Friday Fiction: The Landing

Jessica O’Malley moved to the city five years ago, she drove a delivery truck. She was originally from Boston and as close to an Irish rose as you could be without being born on the emerald isle. She had long red hair, which on this gusty day was swept back into a pony tail and topped with a green woollen hat that the salesperson said brought out her eyes. Jess didn’t care, it kept her head warm. She had a body which like any 28 year old she wasn’t happy with. The guys at the delivery depot from which she was driving didn’t seem to notice any imperfections, but what did they know. Guys eh, she thought.

Guys, or rather, one particular guy was the reason she sat in New York City traffic. She’d moved to the city to be with him. They split after he had a string of illicit liaisons the last of which had been with her sister.

Mike was a jerk and Jess was glad to be rid of him. But she grew to love his city, so she stayed. She found a job and the guys there were fun to be around, no-one date worthy however. She loved her job and people she would meet but sometimes it got all too much so the cab of her truck gave her space and time to herself. An oasis amongst the people, traffic and the elements, a peaceful haven whenever she needed it. Usually.

A huge crash shattered her peace.

“Holy shit!” she exclaimed, not another accident. Her boss was gonna be pissed, but something was different. The impact seemed to push her cab down rather than the usual forward motion of a fender bender.
“Arrh” she heard coming from the back her truck. The traffic wasn’t going anywhere and people were looking strangely at her and the truck, pointing. So she killed the engine and clambered out to investigate.

A small crowd had gathered. Jess was confused, what the hell was going on? She pushed through the crowd slid up the rear door of the truck and peered inside, along with at least ten strangers.
“Look,” she said. “Back the fuck off, it’s just an accident. Stop being so goddamn nosey” Jess clambered up into the truck and slid the door down behind her, no-one was stealing anything from her truck!

She looked up, there was a hole in the roof of the truck. beneath the hole, in amongst todays cargo, which happened to be mattresses was a balding fat guy, cradling his arm and moaning in pain.
“What the hell man!” Jess said. “How the fuck did you…”
“I fell.” the man stuttered.
“Where the hell from? There isn’t a overhanging branch in this city”
“That apartment block. My arm really hurts.”
“Fuck your arm, look at my truck. How do I know this wasn’t a dumass plan to rob me or something?”
“It wasn’t I promise you, I just slipped.”
“What the fuck are you doing up there anyway?” Jess said. “You ain’t Spiderman, you one of those meth heads tryna fly?”

The man looked at Jess. Took a deep breath and spoke slowly.

“You may not know it, but you just saved my life. My arm hurts like hell, but I don’t regret falling anymore. I have never loved anyone more..”

He passed out.

NY Street Scene

Friday Fiction: The Landing

Late Friday Fiction: The Fall

Who knew?

Apparently it was true, your life does flash before your eyes before you die. I perhaps should have done more, but no regrets eh. Except maybe slipping, that was a major regret. But clumsiness leading to a inevitable fatal fall not the most glamorous way to go out. I had perhaps underestimated  the effects of the wind on the human body at 15 stories high, but I blame her entirely. Her smile, her eyes, her hair..

Why did she have to live on the top floor?

Why could she not have lived on the ground floor? Easy access and a easy route to enable a guy to make silly romantic gestures. A ground floor apartment would have eliminated the need for climbing and indeed falling entirely. A ground floor apartment would have made it much easier for a rotund gentleman such as myself. Mind you the surprise element on the ground floor would have been lost somewhat, hard to make a dramatic entrance through the front door! How mundane.

Why did I never pay attention in science class?

I would have been able to work out how fast I am falling. Even now I’m thinking this a strange thing to think about, with seconds left. Science and the absurdity of thought! Not my Mom and my Dad… well not my Dad, my “special” Uncle. My real Dad is an ass and living in Missouri with someone my Mum called a “brazen hussy” meaning the woman had bigger tits than her. Dad was always a “breast man” ironic really as last time I saw him his were bigger than any woman’s I’ve seen. Still he has the last laugh I guess cos he is safe with this moobs and his hussy and I am currently plummeting to my death.

Will I get into Heaven?

Maybe God will save me, or Spiderman. Who knows they are both figments of someones imagination but as the wind swooshes by I’d be happy if I dunno, Snap Crackle and/or Pop wanted to turn up and catch me. If heaven exists in my wildest dreams, the girl on the top floor should be there waiting for me on a four poster bed covered in maple syrup. Her not the bed cos that would be silly. I dunno religious types down here spend so long going on about how bad sex is, I guess all of it would be be banned in heaven. Hell then!

Will people understand?

I’m a very loving guy. I lived my life meaning no harm to anyone. The girl on the top floor is but the latest in a long line of my loves. Each one I have treated the same, I am very attentive whereas other guys they’d go off to ball games or to bars. Not me, always around. Always looking. Sometimes I’d get rewarded for my patience, a little flash here a little peak there.  They knew all about me, they did. They looked longingly into my eyes. The girl on the top floor, she had the most beautiful eyes. I’m sure she’d miss me, or even feel a little guilty that her silly court order had made me climb to her apartment to catch what I am certain now would be my last glimpse.

SOUTH ELEVATION, VIEW OF TOP STORIES, TAKEN FROM ROOF TOP ACROSS STREET, CLOSER VIEW - Palmetto Building, 1400 Main Street at Washington Street, Columbia, Richland County, SC HABS SC,40-COLUM,17-5


Apologies for the lateness of posting. Please visit the “worth stalking” Captivating Kitten and a man who’s retraining order was a “misunderstanding” The Resident Weeble for their excellent pieces

Late Friday Fiction: The Fall

Friday Fiction: The Warzone

For this weeks Friday Fiction I got a start from Captivating Kitten. Her words are in purple. I rather bleakly finished it.


The flicker of the lamp was starting to get irritating.  Crumpling up yet another piece of paper he stood up from the desk and threw it into the pile by the window.  It’s been ten days since he’d left the house, or at least that’s what the red crosses on the calendar said.

The crosses to him represented failure rather than passing of the time. A failure to escape and to write anything, to tell the world of his story. Not that the story of Malcolm Murphy would be of interest to anyone ordinarily but the world in which he now lived was anything but ordinary.
People said it was a blessing to be born just after the third war. No more bomb blasts and enough peace treaties to ensure peace for another one hundred years so the media said. What they never mentioned was fifty years of struggle, black outs and hunger, whilst the leaders of all four sides involved in the conflict lived in complete comfort.

A younger Malcolm had fought, against the power, but the “peace treaties” made it impossible for anyone to fight the system for too long and live. Aged 25 Malcolm grew tired of watching his friends die or disappear, so he decided to keep his head down and live best he could for himself. It was hard but at his lowest ebb Malcolm met Grace. Grace made Malcolm forget the struggle and he felt a sense of freedom whenever he was with her. Amongst the riots and the broken glass the two of them forged a love that was so strong that Malcolm looked forward to a day where all people could all experience the joy he felt there and then with Grace.

Grace would have helped him write.

With Grace still around there would be no need to write. But she was gone. It has only been a month. They took her away from him early before sun-rise, they had entered their apartment, without word of warning and stolen Grace, his wife of nearly 25 years. Malcolm had heard of this happening to other people, but not to him, no never. Not now. They couldn’t have taken Grace because of what he did all those years ago. Could they?

For the first few weeks Malcolm searched for Grace, but the curfew and misinformation made his search dangerous. People he had classed as friends even denied that Grace ever existed, so not as to get themselves “into trouble.” Malcolm cared not for the outside world and the struggle. He felt just as he had before he met Grace. Browbeaten and alone he reached for more paper. The world must know, he thought.

The wail of sirens broke through the nights stillness and Malcolm could see the flashing lights and the flames burning high in the streets below through his smeared window. Firecrackers went off as Police and the militant few hardy souls clashed. Malcolm began to write about the end of his life in the warzone. As the noose he’d prepared days before was illuminated by the fiery skies.
Power lines south of Pfungstadt in fiery sky

Friday Fiction: The Warzone

Fiction: Because of What the Leprechaun Said

This story is part of the Irish themed Absolute Write Forum blog chain for this month. It is a companion tale to that that I wrote for the last years March blog chain. Hopefully it stands up as a work all by itself but you might like to read the other story here to get maximum enjoyment.

Please also check out the work of the others in the chain.

Angyl78 jelyzabeth.com (link to post)
BBBurke http://awritersprogression.blogspot.com/ (link to post)
Syrup http://asimplesyrup.com (link to post)
Springs2 Www.jozebwrites.blogspot.com (link to post)
Layla Lawlor http://www.laylalawlor.com (link to post)
Sudo_One https://sudoone.wordpress.com (link to post)
RAstarligh www.improveomatic.com (link to post)
WerbyG wrgingell.com (link to post)
Aheila https://thewriteaholicblog.wordpress.com (link to post)
LeighAnderson http://leighandersonromance.com/ (link to post)



To anyone who might be able to help me,

My name is Maria Starr, I am worried about my husband. He has been acting very strangely at home. Although no-one at church seems to have noticed. He used to be such a kind, attentive and gentle soul. That all changed one overcast night in March last year. I recount these events in the vain hope someone out there might help me make sense of all this and bring back the man I married.

We were watching the St Paddys day parade through the village, my husband never much of a drinker, turned up, three sheets to the wind. I suppose given the day he blended into the crowd, to everyone else but me. I asked him where he had been, he snapped at me cursing, telling me it was none of my… none of my business. Right there in the street. Normal drunken behaviour for some of you no doubt, but not for my man. He never spoke to me that way.

I took him home, dragging him past the Constables house, and with a struggle onto our sofa where he slept, for almost a day. When he awoke I told him what had happened. He said he couldn’t remember anything and that he was very sorry. I was annoyed for a few days until my friends convinced me that he was “just a man” and this behaviour after years of marriage was to be expected.Nothing out of the ordinary happened for 6 months after that. I thought that I was being silly and my friends were right. I was lucky to have such a man.

This view changed once again last September. I came home early from work one day, I found my husband sat in our bedroom in the gloom, rocking back and forth, sweating from every pore. I had heard loud voices so I thought my husband must have been talking on the phone, but the phone was on the cradle in the hallway as usual. He seemed to be in some kind of trance. He didn’t notice me enter the room and he kept rocking, slowly back and forth murmuring something about a girl. Lorna.
“Lorna?” I said.
When her name left my lips my husband let out a sobbing wail. I asked him again to tell me why he was talking about her. No-one had seen her since she walked out on Chris years ago. Even Chris was surprised she cut off all contact.

The morning after this episode, my husband was again fine. He said he was feeling the pressure at work and he was sorry if I’d been upset. It’s been pretty much normal now for two weeks, but its always on my mind. What am I going to find him doing next, its scary.

I have suggested we take a holiday get away from it all. But he says a bit of time alone in the garden will do him the world of good. He has brought some new tools to keep the garden tidy which has to be positive. I am still worried however as I have heard him talking to himself when he thinks I’m asleep. He has been saying some godless things, I pray for him each night and urge you to as well. I don’t know where I will send this letter, maybe I won’t need to God willing. My husband has been very happy today cutting back some trees in the garden with the chainsaw, it’s very loud and at times I could have sworn it was right outside the door.

DOOR KNOB TO SECOND FLOOR BEDROOM DOOR - Fort Sheridan, Lieutenants' Quarters, 165 Scott Loop, Lake Forest, Lake County, IL HABS ILL,49-FTSH,1-4-8

Fiction: Because of What the Leprechaun Said

Friday Fiction: The Lift

“17th floor please.”
“Oh, in to the frying pan eh”
“Well I told them, I said there is no way that was going to work.”
“You got nothing to worry about then have you… Why does this lift take so long?”
“Maybe the hamster died!”
“Hamster?”
“Yeah the one in the wheel that powers all three lifts!”
“Finally! Movement, if you can call it that. When is your meeting? Do you have time?”
“I have about 10 minutes”
“Should just about make it then. You know he won’t let you in if you are late don’t you?”
“I heard that but I thought it was just a rumour”

Fifth Floor, doors closing lift going up

“Morning…”

Seventh Floor, doors opening.
Doors closing, going up.

“God I hate him.”
“Watkinson, yeah. I saw you gazing at the floor”
“The guy is a idiot. Part of the reason it all failed, but will he get any flack?”
“No course not, he’ll get promoted.”
“I’d laugh but it’s all too true. Lets hope no-one gets in from nine!”
“Here he goes again with the totally unjustified hatred of the workers of floor nine”
“Unjustified it’s not unjustified.”
“Steve, if you choose to have sexual intercourse, no less, next to the photocopier and then get caught it’s hardly their fault.”
“Hmm. They got me suspended for…”
“9 months.. Yes I know, you’ve told me. At least once, maybe six hundred times”
“Yeah well it’s not like she was worth it.”
“You are only bitter cos you got toner dust on your bum”
“That stuff doesn’t come off… My wife noticed.”
“What did she say when you got suspended?”
“She didn’t stick around. All because of those bastards on nine.”
“Yes OK Steve. Whatever you say.”

“Oh for Christ’s sake.”
“I don’t like the sound of that.”
“Loud wasn’t it? These lifts are clunky but that was something else.”
“Now the lights.”
“Hang on I’ve got my lighter in here somewhere.”
“I thought you’d given up.”
“Anyone would think you wanted to stay in the dark. Here we go”
“Should I press the alarm button?”
“Now would be the very best time I would think.”
“Did you hear anything?”
“Nope. Try again.”
“Still nothing. For fucks sake”
“Don’t worry I’m sure someone will be along in a minute, Watkinson knows we are in here”
“Oh yes!…. Do you have any signal on your phone?”
“No.. I don’t think so..let me check.. Oh fuck that’s hot.”
“Oh well done Steve. The end with the flame is hot! Good luck finding it in the dark down there.”
“Move over I think you are stood on it.”
“I move, it creaks.”
“It’s only creaking, besides it’s not like you weigh anything”
“Ok but I’m scared.”
“I’m sure it will be fine, better when it’s not pitch black eh Suze”
“Ok ok, You found it?”
“Yep got it.”
“That’s better”
“Suze?”
“Yes Steve”
“Are you holding my hand?”
“I’m scared, I hate these lifts. I’m sorry I’ll let go if you like”
“No it’s ok. I kinda like it.”
“Good as long as it’s not weirding you out”
“No not at all….”
“…. Steve…”
“Yeah”
“I have often thought what it would have been like if it were me by the photocopier. With you I mean.”
“Wha… Wait it’s the doors, they’re opening.”

Ponderosa elevator


The beautiful Captivating Kitten has given me a lift this week by participating in #FridayFiction here with another dialogue only story which encouraged me to write this one. My earlier dialogue drama is here if you liked this one. The Resident Weeble has something good in the offing, but it’s not ready yet.

Friday Fiction: The Lift

Poem: iWish My Brain Was Like My iPod

SudoOne:

Today I sold my iPod classic.. so this is not the greatest poem in the world, but a tribute.. to my first Apple device.

Originally posted on SudoOne:

iWish my brain was like my iPod,
Designed by Jonny Ive,
Everything stored in memory,
Keeping me alive,
iCould plug my brain in,
To sync with something new,
If it turned out not quite right,
I’d simply click Undo.
If my brain was like my iPod,
I could Pause and Play,
Skip to find the bits I like,
And let the rest just fade away.
If my brain was like my iPod,
All scuffed up and abused,
It surely is the off function,
That would be most often used.

IMG_1651

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Poem: iWish My Brain Was Like My iPod

Friday Fiction: David and the Jacobies

My friend the Resident Weeble  is once again joining me in one of my crazy blogging schemes. Last week he wrote some fiction based upon my start. This week I return the favour. His start is in Purple


The beast slowly approached David as he lay prone on the grass. It seemed to know he couldn’t move. It took the time to sniff David’s feet before raising its mighty head to look him in the eye. Its mouth leisurely opened and its gaping yaw slavered over his incapacitated legs.

David tried once more to move, he felt nothing below his waist. His own fault for not listening to his supervisor, a rather rotund gentleman named Jim.
“Never fell the Ellsbury tree in daylight” Jim told him.
“It’ll root around you as soon as it touches the ground” Jim said.
“Blah blah bloody great beasts Ellsbury Jacobies will eat you blah blah” Jim said.
“If the Jacobies are going to eat you.” Jim continued in Davids head. “If you were stupid enough, to cut down the tree. Listen carefully. You must.. blah blah”

Damn my short attention span thought David. As he felt the creatures warm breath on his face.
“Hi.” It said.
David thought he was hallucinating.
“Hello Mr Tree Cutter” the beast continued, it’s large round face wearing a puzzled look. “Anyone in there”
“Urm Hello.” Spluttered David.
“Thanks for cutting down my tree.”
“Erm well I’m sorry if’d I known it was your tree..”
“No, no” the beast interrupted “Thank you very much, the missus has been on about me doing it for ages, keeps sunlight out of our conservatory. You did me a huge favour”
David was now not only numb in his legs, but his head numbed too. This killer monster was apparently thanking him for improving the lighting in his house, he must be dreaming.
“Belinda noticed the light instantly. Mind you, “ the creature continued “Bit stupid doing it during the day though. Did you not hear what they say?”
That a Jacobie would eat you yes I heard that, thought David. He didn’t hear however that they would come out and talk to you first.
“I heard it.” David said quietly.
“But you decided to go ahead anyway. I like that spirit” The beast tossed his mane-topped head back and laughed a hearty laugh that allowed David to see all his razor sharp teeth. “I’m Brandon by the way”
“David.” David replied extending a hand towards the beast massive paw, twice the size of David’s head.
Brandon took his hand and shook it much more gently than David expected.
“You are in a bit of a bind there David.” Said Brandon, running his paw over the rough Ellsbury bark that wrapped round David’s legs. “I don’t think I can do anything to help you, the Ellsbury is a bugger when it takes hold.”
“You can’t help?” David felt the panic rising.
“Hang on I might have something in my garage, we don’t have long.” Brandon lumbered off as fast as his huge legs would carry him.
David lay back on the grass, still half-heartedly trying to wriggle free. He wondered what Brandon would find in his garage to help, or indeed why Brandon wanted to help at all. Was he a monster who liked to chase his prey? He seemed like a reasonable fellow maybe David could just ask him politely not to eat him.
David noticed the ground around him had become cast in a dark shadow. Great, rain he thought. All I need.
“Very sorry David. I really can’t help you. There is no time” Said an out of breath Brandon, sweat dripping off his tongue.
“You don’t have to help ok. Just don’t eat me.” Said David, hesitantly.
“What? Me, eat you?” Brandon once again looked puzzled. “I won’t eat you, I’m a vegetarian.”
“I’d heard that Jacobies ate those who cut down the Ellsbury tree.”
“Unfortunately you heard right. But I’m not a jacobie.” Brandon shouted. running towards his house, pointing above David’s head at what had cast the shadow on the ground. “That’s a jacobie. I’m sor…”

Willow


The Resident Weeble also did another Friday Fiction piece this week. Check it out here

Friday Fiction: David and the Jacobies