Along the Starlit Way – Dead Deer

Along the Starlit Way

Calmly she closed the lid, and moved away. Looking behind her as she walked she almost missed her step, in the darkness, and stumbled slightly. Her eyes were accustomed to the dark, yet it was no easy feat to see clearly in the half light.

As she continued, she wondered when that lid would be opened again. Not for a long time, she hoped, a very very long time. I’ll be long in my grave, with any luck, she thought to herself, now leaving by the unlocked gate. If any of them find out before. Well, she shivered at the thought of it.

This, along with the darkness, turned her mind to her life, and her mortality. “Long in my grave”, she repeated out loud, but softly. Her own voice startled her in the smooth silence of the moon light. Another, what? twenty years, maybe thirty. Good God, she shuddered, another thirty years of this. Her shoulders slumped at the thought of it.

Heading across the wide open field, now, her thoughts turned again, this time to more prosaic things. A long walk ahead, the stars would be fading by the time she arrived. Why do I bother, why have I done this, she mused, wearily.

She knew why. They all knew why.

In the far, far distance, a dog barked wildly, and she realised, right there and then, that this was it. The thirty years she couldn’t face. Just get to the end of this week, when it will all be in place, she thought.

Then they will be able to open that lid much, much sooner. They will be pleased.

 

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Today I wrote  between 18:56 and 19:06.  I was prompted by an idea here.

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The Life of a Snowflake – Dead Deer

The Life of a Snowflake

“Hello,” she exclaimed, half leaning out of the upper window, “Why are you here? What does this mean?”

He did not mind this unwelcoming welcome, in fact, he was so far from surprised by it his only expectation had been for a far worse one. He waved, slightly, his straight smile fulfilling its usual role. Unsummoned by him it did, regretably, always seem to provide a non-committal entry, at least.

“I suppose I ought to offer you a cuppa,”, Laura coldly offered, before adding, icily, “although truly I should turf you out.”

“Thank you, a tea would be lovely. Lovely indeed.” His conciliatory air was quite natural. “It truly is a wonderful situation you have here. I have often longed for a nearby river in a home, better still, a stream running through your lawn. It is quite, quite enchanting.” Genuine, all this. “Yes. You really ought to turf me out. Actually, I really ought to not be here, putting you in this situation. I would truly like to apologise, but what would it mean? I would still be here.”

Laura reflected now, and later, on this honesty. He was an honest person, that had never been a question. Yes, she mused, and a good one. It is just. Well, it really is not on, is it, what he did. What he does.

He warmly complemented the tea. It really was delicious. He took a deep breath.

“Is she here?”

Laura’s mouth twitched almost imperceptibly, yet he perceived it, just. No, she thought, my sister is not here, and if I am correct then he really ought to know that.

She sighed. ‘What now?’ eased its slow progress through her mind. The water continued its slow journey through the garden, along the stream.

 

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Today I wrote  between 20:01 and 20:11.  I was prompted by an idea here.

If you enjoyed this short writing, a whole load more are available in paperback, and kindle editions in your local Amazon site. NEW PAPERBACK COMING SOON

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Broadway Night Blues – Dead Deer

Broadway Night Blues

Lost, high, lost highs beckon,
Adulation over, low and lost.
Shoes leak, socks wrecked
On feet, filthy, sodden, lost.

Found, low, lowly floundering,
Muttering ‘I was adored once, too’
Lines learnt, lines surround her,
Sing high, lost song low, too.

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Today I wrote  between 12:07 and 12:17.  I was prompted by an idea here.

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The Starlite Inn – Dead Deer

The Starlite Inn

‘Lite’ on stars, it may have been, but it certainly wasn’t light on lights. It would be hard to imagine a more floodlit motel anywhere across this great continent. In the dark, featureless region it shone like a beacon. One could only imagine that within one of its welcoming rooms the harsh brightness would filter from without, and render sleep unreachable, despite the stony, still, silence all around.

But stop we did, dear reader, stop we did. Ted himself welcomed us to The Starlite Inn, all five of us, and I see him now, as I saw him then; through my mind’s eye. Who could have thought my lifelong blindness would have been the difference, that night, and the reason why, this late night, I am here to recall those distant days.

Ted, it was, his warm smile, his warm home, his warm lights, (so I was told), Ted it was who held that door, wide, as we crossed the threshold, every bit a Rubicon. Settled in cosy chairs and sofas, in the reception area, my companions marvelled at what a wonderfully homely place this would be, were it not for those lights. I must inform you, even I could sense, the lights inside were every bit as deafening as they were outside, the lights designed to be noticed, to lure you in.

A light, warm, supper was produced somehow, an unusual array of toasts, rices, spreads and sauces. A thousand miles on the clock, though, and we gratefully tucked in to it all with gusto.

Do you know what you would choose for your last meal, should you have the chance? No, me neither, however, some of those rices! Who knew there were so many varieties, and so tasty, and varied. Certainly not my fellow diners, who attacked them all with relish, and with relish.

I have long wondered, since, if they had a chance to register their regret at their choices?

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Today I wrote  between 01:38 and 01:48.  I was prompted by an idea here.

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Where the Wild Things Aren’t – Dead Deer

Where the Wild Things Aren’t

The creak of ancients trees shuddered softly across the countless squat crosses. The low, dark rows marking six thousand final resting places. Blossom fluttered by, a gentle gust of wind shaking it loose.

Far away, across the fields and highways, the underpass has a not atypical aroma. Half-light, piss, fear and resignation all combine in this useful cave. Useful, yes, yet ridden with dejection. A close atmosphere somehow keeps the air at bay, despite the yawing entrances.

Even here, a beach, a beautiful, rich yellow beach, the sun beginning it’s decline, after a day’s work of warming the world. A new job begins, as it dazzles those reclining with it’s own setting. Myriad colours, changing, moving, even as they progress ever darker. Yet even here, yes even here, there is little joy. Satisfaction, perhaps, a bittersweet sadness for yet another perfect day gone, lost.

The heavy machinery starts its insistant drone. The first ground is broken. all flora and fauna banished. Gleaming, new, concrete, Man is here. Wild things are not.

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Today I wrote  between 16:37 and 16:47.  I was prompted by an idea here.

If you enjoyed this short writing, a whole load more are available in paperback, and kindle editions in your local Amazon site

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The Sugar Coated Nutsack – Dead Deer

The Sugar Coated Nutsack

“I can’t sugar-coat this, I’m afraid”, the doctor stated, alarmingly, “It is not good news.”

Hector swallowed hard. He hadn’t even wanted to go that day, although he would never have imagined the eventual reason to avoid going. He just usually found it dull. In the end, on this occasion, it was anything but dull.

Nothing appeared amiss when they knocked on the door. It creaked open and he remembers – how oh innocent then! – giggling to himself and thinking that was so cliched, if this were a horror movie. Which is wasn’t, this was life. The frail and gentle old lady behind the door not only put his mind at rest, but also gave him that surge of excitement he had forgotten about.

Here was the easiest of easy marks.

Or so they thought.

It may have been hours, it may even have been days ago, Hector thought as he lay in the hospital. They gained entrance well enough, and started the patter happily. She seemed attentive and responsive. And gull-i-ble. Before they knew what was happening, she was giving them the tour of her modest home. Including the cellar.

Ah. The cellar.

They were found on the street, knocked out, and riddled with pain which got worse as their consciousness increased. The scoring and burning all over their skin was horrendous. Evidence of extreme temperatures, of hot oil, and worse, was everywhere. Sugar melts at 186 degrees Celsius. That is hot.

“Yes, I’m afraid it is completely covered. It will be extremely painful removing it, and then the burns below. Uff. It will be a long, slow, and painful process, I’m afraid. It’ll be a while before you are going door-to-door again, I’m sorry.” The doctor was kindly, but you could tell he wasn’t keen on their shady way of making a living. He hadn’t been noticeably gentle so far. He, like the police, didn’t believe their story for one second.

She was, after all, such a sweet old lady.

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Today I wrote  between 12:32 and 12:42.  I was prompted by an idea here.

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Illegally Brunette – Dead Deer

Illegally Brunette

Let’s be honest, it is more a crime of geography than anything else. The argument was always thin for the segregation, only provided as an excuse for those who wanted it already. For other reasons. In each of the zones stylists naturally specialised, it could not really be helped. Fashions change, however, and of course a certain type of person, at a certain type of age, will always want to shock.

There was nothing, anyway, in any pamphlet, or constitution, that mentioned dyes, of course. Not yet. It was not very easy to find someone willing to do it, although not very difficult either. It was frowned upon, rather than anything stronger. And once the craze hit, the entire industry became a charged one, old friends, partners, all divided neatly into those that dyed and those that didn’t.

No one could really get why that one post on BlondBook made such a stir. Soon viral, and from the initial shock, repulsion even, came some copycats. These early ones wanted to cash in on a bit of the rebellion kudos, but it was amazing how quickly it became mainstream. This is when the problems began; when people started to see the inherent beauty in it.

This led to wider debates, and the once niche ProAllHair group started to gain support, not only across society, but across societies, and cross hair border meetings intensified. Obviously the authorities had to act. What started with a simple ban on dye ended, not so very long after, with many deaths.

A salutary lesson in there, somewhere.

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Today I wrote  between 23:30 and 23:40.  I was prompted by an idea here.

If you enjoyed this short writing, a whole load more are available in paperback, and kindle editions in your local Amazon site

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