Entombed inside the jar of honey, the key could clearly be seen – Dead Deer

Entombed inside the jar of honey, the key could clearly be seen.

Entering his tatty wooden hut the old man placed the key in its usual place. Why did he bother with it he wondered. Out here in the forest, miles from any path or track and even further from the next human the only likely intruders were bears. And bears tended not to worry too much about locks and doors and the like. If they wanted egress they took the direct route.

He sat and pulled out his pocket knife. A plump pear lay on the table in front of him and some strong old sheep’s cheese. Opening his knife he cut both into bite sized chunks and popped them into a small rough brown bowl and walked to the inset window seat.

Slowly, he enjoyed this snack.

Putting on his cap he opened the door and instinctively reached for the key. It was gone.

* .      *.         *.       *

“Pears?” Asked the older bear, “they are very good with honey.”

They ate all the pears and half the honey. “Time to leave.”

Off they went, and gave the trussed up old man a mischievous grin as the dropped the key into the honey before closing the door behind them.

Lying on the uneven, uncomfortable and splintered floor of his shack the old man could not free his limbs, however hard he wriggled and squirmed. Winter was coming, and here he was entombed in this drafty place, alone and stuck. Just like the key he stared at, the last image imprinted on his slowly starving brain.

Today I wrote from 18:25 to 18:35. I was prompted by ideas here. My other writings are here. All my prompted writing here, and my tweets here

Planter boxes of peculiar looking pansies, lined the odd shaped path – Dead Deer

Planter boxes of peculiar looking pansies, lined the odd shaped path

Running lines snake through the grass,

Lost vines creep in and out of sight.

Deep mines restlessly sink

Five pines fall.

 

Lost love leaves

It’s glove-like easy fit

Fly dove, fly; wings outstretched

Easy above us all it loots our deepest dance.

 

Today I wrote from 21:08 to 21:18. I was prompted by ideas here. My other writings here. All my prompted writing here, and my tweets here

The floating orb hovered over the painting above the hearth – Dead Deer

The floating orb hovered over the painting above the hearth

“Wow, look Paul, it’s called ‘Magic Orb’ – I love a magic orb, I’ll bet on it” She exclaimed.

“You can’t”, her brother replied, “You’re too young to bet.”

“Oh, OK. Well, will you put it on for me, please? Here is a fiver, what are the odds?”

Paul entered the bookies and looked at the screen, and saw the generous odds. Holding the door open he shouted out at his sister, “It’s ten to one, are you sure you want to waste five quid on it?” “Yeah, stick it on for me.” Her mind was made up.

Ten minutes later the race had started but unfortunately she was too young even to enter the shop, so her brother propped the door open and relayed the state of the runners from within.

His face creased into a deep, delighted chuckle, “Ha, ha, it’s off to a shocker of a start.” He did enjoy her misfortune. Slowly, however, Magic Orb started gaining on the others. “It’s catching up. It’s passed one!” he cried.

Frustrated she stood outside illicitly drawing deeply on a cigarette and willing this chestnut brown horse on. “Where’s the race taking place?” she called into the smoky bookmaker’s office. “Aintree,” Paul replied, “In Liverpool.”

Slowly, slowly, she heard her brother’s tone change as the steed kept gaining on those in front, until finally it was second. Paul’s tone reached a crescendo as the final metres came and Magic Orb drew level with Egg Face, the leader and favourite.

“He’s going to do it!” Paul screamed finally. She stood outside and smiled. Fifty quid! Thinking of all Elvis memorabilia she could buy with that she smirked as a bubblingly excited Paul exited the shop.

Oddly he had the money in a envelope, she took it happily and the were giggling all the way home. On arriving Paul took a second envelope from his pocket and trapped it between the picture frame and the wall above the mantlepiece; where he put all his important letters and cash.

“What’s that?” she asked. Half sheepish, half bullish he replied “My winnings.” “What?” she stuttered as she tore open her envelope.

Five quid. “Yeah,” he said, “Your stake. You get the stake back when you win. I placed the bet, so legally the winnings are mine. It’s the law.”

Today I wrote from 23:00 to 23:10. I was prompted by ideas here. My other writings here. All my prompted writing here, and my tweets here

The last bell chimed and not even the crickets could be heard – Dead Deer

The last bell chimed and not even the crickets could be heard

Midday on the common. The chimes of the church bells rumbled through their melancholic rythmn until finally the last one came and seemed to hang on the air as it gradually died down. Once more the chatter could be heard, punctuated with the crack of a bat sweetly meeting the deep red ball. Once more the cricketers could be heard.

“Howzat” called our eleven voices in uniform excitement. Finally a breakthrough, after 7 overs without even a sniff. It felt like it was too late already and 48 for one wasn’t a lot more promising for the fielding team than 48 for no wicket.

In came the third bat, bespectacled and wiry. Just the steely character needed at that tricky position. Sometimes practically an opener, oft times coming in needing to push the pace.

Today was good though, and he felt confident. The skinny slow bowler loped in and – ooo delicious! – this had all the makings of a slow full toss ready for the new batsman to stroke easily for a boundary through the covers to get off the mark in style. He planted his front foot and brought the bat down.

The bowler grinned. The perfect ‘ball on a string’ plummeted downwards at the last minute and yorked him. The batsmen was dismayed at the rattling sound behind him and trudged disconsolately off amid the giggling cheers of the fielders .

The bowler turned to start his short slow run in. He was on a hat-trick.

 Today I wrote from 21:47 to 21:57. I was prompted by ideas here. My other writings here. All my prompted writing here, and my tweets here

She snickered as she ran, until she noticed what was behind her – Dead Deer

She snickered as she ran, until she noticed what was behind her

Running a marathon an amusing thought came into her mind, regarding Colin Firth. At first she tittered, then she giggled. It didn’t stop amusing her, yet she recognised that it really wasn’t all that funny really. It must be from being so weak passing the thirty kilometre mark.

Then it came to her again, and she laughed out loud. It seemed to her highly amusing that Colin Firth is called ‘Colin’ and she, nor anyone else it seems, had ever noticed.

She heard her name, and looked up. A group of friends waving her on, and looking happy but bemused that she seemed in such good spirits, actually laughing as she ran!

She had to stop and tell them, she really had to share this. Their bewilderment grew as she started shouting “He’s called Colin, see? COLIN.”

“Who?” they called back

“COLIN FIRTH”, now helpless with laughter she had to stop and hold her sides, “he’s called COLIN!! Isn’t that ridiculous?!”

Turning to start again she would normally have been delighted to see such a famous face running beside her suddenly, but today, well, not today.

Today I wrote from 17:47 to 17:57. I was prompted by ideas here. My other writings here. All my prompted writing here, and my tweets here

A half-eaten muffin and a spoon, were all that remained – Dead Deer

A half-eaten muffin and a spoon, were all that remained.

Spoon. Spoonfoot, spoonface. Have you ever looked at your face in the back of the spoon? Have you have seen someone who looks like that always? No, neither have I.

Muffin. Who eats a muffin with a spoon? I suppose this is intended as an American muffin, the big, sweet individual cake that they will insist is a muffin. A muffin, to me, is a bread product. Has a resonant relationship with the crumpet, in that they are both round and demand to be served with lashing for melted butter. A muffin, unlike a crumpet, is first cut in half. Then each are toasted. Also delicious with muffins is scrambled egg, and ham, or maybe salmon. Who eats scrambled eggs with a spoon? Not I.

I am sure that is not all that was left? Surely a plate? Surely some furniture, walls, air? Who would be the witness if all that were left were a half-eaten muffin and a spoon.

Spoons. Serving spoon, table spoon, dessert spoon, soup spoon, tea spoon, coffee spoon. Who’s to say?

fToday I wrote from 15:30 to 15:40. I was prompted by ideas here. My other writings here. All my prompted writing here, and my tweets here

An Eruption of Presents was all that could be Seen – Dead Deer

An Eruption of Presents was all that could be Seen

She walked briskly toward the bus stop, her hair still wet from the shower. The sun shone down and she felt the warmth gradually enter her. A car screamed by, ‘Daydream Believer’ blaring out of the open windows. She smiled, thinking of Davy Jones’ funny little dance in his purple loon pants.

She made the bus with time to spare and found a seat upstairs. The heat of the sun was magnified by the window, it was almost uncomfortable. Running her fingers through her now nearly dry hair something caught her eye. A slight movement in the bedroom window opposite as the bus paused briefly, long enough for her to focus and register the fist hit the face on the other side of the pane. “Oh my days” she thought, her mouth forming a large “O”. The man in the window looked up and they stared at one another as the bus eased away. Confused she continued to look out and in the next house an eruption of presents was all that she could see.

Today I wrote from 22:12 to 22:22. I was prompted by ideas here. My other writings here. All my prompted writing here, and my tweets here

Fishnet Stockings Were a Real Nice Surprise – Dead Deer

Fishnet Stockings Were a Real Nice Surprise.

Consciousness came slowly, realisation yet slower. The odd weight and strange creak at the end of the bed took a moment or two to form in the mind. A pause and remembrance; Christmas Day and it seems Father Christmas has been and filled his stocking. It was still dark. Desperate to reach down and see and feel the stretched and overflowing football sock he had left, he knew it must be hours until he could rise. He checked his clock. 4am.

His parents had been adamant; six thirty at the earliest. So back to sleep. Some chance! The thoughts whirring about what might be in there, not wanting to formulate clear pictures so as to mitigate disappointment. Seriously, though, what hope not to? Slowly, so slowly the minutes ticked by. Finally the time arrived.

Chocolates, sweets, pocket games, a tiny pack of cards, a satsuma. All suddenly transformed into magical items simply by being stuffed into an old sock! And the last object his small hand pulled out, the best of all. His dad had promised to take him to the lake in the spring, but he wasn’t sure he really would. This net for catching fish confirmed that the promise was indeed in earnest.

Today I wrote from 13:34 to 13:44. I was prompted by ideas here. My other writings here. All my prompted writing here, and my tweets here

She Reeked of Sugary Sweets, and her Teeth Gave Away her Disguise – Dead Deer

She Reeked of Sugary Sweets, and her Teeth Gave Away her Disguise

The smoke curled around her fingers as she slouched on the grey street corner. She inhaled deeply and her lungs felt the warmth flood them. Man alive it was cold here. Snow fell from her boots as she stamped her feet. Looking up furtively, and saw the big coats and bigger hats on the busy street. It was so hard to distinguish between people, but she must not miss him, but just as important she couldn’t stare. Wait. Just wait. And smoke.

Her fresh pack was nearly empty by the time she glimpsed him emerge from the icy fog, and she was cold. Her natural stance, turned slightly, allowed her to avoid his gaze, whether he was looking or not. He ought to have been aware he would be watched, but his arrogance left her sure he wouldn’t bother with even the most basic precautions. She flicked away the butt and pulled some mints from her pocket. Jesus, how many times? These ones had so much sugar they made the teeth fairly sting. They never listened. She gulped three at a time.

Casually she left her post and moved off into the crowds. Stupidly he wore a distinctive hat, making him easy to track. He was way too showy for this life, she thought once again. Yet he’d survived this long. He must have something.

It was the mints. He recognised the cheap brand straight away. He even knew that she hated them, but Control never got her the ones she wanted. The day I treat an asset that badly is the day I deserve to get it, he thought. He had signalled with a imperceptible nod and carried on.

Imperceptible, that is, to all except the one it was intended for. She followed him for a few streets before she was picked up. She smiled engagingly at the young men, an attempt to placate and assure them she was a nobody. As soon as they saw that smile, however, they knew. Within the hour her body was in many pieces and strewn across various locations in the conveniently plentiful rivers in this watery, cold and inhospitable town.

Today I wrote from 11:59 to 12:09. I was prompted by ideas here. My other writings here. All my prompted writing here, and my tweets here

Heavenly Creatures Featured Boldly in Her Dreams – Dead Deer

Heavenly Creatures Featured Boldly in Her Dreams

Driving slowly in the fast lane hoping for some release she suddenly saw it standing on a fence post. Small, angry looking and crouching it was, it must be said, quite a foreboding sight. She shook her head briefly and pulled back in to the other carriageway. That creature left her mind as the weary hours dragged.

Several hundred miles later and she wearily ascends the stairs. The door gently shuts behind her and a soft light fills the room calmly from beside the bed. She undresses and folds her clothes away, her soft warm pyjamas smooth against her skin. The sound of the water gurgling down the plug has barely ebbed away before she is abed.

Too tired to read the light is quickly extinguished at the welcoming dark of her eyelids descends. All is peace.

Yet the sounds of the night begin to infiltrate, an owl hoots, a vixen screams. As these sounds penetrate her dreams so does that creature emerge, without shyness nor hesitation it is there. Now she can see its face more clearly, is it smiling or scowling? It leaps off it’s perch on the fencepost and swiftly enters her mind. Never to leave.

Today I wrote from 14:50 to 15:00. I was prompted by ideas here. My other writings here. All my prompted writing here, and my tweets here