Chance passing.

Chance passing.

I inhabited a park bench where few choose to sit, he occupied its opposite end. A boy of eight or nine, grubby face, scuffed shoes with unkempt hair and a threadbare coat, inappropriate for December. He shivered and cried.

"What grief besets you boy?"

"My mother is...dying," he rubbed his reddened eyes.

"That is sad boy, what ails her?"

"Cholera sir."

"There is a vaccine?"

"Too late."

"So, can I help in any way?"

"You are kind, but her die is cast."

"What is your name boy, and where will you go?"

"My name is Arthur. Where I go should not overly concern you. I am here to await her final demise and bear her up to heaven."

"If you are so certain of her salvation why do you weep?"

"I weep for another. One who has strayed from the path and is endangering his immortal soul. I seek to turn him to the right path before his end becomes inevitable. He has lost his faith and is in dire need of guidance."

"Can I aid you in your quest?"

"You can sir."

"Then tell me what I must do; if it is within my power it shall be done!"

"Your word sir?"

"You have it!"

The boy smiled, "father, return home, bury your wife and renew your faith."

I moved closer that I might better see his face, could it be? "Arthur my son, how could I not recognize you? I buried you just nine months past. The Scarlett fever that stole you from me, stole all purpose from my life."

"My two sisters have need of a father. Take care of the living, let me attend to mothers passing soul." He smiled, and paled becoming ethereal, "By your own word, we will meet again. Farewell, father."

300 Words.

This story won second prize in the Yellow Advertiser Ghost story competition 2016.

Footprints in the Sand.

Footprints in the Sand.

The moment I set eyes on her I was smitten!  It was pure unadulterated lust.  If I could have, I would have stripped her naked and ravished her on the spot, her eyes told me the feeling was mutual.

"This is the girl I intend to marry," said Clive, my brother. 

She offered me her hand, "I'm Valery McDonald," she said looking deep into my eyes.

"Hi, I'm Charlie Kane," I said.  Now I want you to know that I do love my brother, so while she went to avail herself of the facilities I told him that she would not make good wife material.

"She is not the girl for you Clive, so don't get your hopes up."

He took it hard and called me a lot of unkind names.  finally, he stormed out slamming the door hard behind him. 

I watched from the window of the family seafront chalet, as he stomped off down the beach, leaving deep footprints in the sand.

 He was out of sight when her immaculately manicured hand came to rest beside mine on the windowsill.  I carefully placed my hand over hers and turned.  With trembling breath, I drew her to me.  Her eyes sparkled with desire; I noted fresh lip gloss and perfume had been applied. Her body was firm and warm, responsive to my embrace.  We kissed, not as friends, but as demanding sensual creatures driven by an insatiable hunger.  Our lips met, tongues fenced as we frantically struggled to divest ourselves of encumbering clothes, while still maintaining close physical contact.  I looked deep into those dark sienna eyes, as I undid her bra, cupping her petite breasts in my hands.  I gazed in admiration at her lean naked bronze body.  I nibbled her hard dark nipples, she moaned and planted her knee between my legs, tantalisingly massaging my inner thighs.  We had sex.

 Hunger slaked we showered and dressed in silence.  It had been good; so we exchanged numbers and promised to meet again.  We dallied, drank coffee and talked, she told me that Clive was a mistake she wouldn't be making again. Finally, she left and I waited alone for his return.  I sat in the dark sad at the way the day had turned out for him.  I wanted to hug him and tell him I love him and why I had been so sure.

Life has a way of changing us all in odd ways that we can never fathom. Life is a cynic, a comic, a mimic, a purveyor of sorrow.  It makes friends of foes and enemies of friends.  The one certainty in life is uncertainty, the other is death.

 When next I gazed out the window some hours later, all the footprints had been washed away by the tide but Clive had still not returned.  So, before leaving, I placed a carefully worded note in a prominent position, tactfully explaining all; as any concerned big sister would do.

Words: 503

Alone Again...

Alone Again...

Star Date 1: My first log entry.  I witness the flotilla of 25 ships led by captain Selervos setting out for the stars in search of habitable planets.  

Star Date 983: A jolt of electricity breeches my sleep mode.  Two ships attempt to escape from the planet, they do not succeed,  they are destroyed by missiles from the surface.  I continue my vigil in sleep mode. Time has no relevance. 

Star Date 2345: All signs of war have ceased and no obvious signs of life remain on the planet.  I am alone, the caretaker, watching over wasted lands.  Sentinel presiding over a devastated world, I have been told it will recover with time, and I am to monitor for signs of its rebirth. 

Star Date 3872: The charred waste finally begins to bloom again, there is water on the surface and signs of green plants growing once more.  It is time for me to sample the atmosphere and send out my report to the stars, by a narrow beam burst, in the direction taken by the flotilla, the only remaining remnants of humanity.

Star Date 4817: My next significant log date.  A heavy meteor shower, originating from the Oort cloud is on a collision course with the planet.

 I have destroyed the largest but have sustained damage. This station was struck by a number of large pieces of rock, compromising the integrity of its structure.  I have lost communications with parts of the station and my memory is somewhat impaired.  Extensive checks confirm that I can still fulfil the functions and operations I was put here to perform.  Many of the damaged systems will be automatically repaired over time, and I have plenty of time...

Star Date 14689: Communications received from an external source, have been monitored before but only sporadically, they were not significant enough to bring me to full consciousness. They didn't merit a log entry or a response, which would give them a heading and contravene the prime directives:

1. To protect the planet.

2. Forward regular progress reports.

3. Do not respond to unauthenticated signals.  When it returns, the flotilla will identify itself with the name of the flagship and that of its captain.

Star Date 15103: Log entry ~ contacted directly by three craft entering the solar system:

    

"Hail to Sol, be we here, beings of intel to converse.  We be they forebears returning from far stars..."

"SENTINEL HERE.  IDENTIFY!"

"Be we Atlanteens hailing off New Atlantis, returning visitors to the homeplace."

"NAME OF VESSEL AND CAPTAIN!"

"Cap Nooha of headship Harkanos."

"YOU DO NOT HAVE AUTHORIZATION TO APPROACH.  HOLD YOUR POSITION!"

"We slow for parle."

"DO NOT PASS THE ORBIT OF JUPITER OR I WILL LAUNCH NUKES."

"Chill bro, easy flow, watcha wanna know?"

"PASSWORD IS VESSEL AND CAPTAIN, YOU WILL RECEIVE NO FURTHER WARNING!"

"Me be cap Nooha of headship Harkanos.  Oters be Cap Valedese of Revithon, Cap Caspeus of Hespero, we friendship offer.  But, we retal if agro come this way."

"DO NOT PASS JUPITER..."

They disregard my warning so I launch three missiles, they retaliate against the planet; it disintegrates.  two ships explode, the damaged Harkanos passes Mars and force lands on Earth.  Over time, a large remnant of Atlantis is captured by the Earth taking a stable orbit as a moon.

Pieces of greenery, water and other debris from Atlantis float down to the planet's surface and thrive.  I look on.  A failure.  I was unable to protect Atlantis. 

Star Date 28765: The wreck of the Harkanos is no more.  It was abandoned and over the centuries forgotten, Buried in the mists of time.  But its crew multiply and thrive on Earth, I view them occasionally.  Generations flash by with such rapidly; humans are so short-lived.

Star Date 28766: I look on from the asteroid belt, all that remains of the planet Atlantis.  Still awaiting the return of captain Selervos and his flotilla.

Alone again...

663 words

New Horizons.

New Horizons. 

He looked upon that familiar, now abandoned, space, Seeing it with new eyes.

The faded twill seat, worn shiny on one side where his left arm had rested firmly over the years.  The dark green phone, silent now. The lighter ring of wood where the varnish had been worn away by the mug, which had always stood there, bearing his son's image at the age of seven; his eldest grandchild is now that same age.  

There were dark patches in the dust where his blotter pad had rested for twenty years, where the absence of a mouse mat, computer and keyboard completed a set.

  It looked alien and empty now.  Yet he knew his life had been travelling inexorably towards this moment of parting.  The bin was full of papers, thumbtacks, paper clips, and chewed pencil stubs; all the detritus of his working life but he didn't care.  

He closed the door a final time without looking back, consciously resisting the urge to turn off the lights.

"Heh heh.  Retirement!"

The Last Journey?

The Last Journey?

All around her the sound of thunder as the herd rolls across the plain.

A seemingly unchanging dust bowl, but each year it grows and the waterholes shrink.  She blinks, clearing her vision momentarily.  Every year they make the same journey, their survival depending on it.  They travel from here to there, for the lush green grass and cool, clear, deep water.  Then travel back again when the weather turns and they receive that irresistible urge to make the return trek.

  Don't think about it, just do it!  Keep with the herd, there is safety in numbers, follow the line towards the setting sun.  Look forward, never look back.

But, our numbers are dwindling, food and water becoming harder to find.  Surely we must all know the end is coming.

Will this journey be the last?

Would he come?

Would he come?

She gazes expectantly from an upstairs window, Would he come?

Costumed children wander up and down the street shaking plastic buckets, yelling, "Trick or Treat."

Would he come?  He said he would come.  Seven-thirty on the dot, he'd said.  It was now eight twenty-five.  

Almost an hour late, "Where are you, Daddy?"  Maybe he wasn't coming, she rubbed her eyes, slowly walking away from the window. Gazing at her witches costume in the mirror, one last time.  Tears started on her cheeks.  She sat at the end of her bed.

Her bones ached, her hands were stiff and gnarled.  A taxi pulled up outside and she dashed for the door.  But, the man who entered was a stranger.

"Hello Mum," he said, taking her into his arms. 

Who is he? she wondered. 

"You do know who I am don't you mum?" he asks.

Then in a moment of clarity, she replies. "Mr Altzeimer?"

Pink Rabbit.

Pink Rabbit.

A beer bottle missed my head by inches smashing on the path behind me. Something shattered in front of me spraying shards that hit my calf and fanned out before me.  I felt a sharp pain, "Ugh!  You cow Jenny."  A three-foot floppy-eared pink rabbit hit me square in the chest and my hands grabbed it instinctively.  The front door slammed as I retreated to the front gate.  I could hear her clomping up the stairs. It sounded like mayhem, glass breaking cupboards slamming.  The window flew open and the corner of a suitcase peeked over the windowsill.  "No!" I yelled as all my clothes and worldly goods flew in the wind.

"Sod off Brad!" she yelled.

"This is all your fault!" I yelled at the pink rabbit.  He just grinned back at me, as I read the label ~ 'To Allison, love Brad'.

"Jeanette.  Be reasonable.  I can explain..."

"Whatever!"