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Red Kites

Free Spirits

If I can see them, why can’t you ?
Do I sense what shadows weave
And in some fashion, draw them close.
Have you seen the spirits?

It was January when death entered the house. It wasn’t obvious at first. It slithered through the sash windows, despite the heavy curtains, seeped through the floorboards and lingered in the darkest nooks and crannies of the old house. They didn’t recognise it for what it was that long freezing January but that is when it started. She noticed it first, the fine hairs on the back of her neck reacted as the air stirred but they piled more logs on the open fire and thought of Spring.

In February he confessed to an uncharacteristic lack of energy, a discomfort which he put down to the long winter, dark nights and his seventieth birthday which Continue Reading »

Crossing Over

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Dark thunder clouds were gathering as Mabel and Frank arrived at the river bank. They both appeared dazed, the ambulance sirens echoing in their ears but fainter now than before, and nowhere in sight. Frank’s face was covered in cuts streaming with blood, his clothes in tatters. Mabel was fussing with her newly permed hair, but Frank noticed that her left arm was hanging at an odd angle, and her glasses were missing.

“What happened, Mabel?” groaned Frank. “Where the hell are we?”

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Cordelia

It was love at first sight. The moment I set eyes on Cordelia I wanted her with a passion my wife neither understood nor forgave for years. Cordelia was resting on the mud, her distress obvious to me, yet her lines were classically beautiful. She had aged well, but neglect has taken its toll. She looked like a proud old lady who had fallen on hard times. She was, in fact, stronger than she appeared and cradled gently, she made the journey by road to her new home on the banks of the Thames.

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A Bloodless Revolution?

1-Light Fantastic_005_Llanddwyn Island Lighthouse_16x9Flickr-001From Melanie:

It was never my intention to start a revolution – it simply wasn’t my style.  My parents were Alphas and the Betas were just, well there! We  accepted their ministrations as normal. In fact, although we were taught as children to be polite to those who served us, we really did not consider them as anything other than slaves, which in fact, was their destiny.  It was only when I was older that I experienced an incident that made me aware they were human beings and not entirely without feelings.  Our household, although it only consisted of two adults and two children, required at least ten Betas to enable us to eat, wear clean clothing and live a life free from domestic trivia.

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It was a peaceful Sunday morning at St Cuthbert’s until the quiet contemplation of the ageing clerics was fractured by  bloodcurdling screams of anguish followed by a shriek of shocked outrage from Sister Angela Elizabeth. The Reverend John Norris raised an eyebrow as he addressed the room:

“Gregory again do you suppose? ”

Their Reverends lowered their Sunday papers and those who were able made all haste in the direction whence the sounds emanated. Ivan Gregory had form: and to be fair, the elderly clerics were grateful for a little excitement in their somewhat predictable routine.

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Christmas Eve

“When it is peace, then we may view again
With new won eyes each other’s truer form
And wonder. Grown more loving kind and warm
We’ll grasp firm hands and laugh at the old pain,
When it is peace. But until peace, the storm,
The darkness and the thunder and the rain.”

C Hamilton Sorley

 

Charles arrived at last as the soup was served. He brought the chill of the night with him and appeared travel weary and near the limit of endurance. He crossed the room towards her and stopped. Lavinia stood, rooted to the spot, as he apologised to her and the guests and requested her immediate presence in the library.

At the Grange, just down the road, Christmas was different this year – it was the War! Mary shook out her curls in front of the mirror and waited for Jenny her maid to arrange then in a glossy pile on top of her head, as she frantically rubbed cream onto her chapped hands. She spent most of the time in the stables these days looking after the few remaining horses. It broke her heart to see the empty stalls and she’d wept for days after most of the horses were taken away. Then her brother went to the front: the war again – she was heartily tired of it all, and sick with worry. Where was Jenny? She rang the bell again, and remembered that Jenny was helping her mother dress. She picked up the brush and hairpins and made a start. A this rate she would be late for her first grown up dinner at the Hall. She wandered downstairs having done her best. Her mother stood in the hall with an officer in uniform. Continue Reading »

Some of my readers may remember the Ballad of Brave Monty Mouse from the early days of My Telegraph. For those of you who are unfamiliar with this small rodent, well done! But he does amuse small children and even some of their parents,  so thank you, Monty for being the inspiration for this story.

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Aloft at night, and on the prowl,
Softly glides this wise old owl.
The mice stay quivering in the corn,
How can they feed before the dawn?

A brilliant Harvest moon shone bright over fields of ripening grains waiting to be safely gathered in. To the small harvest mice, their small tummies distended with the results of their foraging, replete and snug in their nest, it was also a time of danger. But not tonight. They sensed the faint whisper of wings as the owl glided low over the ripe grains but with such a bountiful harvest they did not need to feed just yet. They slept contented but only Monty, their brave leader, contemplated the dangers ahead.

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