she don’t arf  look good for her age.

‘So who you goin’ as?’

‘I’m simply the best!!’ I sang while standing up shaking me tush.

‘Who’s that supposed to be?’ laughed Pat.

I sat back down. Pat were never one for ‘avin’ a good memory except for where she’d left her ciggies. Usually on the bar next to the most flashin’ lookin’ fella that were there.  Not much luck on this trip though. We had to sort pal up with the over sixty’s from the next town.  This was our annual Turkey n Tinsel night out, it should have been just that, a night out but of course the ‘club committee’ i.e. Betty and her sidekick Susan decided it would be best if we stayed over.

‘Don’t fret Jan, dinner’s at nine, well it’s a buffet really’

Susan turned from her seat behind the driver. She was a timid little creature, who hung behind Betty like a shadow. It was a strange kind of friendship which I reckon were born off the back of the club. When me and Pat joined there were only five members including Susan and Betty. They were the young uns back then. The other three had formed the group sometime back in the seventie’s. They’d all shuffled off and left them two to get on wi it.

‘So what were Betty on with then?’ I said.

‘God knows, I think she’s got the wrong brochure or something’

I showed Pat the flimsy bit a glossy paper in me hand. The hotel on the front looked impressive; in reality the picture lied. Pat scanned the info inside.

‘Ah...yes, Turkey n Tinsel Cabaret Buffet. Nine pm, Oxford hall, Fancy dress optional.’

‘Bloody eight pm!! Stupid bissom’ I said

‘You did say we wanted a twin room didn’t ya Mabel?’

‘Of course, Rose...Why?

‘And it’s not next to ‘er is it?’

‘Well I don’t know do I’

‘Bloody hope not...here Susan!’

 ‘Yes Rose?’

‘You booked the rooms didn’t ya’

‘Yes Rose’

‘And are you sharin’ wit Betty?’

‘Yes Rose’

‘And...This is important! Have you booked our room to be the one next door to yours?’

‘No Rose, I remember you saying that you didn’t want to be next door to us’

‘Too bloody right I don’t’

‘So I put you opposite!’

Susan winked at me and got off the bus, grinnin’ like a crescent moon.

‘She did what!!!’ Rose shreaked.

Laughin’, I turned to Pat.

‘Ya see, told ya, Susan does have a sense of humour’

When Susan returned with Betty we were still laughin’ at Rose’s expense. She’d turned her hearin aid down again and were mumblin’ and did so for resta journey. It were just after seven when we arrived at Hillview Hotel. Giant floodlights lit it up like an escaped prisoner. It were great to get off that bus. Four hours sittin’ straight plays havoc on ya joints, even with the tea and pee breaks. Bob shifted the cases out from the hatches under the bus. Each took their own and headed for the main entrance.

‘Oh god I hope the bar’s open Jan, I could kill for a G n T’

‘Yeah I know what ya mean Pat, you goin’ to have a ciggie before we go in?’

‘Yeah I think I will’

With that, like rebellious teenagers we grabbed the handles of our suitcases and full of determination and bunions, marched off towards the smoker’s area. It were a slow paced march.

 A little after eight fifteen, me and Pat appeared outside the door of the Oxford Hall. There were large mirror on the wall and we stood checkin’ us out.

‘This material ain’t arf makin’ me skin itch Pat’

‘Stop stratchin’, ya makin’ ya arm red...watcha think hat or no hat?’

I looked at both suggestions, the hat did finish off the air hostess outfit...but the support stockins and sensible shoes gave it a...well let’s just say it were no ‘fly me’ statement.

‘Let me just nip out for a ciggie before we face that lot Jan, don’t think I could handle Rose as Mary Whitehouse without nicotine’

‘Yeah ok, but I’m not wantin’ to be long, ooh me feet are killin’ me in these heels’

Pat looked at my sensible shoes and the one inch high heel...so ok maybe sprayin’ ‘em gold were a bit over-the-top as she pointed out the paint splash on me ankle but they did match me dress.

‘Nice outfit Rose’ I said ten minutes later as we sat down at our table near the stage.

‘She’s turned her hearin’ aid down Jan, she don’t fancy listenin’ to the comedian that’s comin’ on’

Mabel pointed to the bill board. Lenny Brookemyer funny-man extraordinaire looked more like a bouncer in drag than a comic. He were on after a dance group and as it turned out were about as funny as a plastic coat-hanger. I nudged Pat and gestured if she wanted a ciggie. Relieved to escape we crossed the hotel foyer. 

‘Where you two going? I’ve been looking for Betty; you’ve not seen her have ya?’

Turnin’, me and Pat were faced with Dorothy complete with sparkly red shoes, a blonde wig and toy dog.

‘Lookin’ good Susan’ Pat said

‘Oh thanks Pat, you two look great’

‘Ta ducky, so where’s Betty then? Ya said ya were lookin’ for er’

‘No idea Jan, she left the room saying she’d see us downstairs, but that was over an hour ago’

‘Oh dunni worry about ‘er, she’s a big girl... in more ways than one! She can look after herself. Who she dressed as?’

‘Cher...’

‘CHER!!’ both me and Pat said together.

‘Yeah, long black curly wig, high heeled boots AND spandex!!!! It was not a pretty sight...anyway I’d best get back in there’ said Susan pointing towards the Oxford Hall.

Me and Pat just stood staring at each other, we both knew exactly what we were thinking. It just took a moment before the words came out.

            ‘Cher’ Pat said

            ‘Spandex?’ I said ‘I knew she were goin’ to dress up, but I were thinkin’ more Ethel Merman than Cher’

            ‘Definitely need that ciggie now Jan, don’t know if I could ever face Betty in spandex’

Headin’ outside, Pat rummaged in her bag for her fags. Findin’ em, she went in again for a light. It were then the flame appeared bein’ held in the hand of a rather dashin’ grey-haired gentleman.

‘Oh ta duck’ Pat said.

‘Duck? Did you just call me a duck, is that normal in your neck of the woods?’

I looked at Pat, waitin’ for an answer...silence! Her gaze were fixed, I giv her a quick shifty in the side and back to earth she came turnin’ red on re-entry. The man grinned. It were then I saw he were not on his own.

‘Oh hello’ I said

‘Hello’

He were tall, dark and handsome and if I’d bin thirty years younger I’d ‘ave told him so.

‘So what brings you beautiful ladies to Hillview?

‘Turkey and Tinsel, ain’t that right Pat’

‘Sorry what...oh yes! Turkey for Christmas dinner!’

 Pat had gone off into space again. I waved me hand in front of her face...nothin’!

‘You’ll have to excuse me friend here, she goes a bit loopy after a fag...’

‘Looks like he’s gone to the same place’

He nodded towards his friend, who was eye locked with Pat.

‘Yep looks like it’ I said.

‘So turkey and tinsel eh? sounds intriguing. A lot better than what we’ve got going on inside, I’m Tom by the way.’

‘Nice to meet ya Tom, I’m Jan.  Yeah turkey and tinsel aka The sixty plus Christmas doo, that’s turned into a free for all one night stay here, for fancy dress, bingo, and bed by ten’

‘Aha that explains the outfits’ 

‘What about you?’ I said.

‘Same’

We both laughed at that. He were a tall chap with a look of Howard Keel about him. He ‘ad brushed back silvery ‘air and wore a very flash waistcoat.

‘Here, what you two laughin’ about?’ said Pat.

‘Bed by ten’ Tom said.

Pat looked puzzled.

‘Right ‘ave you done with that fag yet? am gaggin’ for a drink.’ I said.

‘Nearly’

‘You wanting a drink? We got some bottles in the back of the van you’re welcome to pop over for a swig or two’

Tom were lookin’ towards me in a kinda elbow-in-the-ribs, one eye shut fashion. I felt meself goin’ red but before I could reply, a loud voice appeared.

‘Yoohoo hello girls!!’

Me and Pat turned. Good god, the sight that met our eyes...it were like Ann Widdecombe in a blonde wig and spandex.

‘Oh hello Betty! Nice outfit’ Pat said.

I were tempted to say something but bit me lip instead...I think it were shock, it’s not offen am lost for words.

‘Oh hello gentlemen, are you here with the other over sixty-ers?’

‘Err no, I’m Detective Sergeant Tom Rothmore and this is DC Geoff Baines.’

Both men were lookin’, both men looked stunned.

‘Oh you’re policemen, is there anything wrong? I’m sure our driver is well...’

‘Not at all, we were just about to nip over to the van with these young ladies for a quick one...’

‘Excuse me!!!’ Betty said.

‘It’s alright you can come too’

Me and Pat spun and looked at each other. Both our faces had the same – please say no – look on them.

‘Err no, we need to get inside, prizes for best fancy dress is coming up’

‘Well it will have to be a rain-check then’

Tom winked at me, took me hand and gently pressed his lips onto it. Pat and Geoff were exchangin’ bits o paper. They shook hands and we watched as they wandered off to the van.

‘Great timin’ Betty’ I said.

‘Yep bloody spot on!’ said Pat as we wandered back inside while ‘Cher’ totted off ahead.

‘So come on then, what were on that bit o paper?’

‘Phone number, it were easier than me tryin’ to put it in that mobile thing, I’ll get our Jem to do it when we get back, Geoff also put about us meetin’ them later for that drink!’

‘O eye, when?’ I said

‘In half hour, he told us to wait by the door to the Cambridge hall’

‘Best get this judgin’ over with then.’

Arf hour later, clutchin’ me rosette for second prize, we stood by the door opposite the Oxford hall. It swung open and Geoffs hand reached out for Pats and dragged her inside. I stood alone for a sec, not knowin’ what to do wit’ meself, when Tom came out.

‘Hello Jan, ah second prize, well deserved, are you ready for that drink now?’

‘Oooh I could murder a cuppa’ I said ‘but I’ll settle for a glass of white’

‘Come on then’ Tom said takin’ me by the hand. ‘I hope you can dance’

‘Well I used to do a mean jive but not so sure now days, its bin a while since I did any dancin’, let alone stay up past me bedtime’

‘There’ll be no early to bed for you tonight Tina!’

We both laughed as he pushed open the door to the Cambridge Hall.

            ‘And why not?’ I said ‘it’s my night away from home, it’s meant to be fun.’

©Mills Laine

Frosted Needles (warning explicit language)

The large steel door creaked and slammed shut as Adam climbed the last few steps to the roof. As he shuffled towards the railings the bitterly cold chill cut its way through his clothing. Heavy frost clung to every surface; only solitary thawed drops were allowed to escape. Adam shivered as one found its path through his layers to warm skin….hanging his head, he sighed.  Beneath him, frosted crystals shone with an orange aura, twinkling in the streetlights. It looked like glitter. He thought of a Christmas card that once stood on the mantle…he sighed again.  On the floor by the railings Adam spotted a small coin nestled in bed of frosted needles. He picked it up and looked at it. Lifting his head he gazed at his view; there was a calm warmth about it, all golden and at rest. For a while he stood completely motionless, the only movement being a tuft of his coal black hair twitching in the breeze…

‘Why are you sighing? You sad piece of shit! I suppose you think that by hanging your head down being miserable, that no one notices you. But they do notice…because you smell and you’re filthy. They notice because they know what you did!’

Looking over the edge, Adam noticed how close the ground seemed. He stroked the face on the coin.

‘Yeah go on flip it, heads you don’t, tails you do, at least then you’ll feel like you've got some fucking control…ha ha ha’

Heads

Adam tried to ignore the irritating verbal in his head. The voice pierced through his every waking thought. It dug deep into his dreams when he slept, if he slept. It had been his constant companion for the last few weeks and Adam was drained! His clothes were torn and filthy. Faded jeans covered thin white legs; a black t-shirt clung to his skinny torso. The hooded sweatshirt he wore as a jacket was as waterproof as a paper bag and not much warmer. The sleeves hid the intimacy he’d had with a razor once. His face was tear-stained from bloodshot eyes. The grime of the streets was five years thick and home was a corner of the roof-space.  He had reached that place in the dark where there were no more lights. Trying to control his thoughts Adam started to hum his favorite song…the verbal piped up again…

‘Humming? Seriously! Do you actually think that will shut me up, drown me out? What a waste of space you are. I suppose you think you can sing? You know what will shut me up’

Tails

The wind was picking up a little, a layer of snow thick enough for a covering had settled while he’d been stood there. The town below echoed that on the Christmas card, all peaceful and calm. Closing his eyes, he remembered, snow angels, ice-dens and icicles as ‘long as your arm’ and how the snow suffocated all that lay beneath it…he dropped his head again and sighed.

‘Oh there you go being all sentimental…you stupid prick! Bloody snow-angels… what a joke!!...I remember you as a boy!!! Pathetic little git who wet himself all the time…Smelly Wiggins… yeah that’s what they called you…’

Heads

Adam thought back to his childhood. Verbal was right! The local kids were cruel, most kids are. They didn't know what kind of life he was living. They didn’t see what he saw. To them he was just a tatty kid. Deprived of the things that make children smile; toys, sweets, holidays, clothes, shoes, food and love.

There was a happier time, him and mum had just moved into the town and he was starting a new school. The house was clean, mum was clean; he was clean. Then the dickhead came, then Sally came, then..., Adam signed again. From that moment all memories of being happy always included Sally.

‘What’s that? You happy! When? Never… that’s when!! As long as I've known you ain't ever been happy…you’re just a sad little prick. Ah yes Sally! Pretty little thing, you two were close. She idolized you, shame! She knows what you did.  Can you live with that...now you’re all alone?’

Tails

The crap wasn't obvious at first, the odd shouting spat and a broken window or two. Things were ok. It was around the time Sally started walking that it changed. The drink, the names, the shouts, the slaps, pushes, punches, tears and pain all rained down on three of them. The dickhead would always be bringing boxes of stolen stuff home. Mum would always be making herself look beautiful just so he could call her a slag and then after it would be him, Adam, holding her while she’d cried. He remembered the first time his mum scarred her skin. The first time he saw her with a black eye and the first time he felt the same. He stopped going to school. He stayed at home, helped look after Sally, while mum slept off the drunken abuse from the night before.  Adam remembered that Christmas…the last one at home …

‘Yeah Christmas, what started that fight? You know…that fight!!! That moment! What was it that pushed that button? You know they will find him…you didn't hide the body right, cause you’re a fucking idiot. Five years of weather will reveal it…then they will find you’

Tails

Closing his eyes again Adam pictured the knife, upright in the body on the living room floor. Christmas was trashed but the presents remained wrapped. Mum had run out with Sally when the fight began. When they returned, both men were gone. On Boxing Day when Adam came back, his mum went for him. Slapping his face while she screamed, she believed the dickhead had just left her and it was his fault. For all his pleading no amount of truth broke through the beaten down woman’s head. Without a goodbye, Adam left…

‘She never believed you. She blamed you!!! She just thinks he left, what if she knew the truth, maybe she does know! You never even said goodbye to Sally…bet she hates you now. What would she say if she saw you, you sad bleeding twat…she’s better off without you!’

Tails

Adjusting his grip, Adam felt the metal frozen to his skin…a gentle pull and the fresh breeze cut though the new reddened sore on his palm.

‘Oh now look what you've done you stupid git. Fucking freeze burn. Go on! I see you looking…thinking that will shut me up…go on!!.........let go…

Tails

Verbal’s tone had taken a lower sinister feel to it…like a razor sharp whisper. Adam opened his eyes and looked down. There were lights now coming from a small café a short distance away. He could smell coffee and bacon. Smoke and steam were illuminated by the coldness in the air. The day was awakening and Adam knew it was time to move on.

****************************

Sticking her nose over the polystyrene cup, Sally inhaled the aroma of her hot coffee. Sitting on the wide window ledge she leaned back and glanced up at the falling snow. She smiled remembering when she was little. The ice dens in the garden, games invented by Adam to hide from the bad stuff indoors. They made snow angels, his little angel Adam would say. For as far back as she could remember it was always her and Adam. Mum was asleep a lot during the day and the waste of space she shacked up with walked through them like they didn't exist…until that Christmas…

Adam had been a memory for years; her social worker said that he’d gone off the radar…whatever that meant? She knew she missed him. Even more on days like this. She wasn't angry anymore that he’d left, she just thought of him often. It had been rough. Mum left leaving Sally behind, she was sixteen; it turned out to be a blessing. With Adams help Sally had grown up savvy, she was smart, a hard worker. This knowledge had served her well…

Sally loved town on mornings like this. She glanced down the road. The soft white blanket wrapped itself over the ground, hiding the gloomy littered speckled streets. The rain that fell the day before had frozen overnight and glistening shards hugged to every surface. A golden glow added a fire like heat. There was a peace that only a select group of eyes saw. Sally was one of the lucky ones. The first of the days transport were leaving tracks in the fresh virgin snow. The small café on the corner had just opened. Familiar faces greeted her as she smiled a ‘hi’ at them. Every morning Sally brought her coffee here. Every morning she saw the same people. Every morning she sat on the same ledge and every morning was the same…until…

Sally looked at the small coin nestling on a bed of frosted needles; she looked up to see a face looking back.

‘What is it?’ a voice called.

‘Heads’ Sally replied.

©Mills Laine

Phoenix

PHOENIX

 ‘You flat-lined for 19 seconds’ the gentle handed man- who was sat on the edge of my bed - said.

Not the usual response you expect when waking up. But there he was, gently tapping my hand. Informing me that the day before...I died! But he and his colleague had saved me. Now I know what you must be thinking...what did I die of? Well blood loss...I think! The gentle handed man did say I also needed a full blood transfusion. So I assume that ‘death’ happened around the same time. The pain in my chest was from the defibrillator. Never did I think when seeing it being used on TV. That it would hurt so bloody much. I felt like someone had knelt on my chest for a lifetime.

So there I was lying in bed being tapped on the hand whilst trying to get my head round my ‘death’. Have you ever stopped still and counted 19 seconds...it takes ages!! I did wonder if at any point the gentle handed man or his colleague thought...

‘Oh sod it, she’s dead...lets just leave it, we can be in the pub by 12’

I have to admit. I’m very glad that they chose not to ‘sod it’. I think I fell in love with that gentle handed man on my bed. He told me I had second chance at life and must make every bit of his life-saving certificate count. So I lay there thinking about what I could do. Being as right now I couldn’t even tell if I was peeing myself or not. The future did not look bright.

The gentle handed man has gone on his rounds. He’s left me lying, thinking, planning, and weighing up the pros and cons of a lifestyle ‘change’. I was thinking my life had changed. No longer could I develop a little person inside me. There was no womb for it. I’d spent decades trying with no success. I’d had years of pain from the development of a lesser known disease I caught after the birth of my son. Now I was relieved.

Later that day, I attempted to eat some ‘nutritious food’ which basically involved slurping down some red jelly stuff and being sick afterwards. Even so I did manage to roll myself out of bed. Whilst attached by a thin clear tube to the hat-stand that housed a bag of fluid. This clear liquid had been dripping into my arm ever since my ‘death’. Hat-stand had become a permanent fixture. I loved Hat-Stand with its bag of fluid. Which was good as it was to be my companion for the next few days. Anyway, after rolling out of bed...I went to the shower room. Lifting the yucky nightie I had to wear for modesty sakes. I glanced at the black n blue mess that was my stomach. I cried.

The event that followed reminded me of potty training my son, although could have done without the ‘how to’ instructions. The need to go but endless waiting as the body refuses to let go. Needless to say a long while later I emerged. Relieved!

I’d been told by the gentle handed man. I needed to walk around, not lie in bed all the time. My brain was saying ‘hang on a cotton pigging minute...I did die you know, in bed is exactly where I want to be’. But the gentle handed man insisted...telling the blue clothed woman not to feed me till I’d walked. So Hat-Stand and I went for a walk. All the way to the end of the corridor and all the way back again. A forty foot round trip that in future would take me a few minutes. Today however...half an hour! Passing the windows of my shared room, I could see sad, painful looks. Sick women lying on their beds, attempting to watch TV with no sound as one had just been brought back from theatre...she was snoring!

At lunchtime I was sat at the table awaiting my walks reward. A large male entered with a silver trolley that smelt great. As I died the day before, my lunch was the choice of whomever. It comprised of brown stuff next to white stuff. A glass of juice, at least I think it was juice, and a pot of red jelly like stuff. I gave that a miss. I played with my ‘food’ like I was 6 years old again. Childlike, I made swirly patterns by mixing the brown and white stuff together to make lighter brown stuff. Painkillers rock!

At 2 o’ clock a woman in white came in. She turned off the silent TV. Closed the curtains and informed us that it was ‘nap time’. Sixty minutes rest before the families arrive. As I had been ‘active’ the thought of going back to sleep was annoying. I told the woman in white that I didn’t want to sleep as I had slept and died yesterday. Today with the help of painkillers I wanted to live. She was having none of it. I napped.

When I woke, I asked if it was possible to go for a shower. Yellow stuff was coating my black n blue stomach. I felt mucky, dirty, like I’d been buried in custard. It had got into all the cracks. ‘If you’re careful of your stitches’ the blue clothed woman said. Hat-stand and I showered.

The gentle handed man came back just before the next round of red jelly stuff. He sat on the edge of my bed. He asked me how I’m feeling and had I walked, eaten and been to the bathroom. He is so polite. I love him. I said I felt ok but in a lot of pain. He replied with ‘take it easy, don’t rush, and give yourself time to heal’. I have all the time in the world...I said.  

The large male with the silver trolley passed the gentle handed man in the doorway. I walked to the table and waited. The six year old inside already had knife n fork in hand, waiting to mix and mash the colours to make yuck! The adult outside was hoping there were other colours being served. Who got their wish? Yes you guessed it! YUCK!

The shared room takes on a mystical appearance in the evening hours. The snorer was awake but quiet. The TV had some volume but only if you were sat under it.  The hands on the clock counted down to family time.  I wondered if there was somewhere I could go. Somewhere quiet, away from families. I didn’t want to nap. I didn’t want to be visited. I wanted to think. I wanted to plan. The fire exit door brought a welcomed cool breeze.

The families had gone when I returned to the shared room. The TV was silent. The snorer was well....snoring! Jigsaws and books filled the spaces in the other women’s heads. I sat on my bed. I lay a hand on my stomach. The painkillers had worn off enough for me to feel pain.  I cried.

The woman in blue brought my daily pills and changed the bag on Hat-Stand. I lay quietly on my bed till the warm pill blanket covered me. I closed my eyes. The gentle handed man would be here soon. My mood lifted.

The gentle-handed man’s voice was kind and soft.

‘How do you feel?’ he whispered.

I opened my eyes.

‘Alive’ I said.

©Mills Laine