The peacefulness of the pool was broken as the “fly-in fly-out” squad bomb dived into it. The ruffled locals moved out of their path and let them get on with all the showing off, the noisy social commentary, and the ubiquitous attempt of some new FIFO to hook up with someone elses partner. They would have to wait to get their peaceful life back again: after all, migrating birds don’t stick around very long.
This one has been banging around my head for over a month since I saw a flock of migrating birds swoop down into the dam in the paddock next door, and in that time I lost my flow – I really should have written it when it barged into my brain.
During the night, as she tried to free herself from the bath, she thought about how the tingles she felt at their first kiss should have been a warning. At the time she had been entranced by the sparkles in his eyes and his delicate touch, which had fooled her into thinking that she wasn’t just another bird to him. Now, with the bathwater freezing around her weighted legs showing her the true coldness of his heart, she bitterly regretted inviting Jack to visit again.
I desperately rack my brain trying to come up with a plausible story, the guilt making me feel sick with the taste of these not yet spoken untruths. “I lost track of time”, “It took longer to finish the (insert word of choice: shopping, appointment) than I expected” and “I’m meeting a friend for coffee” have been worn out too many excuses ago. Suddenly I’m tired of all the deception, the lip service of commitment and the half-hearted attention I have been paying to this relationship for too long. I make a silent vow to change my ways: I will devote more time to you; I will ignore the lure of this new love; I will speak the truth. So I do: “I have been unfaithful to my cleaning duty, but I promise I will not “Art” today and I WILL do the damn housework”. (Yet, even as I think it, I taste the sourness of lies).
He wasn’t much of gentleman, she wasn’t much of lady, so after first hello’s they got straight to making a baby. She had some eggs, and he had some worms, and when they put them together mud-cake baby was born!
She couldn’t believe how much red there was on her hands, and dripping off the thin knife still held in them. Anger now cooled, she watched as each droplet hit the floor with a small explosion of startling violence, and thought how beautiful the pattern was that it created. Shaking her head at her dreaming, she wondered what she should do now. “Have I really killed you?” she mused, “No, for where there is Death, there is Life”, and she swiped her palette knife over the canvas and a fresh colourful creation was born.
This story has been percolating in my brain for a month or more. Thankfully this challenge post from Brian brought it to the boil when he sent me my 3 words yesterday: startling, colourful, explosion. As soon as I got them I knew that they fit this short paragraph story, and so, here it is.
I never expected to fall in love again. Certainly not with a younger man, and especially not with a younger man who speaks a different language! There are moments when I seriously question my judgement; like when I notice his disregard for bodily hygiene, and his undeveloped table manners. Oh, but when he smiles and hugs me my heart blossoms and overflows with happiness and I find I can forgive him anything – after all a baby grandson is a precious miracle.
There’s a leak, a trickle of drips. I try to calculate the time between each, wondering idly if there is rhythm to their falling. But it is erratic; sometimes a staccato of drips, then a plop of drops, or a slow slithery splat. Suddenly the curtain of approaching rain reaches my house, drumming on the iron roof it sounds like I imagine gravel in a blender does. Just as quickly the spring squall passes, and I focus again on the leak. My child has a cold, I find them a clean hanky.
There always seem to be those unexpected, unwanted, visitors that just drop in on you. They never let you know they are coming, so you are not prepared for their arrival. It doesn’t matter if your house is spotless, and you’re wearing your best clothes, their unannounced descent upon your home causes everything to look shabby, dismal, bleak and untidy. Next time, Mel an’ Collie, I’m slamming the door in your faces.
Da and Ma always said they felt the whole world had an opinion about their life, but they didn’t let it bother them too much. They had a sense of humour, and they used it to gently poke back at those people and their opinions, but sometimes it’s hard for me to appreciate their humour when they made my name their poking stick. Yep, I’m Exploi Ted, the child of Da Ted and Ma Ted, Reality TV stars!
Waiting on the bed in an unfamiliar room, clothes draped on the chair, I thought again about the decision that had brought me here. It was so unlike me (or the me of recent years) to do this, had I made a mistake? Did I give in too easily to the suggestion? Perhaps I should have waited longer, tried to find another way to ease the hurt. Could a strangers hands really give me release from this pain I carried with me? Well, I had paid for an hour, no sense in wasting the money without sampling the goods. Their touch is part pleasure, part pain, but I endure it because sometimes you just have to resort to a remedial massage to fix your neck!