MWBB Snowdrops in the Dust

Snowdrops in the Dust

For sixty eight years Caleb’s body clock never let him down. He knew when the sun rose, when it was noon and when it was time for bed. Clocks never meant much to him . . . but time did. The less of it he had, the more it mattered. He rose from his bunk, coughing as he shuffled across the dusty, wooden floor, his eyes adjusting to the dark.

Caleb opened the door to the morning, and closing his eyes heard the morning song of the blackbird, the coo-coo of the wood pigeon, next door’s dog barking at the cat who sat on the fence out of reach as he taunted the dog silly.

If Caleb concentrated hard enough, he could smell morning dew and feel the dampness on his feet as he walked across the garden. The faint smell of roses permeated his nostrils, filling his mind with memories of a lost life.

A single tear trickled down his grubby cheek as he took a deep breath and opened his eyes. He would never get used to this world now.

Dark.

Barron.

Lifeless.

The sooner he left it, the better.

Walking across a land of ash and dirt, Caleb stoked the embers to the fire, thinking about breakfast. If his Isabel was here, she’d tell him to snap out of it, tell him he was lucky to be alive.

Lucky? She always looked on the bright side, saw good in everyone, everything. Even when the world burned, she just rolled up her sleeves and got on with it, doing whatever was necessary.

He coughed, a deep, hacking cough, breaking the ghostly silence. He pulled away his grimy hanky, now with fresh crimson spots.

He’d underestimated his amount of time.

Gentle footsteps approached and a child sat down next to him, holding a book. He looked up to Caleb. “Can you read me one of the stories?” Kai asked.

“Sure.” Caleb recognised the book; his Isabel’s book of fairy tales, read to their grandchildren. Now, he was reading it to children he didn’t know, children who called him ‘grandpa’, children of the new world who either couldn’t remember the world or knew no different.

He opened the book, flicking through the pages. Something fell out;  innocent white from a past life, now in a charcoal world.

“What is it?” asked Kai, his eyes wide with wonder.

“This, this is a snowdrop, your grand . . . my Isabel’s favourite flower.” Caleb closed the book and turned to face Kai. “Let me tell you a story, a story more fantastical than any fairy tale.”

“With wizards!”

“Better than wizards. A place where flowers grow, birds sing and everywhere you look is green. Where warmth shines down on you. Where life is a rainbow.” He coughed, his hanky now sodden.

“You can tell him later. You need a rest,” Kai’s mother said, gently helping Caleb stand.

“Can you do me a favour? Look after this snowdrop. It is so precious to me, us. Everyone.” Kai nodded. “I’ll be back later, I promise,” he said, walking away, hunched and still coughing.  Kai looked down at the pressed snowdrop, now stained with a tiny speck of red.

Caleb lay on his bed, his chest aching with every breath. He felt Isabel  nearby and a shallow laugh escaped his lips as he heard her chastise him.

“Not so soon!” she said. “ You have stories to tell that boy. You promised.”

Despite the coughing, Caleb felt a new sense of purpose; his mission to fill young heads with his real rainbow world would not be defeated by time. It wasn’t how much time he had left that was important, it was what he did with it.

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Written for Jeff Tsuruoke's Mid Week Blues Buster to Faded Flowers by Shriekback which you can listen to here: Youtube

Mid Week Blues Buster The Black House

I’d heard stories. A place where anything goes and no questions asked. A place called The Black House. Although the building was dark and uninviting, I guessed the name stemmed from what went on within the walls rather than its decor. A young boy came for my horse and a flicker of excitement twitched on his face. I smiled, tossing him a ha’penny before entering where no decent man would tread.  

Everything stopped. Not even a breath was heard. It seemed my reputation beat me as every eye followed me through the smoky haze. I sat in the darkened corner by the rear exit, at a small wooden table and immediately a tankard of ale was placed in front of me, shaking his head at my offer of payment. A large oaf of a man, fuelled on ale and stupidity stumbled towards me. His speech was slurred but I think he was telling me not to hide behind my mask, to reveal who I was. I think he insulted me. I’m sure I made out the word ‘coward’ before he was dragged away by two very sensible, apologetic men, and my hand released from my pistol. I hated killing, really I did. But kill or be killed in my game and I obviously had a reputation to uphold.

I sipped my ale. It was warm and not the best I’d tasted and everyone carried on with their business, mainly getting drunk but plotting and exchanging of maps, money and weapons went on in huddles across the room. The odd fight caused excitement until they were thrown out.   

The door opened and I saw the cloaked figure approach. I didn’t care for people being late.

“I don’t have long.” Her voice was unmistakable.

“What do you mean?”  This wasn’t the plan.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“What have you done?” My voice was on edge. Control was leaving me, taking me to unknown territory. I reached for her hand. It trembled. With the other hand, I removed her hood. Her once beautiful face now smeared in blood as a cut ran deep across her cheek.

“I was ambushed, betrayed. You have to leave now,” she said with anguish. Terror filled her dark eyes, her skin pale. She winced, slumping towards the table. Jumping from my chair, I was at her side, gently holding her up when  I saw the spread of red on her white tunic. “Leave me, save yourself.”

“No,” I hoisted Emma from her chair, kicking open the rear exit. A redcoat stood, his gun aimed. Stillness descended on the bar as redcoats burst through the front. My pistol was trapped between me and Emma, my knife wouldn’t beat a gun. I was running out of time. I could not die here, or be arrested, for the gallows was my fate, the fate of any highwayman and his accomplices.

The redcoat advanced. I could see he was already thinking of glory at my capture. But I held my ground. A shallow moan left Emma’s lips. I couldn’t leave her. Maybe this was meant to be, dying together, here, right now. What a legend that would make. If I knew these drunken men, they’d embellish my fight for survival. Shame I wouldn’t live to hear it.

A flash of silver sliced across the redcoat’s throat, his life spilling out as he slumped to the floor. The horse boy stood, the knife in his hand.

“Your horse is ready!” he shouted before fleeing. It was a heroic gesture but the redcoats behind me would gun me down. But that boy, he awakened those men of The Black House, showed them what we all were, why we were there and they bore down on those redcoats with bloodied fists as I rode into darkness with Emma.

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MWBB In The Dark

The Easter Ball was in full swing when the guests were plunged into darkness.  Those brave enough, stayed on the dance floor as the band slowed down but the majority pooled around the bar where a couple of candles staved off the darkness, as far as knowing what the revellers were drinking. Ellie swayed to the music, enjoying the feel and the space, the freedom darkness brought. 

 She thought she was alone until a hand skimmed down her bare arm. She felt warm breath on her face as an arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her in tight, feeling his athletic body against hers. His hand reached for hers; smooth, gentle but firm, clasping Ellie’s as he lead her across the dance floor without protest or question.

    No words were uttered. Even the band seemed to disappear as Ellie sank into the arms of the stranger.  His stubble brushed against her cheek as a finger trailed down her bare back. Shivers of excitement travelled through her body, giving her goosebumps.

   “What’s your name?” Ellie whispered.

    “Shhh,” came the reply as a finger pressed against her lips. Under the blanket of darkness, he stopped whirling her around. They both stood silently, motionless before he cupped Ellie's face in his hands. Her beating heart was the only sound as his lips grazed hers, a barely there touch before caressing her neck. She pressed her hands against his chest, feeling the definition under the silk shirt, moving up to his broad shoulders. Her fingers combed through his thick, soft hair, wondering what colour it was, wondering how he sounded, the colour of his eyes.  

    Darkness brought intimacy in a room filled with people, took away inhibitions and made Ellie feel she was the only woman in the world. Usually, Ellie was the last to be invited to dance, people feeling awkward around her but the darkness put Ellie on the same level. She wished, whilst her stranger held her, the lights would blaze and people would see her, Ellie with this tall, handsome man, hoping he would gaze down upon her with just as much affection as he had shown in darkness.

     “I must go, thanks for the dance,” he said in a deep, brooding voice that Ellie had already imagined.

     “But, I don’t know your name.”

     “You don’t need a name,” he replied, crushing his lips on hers as his arms enveloped her. “I’ll see you soon,” he said.

    “But-”

    “You’ll know it’s me,” he replied. Ellie stood alone. She heard footsteps and chatter around her. Her heart felt heavy. He’d seen her in the cold, naked light and left her.

   “Oh my God! Who was that you were snogging?” Marie’s voice shrilled.

    “You saw?” Ellie asked.

     “Everyone saw! Everyone! He’s the hottest guy here!”

     “You mean he stayed when the lights went up?” Ellie asked.

      “Of course he did! What, you thought he’d take one look at you and run a mile?” Ellie shrugged. “Oh Ellie! When will you learn! You’re blind! Not a monster! He liked you for you not because you can’t see.”

      “Hey,” the deep, brooding voice said, “I noticed you needed a drink before the power cut.” He handed Ellie a flute of champagne, guiding it into her hand.

      “You did?” He reached up her spare hand, pressing it to his face.

       “You have a lovely smile,” Ellie said.

        “So do you Ellie, so do you,”

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  Written for Jeff Tsuruoka's MWBB over at The Tsuruoka Files.  

     

By Invitation Only MidweekBluesBuster

                                      

By Invitation Only

The half finished derelict Victorian mansion set in a small clearing amongst the forest was the perfect setting for the party. The trees creaked and groaned as stray branches tapped against the third story windows. The wind swirled dead leaves around visitors’ feet as the jack-o-lantern welcomed guests with a jagged grin. The door bell gave a ghostly moan before the heavy wooden door creaked open revealing a darkened hall with only a flickering of a candle dancing in the breeze.

Ahead of the guests, two large white doors were firmly closed and the silence was broken only by the clip clopping of their footsteps against the black and white tiles. Victor looked to his wife, Clarissa, “do I have anything stuck between my teeth?” he asked, running his tongue across his pearly whites and glistening fangs.

“Beautiful darling,” Clarissa purred, baring her own fangs for inspection. She flicked back her long, black hair revealing the silver streak, pulled her black dress down a little, showing a little more cleavage before the doors sprung open.

The music assaulted their eardrums as did the cheer from the crowd as Victor and Clarissa glided in. Manny was the first to greet them, offering an unravelling hand as he groaned a welcome.

“Dear Manny,” Clarissa said, air kissing him, “how lovely to see you looking so well wrapped.” She and Victor made sure they spoke to everyone before heading for the bar.

“Two Bloody Mary’s please,” Victor said, “type O.”

“It’s a fabulous turn out this year,” Clarissa observed, seeing every single creature represented at the annual Halloween bash. This year, even the zombies had made it after their popularity had risen due to The Walking Dead. Last year, they didn’t even get an invite; picking up after them was always a dampener on the night.

“Cheers,” Victor clunked his glass and sipped his drink, licking his lips. “This does give me a taste of the hunt Clarissa. I hunger for the old days when we could go about unnoticed and chase own our prey.” He sighed heavily, “and wearing this stupid black cloak. Why do we have to dress up for Halloween?”

“Stop being a grouch Victor. It’s fun. Besides, Manny wouldn't be seen without his wrap,” she laughed, “we wouldn't see him either.” She looked at Manny the Mummy as he waved back. “It’s the one night of the year where we can truly be ourselves and do what we were born to do.”    

A flurry of ghosts drifted across the room, before disappearing through the wall as the headless horseman took centre stage with his break dancing. Clarissa loved the party, loved they were altogether; loved the one night of the year they were all allowed and were able to walk amongst the humans, unnoticed.

But the climax of the evening was the sound of the moaning doorbell. With all the guess already arrived, it only meant one thing; the delivery of humans. Clarissa jumped with joy as the music stopped and everyone gathered eagerly. “Now we don’t want to scare them off just yet. We’ll have some fun before we share the spoils,” she sang as she walked to the door.

Adjusting her dress again, Clarissa opened the door. She smiled, not afraid to show her fangs; it was Halloween after all.

“Sorry to disturb your party but our coach driver is lost. Do you have a phone? Useless mobile; no signal out here,” the middle aged man said.  

“Why of course. You and your group should come in for a rest, some refreshment. We have plenty.”  The coach load of tourists traipsed into the house as Clarissa walked over to the driver.” Thank you,” she grinned.

“My pleasure,” the coach driver grinned, baring his own gleaming fangs that he’d kept well hidden whilst duping the tourists onto his coach. “I’ll just park up in the garage and join the party, Mother.”  

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This week's Mid-week-blues-buster over at The Tsuruoka Files has given us a rather zany song which can be heard here http://youtu.be/KJzWGkgFcTU.  

MWBB #26 The Police Secret Journey. Cat's Eyes.

Cat’s Eyes

With his holdall packed, Alex was ready to leave. With a quick silent prayer, he closed the door and made his way out into the hustle and bustle of the night life. Anonymously, he walked with purpose, dodging passersby with his head down, hood pulled right over; it was surprising he could see where he was going but he’d walked this journey before and now it was like a map in his head.

Soon the streets quietened and Alex found himself in a residential neighbourhood; signs of family life strewn across yards in the form of footballs, tricycles, bats and skipping ropes. Signs of suburbia assaulted him; lawn mowers, barbecues, dogs. The bile rose in his stomach. He whispered another prayer and watched.

This was the part that fuelled his imagination, his need to feel part of this middle-class world, observing life; the routines of suburbia where everything seemed to run like clockwork. But he’d seen it all before. He already knew the house, the family, the time of his arrival. He just needed the signal. A cat jumped out, startling him, but he liked cats and beckoned it; soft, warm fur, powerful hunter’s eyes. Alex felt at one with the cat, understanding him. But it was a distraction. In swiping the cat away, the cat swiped back and nicked Alex’s hand before running off into the night. 

Lights out. 

Alex crept from behind the woodland at the bottom of the garden, pulling his gloves on, dismantling the alarm with ease; the code never changed; surburbians loved routine. He was inside within seconds. Before creeping upstairs, he stopped in front of the mirror. Shining his torch, he saw his reflection. He smiled as again he whispered another prayer and crossed his heart. He saw the signal; a halo in the reflection, above his head. He was doing the work of God, purging society from the evils of excess and he had a long way to go.  

The Smyths' were the first family, quickly followed by the Robinsons' and the Millers'. Only then did people start to take interest. Newspapers consumed every detail, detectives voiced their appeals on television but no one knew. They would never know. For his was a solitary journey, a secret journey sent to him by the highest authority in the land. He could hear him now, urging him to complete this task as he took each carpeted step gracefully, breathing calmly. The family portraits lining the stairs smiled down at him but he had someone bigger smiling down on him.

All the doors were closed but he knew who was on the other side of each one. He’d been good and done all his homework. His bag, now unzipped was ready and so was he.

It had been a long but satisfying night as Alex got home whilst it was still dark. He showered, letting the hot water melt away the aches and pains of crouching around in damp places. The TV was showing some game show and he watched whilst eating a microwave meal before dozing.

“Another brutal murder has taken place, this time the Young family,” the news reporter said as Alex awoke. He quickly turned up the TV; he liked this bit. Hell, he liked all of it! 

The news item quickly swung to the house where a crowd had gathered. A detective came on screen. “I know who you are! I know you! Your journey is about to come to an end and I’ll be meeting you,” he said, staring right at Alex. Alex laughed. The camera widened. Alex sat up. Something caught his attention.  Behind the detective, a police officer was holding a . . . . . . . it couldn’t be! . . . . . . . . . That cat! She was holding that cat and someone was taking something from its paw.  . . .

Alex’s face blanched as he ran to the bathroom; his microwave meal taking a quick journey down the toilet. He rinsed his mouth. He looked in the mirror but no signal came. He looked down at the scratch on his hand, a wry smile on his worn out face.  Alex had always liked cats.  

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Written for this week's Mid-Week_Blues-Buster over at The Tsuruoka Files. This week was an obscure song by The Police called Secret Journey which oyu can listen to here.http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Keolc7BpTcI&feature=youtu.be. I would say happy listening but it took me to a dark place, even with the kitty. xx

MWBB #25 Afro-Celt song Eireann; Echoing Song

Update on this piece, if you already didn't know (yeah right). It won and I get this rather nifty sparkly badge.

Phew, just in time for this week's Mid-Week-Blues-Buster- over at The Tsuruoka Files. The music this week was a gorgeous Afro-Celt song that whisked me away to this story; some of it based on fact . .  It reminded me of that time in the Irish pub . . . .Anyway, if you want to listen to the song called Eireann then please click the link and maybe listen as you read, as I listened as I wrote. Powerful stuff, music. xxx

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pSqR1O1PDJU&feature=youtu.be

Echoing Song

Sipping on a glass of wine wasn’t exactly befitting the Irish pub in Camden Town but it didn’t matter how much Linda declared how smooth a Guinness was, she was sticking to her wine, although the Guinness did remind her of when she was a child, drawing a face in the thick froth of her dad’s pint.

She loved Thursday nights as after evening class, they would walk into the quiet pub for a cheeky drink before heading home. But it wasn’t quiet for long as spontaneously, people would start playing on their tin whistles and their bodhráns. Before long, fiddlers would join in and the atmosphere was electric, not electric enough for Isabel to try the Guinness but enough to ask to have a go at playing the bodhrán.  

“It’s all in the wrist,” the young man said with a thick Irish accent. And he proceeded to play, his wrist moving quickly as he created complex but beautiful rhythms.  Soon the other musicians joined in; there was no room for solos. The music echoed through the pub as it did through time. .  .

The wind whipped Isabel’s hair across her face as the salty sea air coated her pale skin. She picked up her long skirts and turned to face Adair.

“Is it true?” his voice was hoarse but rose against the howling wind. “Did you bed my brother whilst I was away, fighting, for you!”

“You weren’t fighting for me! You’re fighting for glory, to show your father you’re the one who should lead the clan.”

“Is it true!”

“No!” She turned back towards the sea; as angry as her as it bashed against the rocks into a fine spray.

“Then why does Tristan mock me with these taunts? Why does Morrigan say so?”

“Morrigan? You believe the words and gossip from a mad woman?”

“She is not mad! She is wise and sees all, Isabel! Why would she say that if there was not the truth?” Isabel walked along the cliff edge, wanting to be far from Adair. The rocks were slippery but her footing was strong and sure. “Isabel? Please, we must talk about this.” He was behind and his large hand gripped her arm. She shrugged him off, not realising the rock she was standing was lose. A scream pieced through the wind as Adair quickly reached out, gripping her wet hand. “Isabel, don’t struggle, stay calm.” He heaved, pulling her up, but only where her head just peeked above the cliff top. His eyes were wild, demanding.

“Please! Adair!”

“Tell me the truth!”

“I have! Please get me up!”

“Morrigan says otherwise, your eyes betray you, your heart is with Tristan! I shall kill him but first,” he loosened his grip and as Isabel shrieked, he let go, watching her tumble to the rocks below, laying broken before the hungry waves took her.  . .

“Isabel!” Linda’s voice was shrill as she shook Isabel by the arm. “I was saying how nice the guy on the drum is. He likes you!”

“What?” she was dazed, confused. The dream had felt so real. She was trembling with fear and cold. She had felt the sea on her face. She licked her lips and tasted the salty sea. “I think I need to go home. I don’t feel well.”

“Ah come on girl,” the man playing the bodhrán said. “Stay for another!” His blue Irish eyes twinkled.  Isabel couldn’t refuse as another wine was placed in front of her. “Your friend was saying  you’d like to learn the bodhrán properly? I can teach you.” She nodded feebly.  “Tristan,” he held out his hand. Isabel stared at him, the eyes were deep and intense and she felt like she knew them, trusted them as she held out her hand, not wavering from the intensity of his gaze. “Just don’t tell my brother, Adair. He likes to do all the teaching, especially with someone as pretty as you.” He kissed her shaking hand as Isabel lifted her gaze to the dark eyes of Adair; the same eyes who let her fall to the rocks below.

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MWBB #24 You Know I'm No Good- Amy Winehouse

I did week one. . . . . . .23 weeks later, I've decided to have another go at Jeff Tsuruoka's MWBB, week 24 and what a song. The sultry, smokey tones of Amy Winehouse; You Know I'm No Good 

No Good

“My name is Isabel and I’m”. . . . . . . no good. My mouth is suddenly filled with cement. I need a glass of water or a hammer and chisel. Water is offered, lukewarm, tastes of plastic from the beaker. One sip, thankfully, is enough to moisten my tongue. I look around the mismatched group. I know what they’re already thinking.

“Water not good enough Princess?” a man wearing a beanie hat asks, grinning as he receives craved for admiration.

“Champagne for the Sloane Ranger,” chips in a girl with a nose ring. I’m right; the girl with the clipped accent and loaded, no right at all to be sitting in the same room as them. Maybe they’re right? I’m not worthy of anyone.

“You’re in the wrong class. Shopaholics anonymous is down the hall,” offered Beanie Hat.  I was being criticised for my clothes; nothing changes.   

“Yes, Becky Bloomwood, off you trot,” Nose Ring replied, dripping with sarcasm.  

“You don’t even know who Becky Bloomwood is do you?” asked a mousy haired girl. “You’re more Pride and Prejudice that shopaholic.”Is it a crime to wear chic clothes? Why are they being so rude and stereotypical about me? I didn’t even want to come to this dilapidated building and sit and be judged. I’d been judged all my life. I knew it was a mistake. These people were no better than the one who put me here. Like these people would ever understand. I don’t even understand how my father, how any father, could be so cruel to their own flesh and blood just because she was a she and not a he. What on earth could I possibly do to the family inheritance that a boy wouldn't?  Did he miss the female Prime Minister and the fact we have a Queen? I ignored the trickles of sweat running down my back, too long being scared and made to feel useless. I didn’t want to justify myself to anyone. I want to get up but my feet are glued to the stained lino floor.

“We are all here for the same reason. Differences are left at the door!” a woman reminded the group. She must be the leader, the head of the circle, if you can have a head in a circle. But she smiled sweetly at me; not out of pity or sympathy, but a warm smile of encouragement. “Why don’t you tell the group why you’re here Isabel?”  I had to take another sip of the lukewarm water, hoping for courage. These people were just like me otherwise they wouldn’t be here. So what if I had money! Fat lot of good it did me! I had no friends to spend it with; they were all married now with babies. My family despised me. I was alone which is why I ended up here. And for my troubles, all I was getting was ‘poor little rich girl’ which was fine if it came with understanding.  Judging eyes stared back; a few of the girls lustfully eyeing up my Stella McCartney boots. Maybe the shopaholic tag was warranted.

“My name is Isabel . . . . . . and I have. . . . . . . .  no self esteem.  . . . . . . . . I was bullied by my father,” I can’t say it. They’re all going to hate me. I know I shouldn’t care but I want to be accepted.

“Go on Isabel,” the leader says softly.

“I pay for people to be my friends  . . . . . . . I pay. . . .  for . . . .  company.”

“Do you mean men like as in sex?” Beanie Hat asks.

“I pay for sex! I pay for strangers to be my friends to take to family weddings, when I’m invited! I pay because I have no one! I’m no good! All I want is acceptance for being me and not have to lie, cheat and feel so worthless!” I stop now as my emotions are running high. I don’t want to be labelled a lunatic as well. Faces stare back. Beanie Hat smiles. Nose Ring nods with empathy.

“This is the place to find that self worth Babe . . . and true friends,” Beanie Hat says, offering his hand. “Paul. Nice to meet you Isabel.” Grey, empty eyes stared back, mirroring my own. 

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