May Writelinkers Challenge: A devil a dragon and a dodo

Two stories for the latest challenge: 300 words limit

Out with the Ark

“Come, on, Janie,” urged the boy, his trademark smile twisting his mouth up to one side. It had always made him attractive, added to soaring eyebrows, long dark eyelashes and the black eyes which set off his dusky features. Almost perfectly handsome. Janie wondered, not for the first time, what he saw in her. She took a deep breath. He’d almost certainly not want to have any more to do with her now.
“I CAN’T, Nick, you know I can’t.”
“Why not? You love me, don’t you?” He grinned again. In the darkness she could see his teeth glinting in the light spilling out through the open door. Janie looked nervously over her shoulder. Was her mother listening?
Nick noticed. “You know what she’ll say. Honestly, Janie, your mum would be lovely if she wasn’t such a dragon with you and your sisters. No one else has to be back home so early. I wouldn’t be going out with you if I didn’t love you, having to get you home by 10. She’s so old-fashioned – pre-Ark, I’d say!”
Despite herself, Janie smiled. Her mum WAS awfully strict. But still…
“Look, she won’t find out. We’ll be careful. I’ve got the condoms already and John said we can use his flat this weekend while he’s away. It’s a great chance.”
Janie hesitated. Nick saw his opportunity. “Janie, you’ve GOT to do this. I’ve said I love you but I won’t know you really love me if you won’t sleep with me. I don’t think I can carry on if you don’t.”
Torn, Janie heaved a sigh. “I just can’t, Nick. It’s just not right.” Her eyes brimmed over, but he took no notice.
“That’s it, then. We’re finished. You’re a complete dodo – virgins are an extinct species, didn’t you know?”

PETSHOP FOR EXTINCT ANIMALS

PETSHOP FOR EXTINCT ANIMALS: proprietor Lou C. Furr read the sign over the door. Laura peered in through the window: it was so grimy that she could barely make out what was inside. There were certainly no cute puppies or furry hamsters in cages to be seen. Nothing for it but to go in.
The place smelt musty – not the usual pet shop smell of bran and sawdust, but something like rotten eggs. Still, she might as well ask. Her mum had been so sad since Bugger, the family Jack Russell, had died. Laura had decided they needed another pet.
“What do you want?” A voice startled her. A tall man, dressed in black suit, appeared through a door at the back. The shop was gloomy but the light coming through the door was so bright it was like looking into a bonfire. Laura blinked.
“Umm – I’m looking for a puppy… or a kitten…” her voice trailed away uncertainly.
“Something young, is it? Have a look, then, see if there’s anything you fancy. Haven’t got much in at the moment.” Now that her eyes had adjusted, Laura could see that the room was lined with cages: most seemed empty, but she went closer. The first cage had a lizard curled up in the corner. As she peered at it, it uncurled, revealing webbed wings sprouting from its back. It waddled towards her.
“Watch out!” Laura jumped back as a shaft of flame shot out of its mouth. She glimpsed rows of sharply pointed teeth.
Shaking, she turned away. “Umm – what else is there?” Then she spotted it. Cute, fluffy and perfect.
“I’d like that chick,” she smiled, suddenly cheered up.
“Sure. You can let it wander round the house: it won’t fly away. Dodos make great pets.”

The Devil Takes His Chance

The atmosphere in Heaven was tense. After eons of subterfuge, the revolt was out in the open.
Satan swaggered before the throne, surrounded by his cohort of rebellious angels. He looked strangely small.
“So,” boomed God, “you want to do it YOUR way, do you?”
“Better than yours,” jeered Lucifer. “Do this, do that – there’s no fun here. Just rules, rules and more rules. And everyone so damned happy all the time. No juicy gossip or baiting some less fortunate being. Not even the odd fight to bet on. It’s all so BORING. We’ve had enough – haven’t we?” He gestured to his minions, cowering uncertainly behind him. Obediently, they hissed in agreement.
High above him, God sighed. Heaven shook like leaves in a breeze. “Well, I can’t stop you. You’re quite free to do what you like. But you can’t stay here.”
“Don’t want to,” retorted the angel, his handsome features now looking quite devilish. “I’ll go down there. Earth.” He pointed to a globe, glowing blue and green, spinning among stars.
“AND,” continued Lucifer, “I want to make stuff as well. Why should you get all the fun – creating all that life?”
It would certainly be good to get rid of this troublemaker. God had an overall plan, but it wouldn’t be pretty in the meantime. Still, Lucifer wouldn’t get it all his own way.
“OK,” replied God. “I’ll let you make two animals. You can create a dragon – and a dodo.”
“Sounds fine. I’ll be off then. See you around, sucker!” The devil and his demons vanished in a small thunderclap, noticed only by heaven’s house mouse.
God grinned. “That’ll curb any power he thinks he might have. Nobody’s going to believe that dragons exist – and the dodo won’t last more than a few centuries!”

Mpira - again

You were a dog with many quirks.
You could talk. And talk you did. When we used the word ‘walk’ – or spelt it out, even phonetically – ears would prick up, followed by an alert glance. Then up you’d get, rushing to the lead, expectant. Sometimes you seemed to know we were going when we had only thought about it – could you really read our minds?
You’d say sorry – by groveling, one shoulder to the floor, even rolling over onto your back at times.
You did that when you were pleased as well, squirming and wriggling with gentle pleasure.
Your enthusiasm, when we returned home, was violent. Shrieks of delight, screams of joy, vertically bouncing up and down. Rushing off to fetch your ‘baby’ – an ancient soft toy – or a ball, to show us.
The expressions on your face: puzzlement, embarrassment, amusement in your smile. Laughter. That lopsided grin as you sat, laughing, just so happy to be with us. We were yours.

Absence

I heard a tapping on the door last night.
for an instant
I thought you had returned.
the house groans,
missing you.
my steps on the stairway
sound like yours.
my heart aches. still.

You filled large spaces.
your presence
pervaded the very air. I breathe
now with difficulty
as grief
clutches at my heart.

Griefs and sorrows

We carry griefs and sorrows within
lives of mourning. for an instant
we might forget
until a step, a smile, a sense
of absence
tugs memories from closets.

our bodies force thought from
unwilling minds. my eyes see
the chair you sat in. ears
hear a sudden tapping
at the window. i sense your presence
in the other room.

how sad my memories make me.
my spirit grieves within
raging at death,
destruction of my hopes
sadness
ruling in every fibre.

you are still here.

Mpira

The emptiness of the house
snatches at my throat
deadening thought,
paralysing movement.

For an instant I had forgotten
That you are no longer here to greet me.
Silence pounces,
clawing my heart, reopening the wounds.

How can I bear it?

Strangers...

Strangers

In the night I wake
wondering what happened
to our familiarity,

your face strange on the
pillow’s creamy whiteness
dreaming far away from me.

Friendship deep in love,
once closer than my heart
joy beyond all my description

fled out the window
with a stranger’s stare and
so love suffered destruction.


How strange we are

How strange we are
meeting at the breakfast table
bathed in routine.

Hearts and thoughts
hidden behind the newspaper
reading nothing of each other.

Mundane queries
stifle creativity of feeling
as our minds rush ahead into the day.

We go to work; we talk; relate
better to the strangers we work with
than to each other, the strangers we have become.
 
Blessings

I bless the day I met you
stranger on a train
travelling forward to adventure
of a different kind.

I bless the day our eyes met,
our mouths spoke of truths
and unknown exploration
of all things new.

I bless the day our hearts met
experiencing
in joyous acknowledgment
true recognition.

I bless the day I met you
stranger on the train
of happy circumstances.
Together. Always. Ever.

March 'Writelink' competition

Lighten the dark - a story for Writelink

“Bother this. The battery has run out. I only charged it up yesterday.” Nick jiggles the phone, as if to shake sense into it. The tiny glass screen stays obdurately dark.
“Never mind.” Lena pulls hers out. “I’ll call the office. It was the grid references we wanted to check, wasn’t it?” She gazes across fields, waterlogged from the recent rain, glinting wetly in the dull light. Heavy clouds chase across the sky, bringing a chilly wind with them. The air smells damp. “Oh – I haven’t got a signal. It’s gone all dim as well.” She frowned. That morning, her laptop screen had been dark, words and pictures only just visible. She had fiddled around with the contrast, but couldn’t lighten the darkness of the screen.
“We can’t start the survey without the refs, now that these fields here are flooded. We’ll have to start on higher ground and I don’t have the exact coordinates with me. We’ll climb up a bit – the shadow of the tor might be blocking your mobile.”
Turning, Lena glances up at the hill looming above them. “I don’t see why I can’t get a signal. They’ve just put in new masts - we’re supposed to get good reception all across the county now.”
“ Well, it’s not working, is it?” Nick is growing impatient. “Anyway, we’ll get a good view from there and can decide exactly where to start.”
Nick is right. The view is magnificent. The country rolls away to the east, disappearing into the low cloud mass. Below them, the ground lies as flat as a sheet of glass, resembling nothing as much as an old waterstained mirror. The drainage ditches have all but disappeared under the floods, only the hawthorn hedges spiking scratches across the surface.
Lena’s mobile gives a signal, although the screen is still quite dark. She taps into the internet, accessing the data they need from the environmental research station.
“OK, that’s that then. Where shall we start? Nick?” Lena looks up. Nick has disappeared, but she hears voices coming from behind the rocks. As she steps nearer, she hears an old man’s voice.
“You’m better do somethin’ ‘bout it.” The words are threatening, but the voice is kindly. “Them sheep bain’t be stayin’ here, then what’ll us farmers be doin’? Countryfolk’ll die out.”
“What do you mean?” Nick asks. He looks up, frowning, as Lena joins him.
“I is tellin’ youse, sheep already be dyin’. The grass is poisoned anyways, youse can see that.”
“We haven’t heard reports of sheep dying,” says Lena, “but we HAVE come to carry out soil surveys to find out what is happening to the grass.”
“’Tis poisoned, I tell youse,” repeats the old man stubbornly. “As true as my name be Dagonet. Look you there.” He gestures at the hillside below. They stare at the round circles of flattened grass, no longer a healthy green but dark and dank.
When they turn back to Dagonet, the old man has disappeared as if he had never been there.

***
Back at the office, Lena boots her computer up. The screen is still dark, but she can access the maps with no problem.
“Look at this,” she says, “the circles form regular patterns around the masts. What should we do?”
“I don’t know,” says Nick. “I’ve already contacted the phone companies but they say they’re not responsible for the masts in this area. That old man, Dagonet, is on at me every single day about it.”
As he is speaking there is a crash as Dag throws the door open: “Come quickly, while there still be time.” He grabs Nick’s arm, urging him outside.
“He’s right, Lena. Come on.”
The sky blackens as the car weaves its way between the Levels, the drains gleaming wetly on either side.
The car corners a high hedge and comes to a juddering halt. In front of them is a giant as slender as a bundle of willow withies, astride the landscape, its metal legs blocking their path. The soil around it is completely bare, light glinting off its darkened surface as off a mirror.
A low rumble in the distance is all that is left of the brief flash of lightning which momentarily illuminates the dark sky, showing the storm edging nearer.
They tumble out of the car. “Give us yer mobile,” Dag says to Nick. He holds the phone high in the air with one hand, his shepherd’s crook in the other. He faces the giant, brandishing the crook as if it were a sword.
The wind roars around, tearing at their clothes with sadistic claws. The sky cracks open with a vicious light and slow, heavy rain falls, then gathers speed, hammering at them until their hair is plastered to their heads. The roar of thunder increases, the lightning flashes brighter until Nick can bear it no longer. He squeezes his eyes shut just as he sees Dag, who has been holding the phone all this time, bend his arm and hurl the mobile to the ground at the giant’s feet.
The metal legs of the mast begin to shake. They crumble slowly, melting to the ground, bringing the giant to its knees.
It looms over them, the ground shaking beneath it, then collapses at their feet in a mangled twist. Sightless metallic discs rock on the ground, their dead glare reflecting the lightning which still bounces from one blackened horizon to the other.
Nick and Lena are wide-eyed, their frightened eyes slipping first one way, then the other.
“There we go, we do be ended with all this,” says Dag. He picks up Nick’s phone. “See?” The screen is no longer faint. Lena’s phone, too, is fine.
“Look,” whispers Lena. She points at the bare circle. It no longer resembles a blackened mirror. Grass is growing in it, shooting up rapidly. The darkened earth is lightened with a sheen of green, then becomes indistinguishable from the turf around it.

997 words

I am, I do not, I do, I am not

I am – yet I do not

I am a daughter
yet I do not behave daughterly,
confiding in my mother, asking
her advice, coming to her for consolation.

I am a wife
yet I do not behave so completely
as to be perfectly obedient, compliant,
putting my husband first above all else.

I am a mother
yet I do not act motherly,
softly offering love without reproach
nurturing, supporting, a haven for my children.

I am a teacher
yet I do not always consider
that my charges are yet babies,
needing better communication than I give them.

I am a friend
yet I do not act so lovingly
that I will go extra miles
to bring comfort and consolation.

I am not – yet I do

I am not a writer
yet I draw forth meaning from
few words scattered on a page,
bringing insight and emotion.

I am not a painter
yet, occasionally, my use of colour
in paint brings emotion to the fore,
and I am satisfied.

I am not a cook
yet baking speaks to my soul
and pours love out
to those I prepare food for.

I am not a seamstress
yet the act of mending rips and tears
concealing blemishes in cherished garments
brings me contentment.

I am not a manager
yet organizing systems, people,
bringing order out of chaos
fulfils the tidiness in me.

I am not a lover
yet, through tiny acts of service,
through tender thoughts and caring words
I love. I do.

The Man Jesus

Did he know the weight of generations?
Expectation of performance,
living up to forebears of greatness?

Could he build an ark
In times of drought, or, like Abraham
embark on a journey to unknown places?

Would he become Israel, leader of a nation,
or part the Red Sea as Moses did
with a raising of his staff?

Should he become a warrior king like David
or build a mightier temple
than Solomon?

Did he know his greatness
from the humble beginnings
as a carpenter’s son?

Had he heard whispers
in the night between his
parents?

Did he wonder as he read of
his genealogy? So many generations
leading to his appointed time?

He became his own man, fulfilled his own destiny,
completed and began anew his Life’s work.
The Child of all the generations. The Christ.

It was the cat's fault

It was the cat’s fault.
It’s 2am when I’m woken up by the cat. Hmm. Unusual. So I turn on the light. And there’s the cat. With a rat in its mouth. A large, large rat. I stare, astonished. Why has the cat decided that our bedroom, on the ground floor, is the obvious place to store a rat?
The cat is impressed that I am impressed. She smiles at me, and starts purring. Her mouth opens. The rat escapes.
The cat is so pleased with me that she takes no notice.
Now there is a rat on the loose. In the bedroom.
I leap out of bed and start chasing the rat. Under no circumstances must I allow it to get under the bed. I am not wearing any clothes, but that doesn’t matter. At first.
Then I think to myself, maybe chasing a rat, stark naked, is perhaps not the best idea. So I put on some shoes.
The rat is still on the loose. I’m shouting at Jenny to block the door so it can’t escape. Jen is shrieking.
Eventually, I chase it over to the window – the low, floor to ceiling window. I throw the window open so the rat jumps out.
I notice the lights on in the house opposite. Mrs Jenkins, woken by the screaming, is staring at me. I am floor to ceiling naked. Apart from my shoes.
“It was a rat,” I mouth. She smiles at me, and winks. Oh dear.

Grandchild, grandmother

The baby snuffled in her sleep;
sighed, then wriggled.
Wakeful, the grandmother
heaved her body from the chair,
wrinkled eyes creasing with worry
watching the soft eyelids

flutter. The child stirred again,
murmuring softly, tiny lips sucking.
The old woman soothed the girl
with song, breathing below her breath,
forgotten melodies revived
unbidden.

The baby smiled; sweet mouth
curved up, contented
in the warmth of the crib.
It was cold in the room; the
grandmother hugged herself
against the chill

as she reached for her shawl.
Carefully, she lifted the baby,
Snuggling her against her breast
wrapping her tightly.
Now both of them would be warm again.
Together.

Just like Grandmama

Lucy could read when she was four, but she was very short-sighted.
"So like her grandmother," her parents sighed.
Clever Grandmama had been nearly blind for most of her life.

At eleven, Lucy had protruding front teeth, large feet and sturdy limbs.
"So like her grandmother," proclaimed Lucy's aunt.
"Grandmama looks so much better now that she has false teeth."
Lucy drew the correct inference.

Lucy endured the many, unflattering, comparisons until she went to teaching college.
"A teacher, just like Grandmama," muttered Lucy's mother
as she washed the old lady's underwear for the third time that day.
"Not like Grandmama," thought Lucy. Grandmama graduated top of the class. At the Sorbonne.
Lucy did well, but not well enough. She didn't achieve a First.

Aged thirty, Lucy's Grandmama was given her own school to run.
Aged thirty, Lucy was still teaching nine year olds in the same classroom where she had begun.

"These career girls miss out on having a family," said her mother meaningfully.
"Your grandmama, of course, had a wonderful career as well."
Lucy gritted her teeth. She handed in her notice.
She applied to teach as a volunteer, going to Uganda. Far, but not far enough.

"When are you coming home?" asked her parents.
"I hope you're not going to marry a black man," said her grandmother.

Lucy ignored them all.
She met a Ugandan, the son of a tribal chief. Married him - very happily.
Had two children - a boy and a girl.
Eventually, she had four perfect grandchildren. Just like her grandmother.

The Naked Runners Club

It started quite innocently. The morning jog through the fields down to the river, a quick dip, then a gentle jog back. Sally loved the sense of freedom she got from being up so early, before anyone was even thinking about breakfast.
One morning, she wondered what it would be like to feel the dew between her toes. She ran back home carrying her trainers. After that, she found it easy enough to run barefoot over the grass.
She jogged with a swimsuit beneath her shorts, but it was a bit of a chore carrying a towel to dry herself off with after her swim. She started leaving the towel at home, drying her body with her T shirt. The T-shirt was too wet to put back on, so she carried it, enjoying the feel of the breeze on her skin. One morning, she forgot to put the swimsuit on. There was no one around, so she skinny-dipped. T shirt and shorts were soaking wet, so Sally trailed them behind her as she sprinted carefully home, sure no one was watching her.
It became a habit. The sense of freedom when running completely naked was addictive.
So was the sight of her. Joe had always been an early riser. All that summer, he never missed seeing Sally in all her glory.
One day, he joined her. Naked. Sally smiled and took his hand. And so the Naked Runners Club was born.
Me too. Nine months later.

Running Bare

What happened last night is the stuff of films. Really. You know, where the heroine just happens to go outside wearing only a towel, then she loses it, gets locked out of the house…you know.
It doesn’t happen in real life now, does it?
Except it did. Sort of.
I live in a nice semi-detached in a fairly quiet road. I cycle to work, go jogging twice a week.
I’d just got out of the shower after my run when I remembered I’d left my running shoes outside the front door. Why didn’t I wait to get dressed before I went to fetch them? Who knows? Anyway, I didn’t. I despair of myself sometimes. I nipped downstairs, towel tightly wrapped around me. Opened the door, only to see next door’s Golden Retriever making off down the garden with one of my trainers (brand new, top of the range Nike) in his slobbery mouth. So of course I took off after him.
I caught him before he reached the gate. There was a brief tussle, then victory. I had my shoe.
Unfortunately, my towel had slipped off in the process. Caesar grabbed it, charged out of the gate and off down the road.
What’s a girl to do? Yes, you guessed it. I streaked around the side of the house, clutching a strategically placed shoe and threw myself through the back door.
That dog certainly lived up to his name this morning: Seizer.
I might suggest he is renamed. And rehomed.

So it began...

The whispers, coming from nowhere
caught fire, raged furious, growing
as real as flames.

The rumours, coming from nowhere
grew greater, greedily sucking
reputations, destroying character.

The tears, coming from nowhere
took the village by surprise, shocked
into silence.

Whispers.
Rumour.
Tears.

Whispering in the trees

A sudden murmuring in the trees
jerked my heart.
Fear gripped
I stood still.
Listening.

A wind howled silently,
cold claws clutching
dripping dread.
I heard
nothing
as the whispers
faded away.

A most unwelcome New Year's guest.

"Oh, so you're here for New Year, Commissioner?" Sarah eyed her fellow guest. Silver-haired, distinguished-looking, eminent, he must have been a catch for the party hosts.
"Well, yes," Sir John replied. "We usually go on safari - somewhere really remote - but as the High Commission's recommendation was to stay put and not travel, I thought I'd better take my own advice. Set an example, y'know."
"Yes, that has put a bit of a damper on the holidays," agreed Sarah. "It's been quite tricky travelling lately as it is, but of course we're safe enough here in town."
The man opposite didn't reply and Sarah realized his attention had wandered across the room. The police chief was also present. She smiled. "Well, if you'll excuse me...?" Sir John nodded as she moved away. Glancing back, Sarah noticed that he had already gone to talk to the policeman, seeming to be engaged in earnest discussion. She and her fellow guests would certainly be safe in such company.
The party carried on in full swing, sombre topics of escalating food prices, hijackings and the dishonesty of servants jostling with boasting about golf handicaps, children, fashion and gossip. Midnight came, when all talk was drowned by the gunfire of champagne corks popping and fireworks exploding.
The next morning, the usual clearing up revealed that there had been unwelcome visitors. Elderly Mrs Mitchell next door had been robbed at gunpoint. Shot and killed by a most unwelcome New Year's guest.

Someone old, someone new...

Winner, First Footers Writelink January 2010 monthly competition

Joan knew she was putting a damper on the celebrations, but she just couldn’t help herself. This was the first New Year’s Eve since she’d moved into the house that Sam wasn’t there to share it with her. She nursed a glass of ginger wine, barely sipping it as talk and laughter flowed around her. She had rarely felt so alone – he’d always been around, sharing her highs and lows. Now he was gone.

“Mum, have a mince pie?” Sara, her daughter, leaned over, concern in her eyes as she proffered the plate.
“No thanks.” Joan smiled with an effort, adding, “they do look delicious. I might have one a bit later.”
“There won’t be much later,” Sara laughed. “It’s almost midnight now.”
Joan looked around. People were still chatting and enjoying themselves. It was nearly midnight. She got up, moving towards the window as the countdown began.

“Five, four, three, two, one…” The room erupted as everyone hugged and kissed, exclaiming loudly. Joan accepted the embraces, then turned back to gaze out into the darkness. A sudden movement on the garden path caught her eye. Could it be? Surely not? Heart beating quickly, Joan went to the door, flinging it open. Yes! She was right. He HAD come. Sam had returned.

A pretty little Persian cat stepped daintily across the threshold, her four feet pattering on the parquet, Siamese Sam strutting proudly at her side.