Tom’s Voice

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Stagnant air-filled Cora’s lungs. Her mind grasped at the faint memories lingering around the house. The dining room filled with reminiscence of their children, sometimes laughing hysterically, sometimes arguing endlessly. The huge table, the aroma of Sunday lunch, and Tom, her Tom, telling them all to shush.

With eyes closed, the thought of Tom caused a faint smile on her lips, a comfort in her loneliness. The memories of him with his arm around her waist and pulling her close to him at night, whispering “I love you Cora” both comforted and haunted her.

The house was hollow now, except for Cora’s shuffling down the passage and the tiniest sounds that a frail, lonely old woman can make. Nodding off in front of the TV was a common occurrence, waking now and then to see if there was a message for her. It took a while to get used to the cell phone the kids gave her. She always smiled when someone thought to send her a message. She excused them for, not doing so often enough; they were all professionals and very busy, after all.

Toms heart attack came as a terrible shock to her. Still thinking about it now, fifteen years later caused her to wrap her arms around herself and sob uncontrollably. He was a good husband; he provided for his family, and the bed was always warm.

He loved her, and she loved him; that was all that mattered to her. “I love you Cora” she let the words fill her mind in the evenings when sleep evaded her. The memories kept her alive. She heard Tom in her dreams again tonight, this time she saw him, his hand outstretched. She reached out to rest her frail hand in his…

“I love you Cora, come, it’s time to go.”word-snap-weekly-badge-c2a9-uniqueartchic-com1I am often prompted to write little stories about people I know or know of.  Sometimes it is someone I noticed in a restaurant or in a queue.  The stories that my mind conjures up about people may be far off the mark or may be close to what is happening in their lives.  Who is to know?  Anyway, I thought I’d share some of my amateur stories on my blog.

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Monday Flower Story


Purple

My youngest daughter, who is eight years old, writes the loveliest little stories.

I thought I’d start sharing them with you.  I will be showing her the comments.

Once there was a flower, she was the happiest.

One day there was a storm and she loved it, but it ended,

and the happiest flower became the saddest flower.

Then a rainbow appeared and both of them became the happiest ever.

The end.

written by: K.R.

The Little Red Boat – A short of a bigger story.

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Here is a brief outline. The story is about a girl named Mia.  Gert is her abusive father, Eloise her mother, Mike, her brother. This is just a small excerpt from a much larger story. I’m sort of just dropping you in the middle somewhere in the story. Truth entwinded with fiction if you will.

***

Mia detached herself mentally from the other occupants of the car. She preferred staring through the window, viewing the scenery of the African bush. The car sped on too fast. Gert was into speed, he drove on the roads, and even sand roads like this one, as though he was taking part in some sort of motor race. In the dark corners of Mia’s mind, she thought of Gert as a “grand prick” her little distortion of the words of his great love, motor sport and the “Grand Prix.”
The reason for this outing was because Gert was on one of his own narcissistic adventures again, and he found it necessary for his family to view his greatness. Today, the family had to admire, and board a tiny red rowing boat which he had built in the back yard.
Mia did not want to go, but she knew if she had anything to say, the Bible verse, Ephesians 6: 1-3 would be recited to her. This verse, and all the other verses about children honoring and obeying their parents would be hammered into her brain. Gert used these verses as a manipulative tool.
When they finally arrived at the dam, Mia’s fear heightened when she realised that there weren’t any people there, no fishermen, no campers, no one. It was just the four of them there, alone.
The boat was placed in the water. The three of them (Eloise, Mike, and Mia) were told to get in. After they were all in the boat, Gert got in too. Mia was afraid, but she knew better than to complain or show her fear. Gert started rowing the little red boat towards the middle of the dam.
Mia had a horrible feeling in her stomach, coupled with an aura of eeriness. To calm herself, she thought of the music he played in the car, on the drive to the dam. It was a song from the fifties, called “Chantilly lace.”
Mia avoided all eye contact with him and let the tune play over and over in her mind.
Slowly, as Mia expected, a little water began trickling into the boat, then more and more water. After much cussing, the great Gert had to admit defeat. This made him quite angry. He undoubtedly felt a fool, and of course, somehow, made it the fault of the family. Naturally, the family needed to be punished for his stupid foolishness.
Gert managed to row the boat back without letting it sink altogether. When they got back on land, Gert went to the car and took the gun out of the boot. He raised the gun and pointed it at the three of them and said “I should just shoot you all” with a deep Afrikaans accent.
Mia could see how scared mom was. Mike said nothing. Mia stood there, with her mom and her brother; the three of them frozen. A million thoughts went through Mia’s mind whilst she stared at the sawed off, double barrel shotgun.
Suddenly Mia realised how numb and tired she was; she was only twelve years old, but she felt the world on her shoulders. He had mentally and physically exhausted her so much that she thought he could pull that trigger if he wanted to…It wouldn’t really matter.
To be continued, but only if you’d like to read more

Drained.

Drain
Since I don’t do Christmas time very well, and don’t want to talk about it, let me regale you with the story of my kitchen drain.
I happen to like old houses.  The problem with old houses in South Africa though, is that a lot of them still have the old galvanised piping, as my house does. My kitchen drain is badly blocked.  They came out and shoved the springs up the drain to see if it can be unblocked.  Turns out the pipe is rotten, and my kitchen floor has to be chopped up, so that the pipe can be replaced.   I cannot have my kitchen floor chopped up right now, so this has to wait.  So now… 😦 I have a temporary pipe, sticking out from under the sink which empties into a bucket, that must not overflow.  Of course I am ecstatically enthralled and over joyed by this – NOT.  Lol 🙂
Sorry about the teeny little rant.  The situation is not really bad at all.  I must add that I am truly thankful and grateful for what I have.
*hugs*

photo credit: Editor B via photopin cc

Eerie shadow in my window.

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There are the nights that it does not scare me at all, but other nights it just simply gives me a shiver down my spine.   There are a few CCTV cameras around the property where I live.  The monitor for the cameras is in my room.  As I am a bad sleeper, I often wake up unexpectedly, usually between 12 and 3am.  I have no idea if there is something perhaps making a noise that wakes me, but once I’m awake there is no chance of me going back to sleep.  This is when I enjoy the complete silence and read, but I can’t help but glance up at the monitor every now and then.
It is the camera on the bottom right that always catches my attention; it picks up a reflection in a window of one of the back rooms, part of my studio in fact.  There is a shape of a person standing there, it does not move, and there is no mistaking that is looks like a man.
Every night I look, and the figure is there.  It looks as though he is looking out of the window.  I have come up really close to the monitor to try to figure out if there is some sort of reflection forming this shape, maybe from other lights and shadows, but have come up with nothing.  I have gone outside in the day, and examined the whole area, but I just can’t figure out what is making this weird and rather eerie reflection the window.
The strangest thing as well is that it is there every night, but there was one night that the reflection was not there at all.
As a child, and a teenager, I experienced a few strange things, but never something as consistent as this.  I find it so strange and wonder what others think?
photo credit: ecstaticist via photopin cc

The screwiness of me

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Throngs of people filled the mall, each with no sense of urgency.  I managed to pass most them, politely saying “excuse me please.”  Some would ignore me; others would smile, and move out of the way.  I don’t handle crowds or shopping well.  My patience and anxiety were revving at high speed, but being a person who has suffered from abuse, I have a secret reserve of gutsiness to pull myself through situations such as this. The only problem is I believe my reserve tank ran empty when I reached the elevator.
The mall is a modern building, decorated in a slick style, even the Christmas décor was top notch. One would think that all their systems would be working.  I stood there in that top notch mall, fingers almost numb from the heavy shopping parcels. The elevator button is shiny and white, with a thin blue light.  It looked as though it should work, but I pressed, and pressed on it, after the third press I eventually accepted that the elevator was just not coming down.
Panic stricken, I headed for the shiny metal staircase.  My heart was pounding right up in my throat.  I knew I had to control my breathing.  Slowly, I started climbing the stairs.  The first flight of stairs was ok, but then the next flight and the next flight…  I heard a voice behind my say “don’t look down if you are scared,” but I had to look down each every time I placed a foot on the next step, or I might have lost my balance.  A very old memory flashed through my head; father said to my mother “look how stupid she is, she can’t even climb up stairs, she crawls.”
I wanted to crawl up the stairs at that moment.  The tears of frustration were stinging just behind my eyes.  My state of mind is not good at this time of year, and small things like this just exasperate my mood. When I reached to top, I wanted to be sick, I could hardly breathe.  I said I wanted to be sick, but the person with me said I was being over dramatic.  Today, the combination of anxiety, and a fear of heights totally floored me. It is these layers of anxiety which overlap with Major Depression that makes me most unlikeable and unlovable.
For: Weekly Writing Challenge
photo credit: Anikaviro via photopin cc

A scratchy little tale.

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For years one of the neighbour’s cats would come in through a window on the one section of my house.  On the odd occasion he would come also spray.

This I found a bit annoying as I am a bit of a cleanliness freak.  I had to leave the window open for the old girl cat to go in and out, but she was too old to ever take the imposter on, and I did not expect her to either.  Also, my cat, HRH was too young.  I even tried leaving food outside for the imposter so that he could eat and leave.

Now I have changed everything, and have a nice little spot in my bedroom for the cats to go out.  The cat imposter window is kept closed.   The imposter cat has tried to come in there once or twice, but since I am a light sleeper, I wake up straight away, and he makes a dash for it.

Last night though, I heard a plaintive meow.  I jumped out of bed, thinking that one of my cats might have been harmed.

Peering through into the dark, I saw a tussle, and then within seconds, I saw his Majesty, HRH, slinking in a very leopard like manner, towards me…very, proud, and satisfied with himself.  He didn’t have a scratch.

He chased the huge trespassing cat away.  I told him what a clever boy he is, and I could swear I heard him say “I know.”

*hugs*