This is a response to a Flash Fiction prompt from ‘Putting My Feet In the Dirt’, Writing Prompts hosted by ‘M’. Which can be found by following the link below..
This is a response to a Flash Fiction prompt from ‘Putting My Feet In the Dirt’, Writing Prompts hosted by ‘M’. Which can be found by following the link below..
Bill Jones was a happy-go-lucky normal teenager, happy to go through life, dancing at the assorted local dance halls in the small town where he lived and taking part in local five-a-side football games. He was toughly brought-up; as the result of his parents marriage breakdown, he grew up and was schooled in a succession of care homes. That was the beginning of a life full of feverish, frenetic fiascos. Bill would just get settled into a way of life, then fate would intervene and rip his new situation to shreds.
Bill was considered quite good looking, with his black hair, blue eyes and a roman nose, he had little trouble attracting girlfriends at the various dance venues. It was at a local social club he met Maria, a pretty girl, with long dark hair and brown eyes. It was an instant attraction on both sides and after the dance he escorted her home, where he was introduced to her Spanish Mother and Father and her four brothers. The relationship developed and became quite stormy, Maria had inherited her parents’ stormy Latin temperament.
One day, a few months later, Maria frantically called Bill to meet up with her urgently, she was breathless and panting feverishly, almost in a state of shock.
‘I need to see you, NOW! I’ve got something important to tell you. Come to Luigi’s, the local bistro AT ONCE!’
‘OK! ‘ replied Bill.
They were soon seated opposite each other and Maria bluntly said, ‘I’m pregnant!’
‘What! How come? I thought you were on the pill.’
‘I always take it but….’
At this moment, Maria started to shake and became feverish.
Bill was concerned and said, ‘Shall I call a doctor?’
‘No!’ screamed Maria, ‘If my family finds out, there’ll be trouble. My brothers will kill you! What are we going to do?’
Bill said, ‘I don’t know. I think we may have to run away and start a new life together.’
Maria became upset again and Bill called for a glass of water from the waiter.
A new feverish fiasco began as they rapidly made plans to steal away and travel to a large city many miles away. Bill had an old school friend Tony, who had agreed to put them up. Tony even introduced them to a landlord who had some accommodation to rent.
The apartment was in a large Edwardian house set in the centre of a row of rundown properties; one-time well-to-do dwellings for the upper middle classes. They rented a two-roomed furnished apartment on the second floor. The wallpaper featured male peacocks with their tails in full courting display. A mud-coloured threadbare, worn carpet graced the floor. Their bed was a double sized mattress on the floor with four grubby pillows and a heap of assorted coats and blankets for warmth. There were a couple of battered wooden dining chairs with clothes piled on them to take the place of a non-existent wardrobe. The kitchenette comprised a tiny electric cooker in a corner of the living room with a sink for washing and cooking.
They had neighbours, Sarah and Josh on the same landing, who also rented a couple of rooms with a huge number of electronic devices connected to an illegal supply of electricity.
A couple of months later, Bill came home to find Maria in a feverish condition, terribly upset, crying bitterly.
‘What’s the matter, love?
‘Bill! I think I’ve lost the baby.’
Bill called the Doctor who examined her and confirmed she certainly wasn’t pregnant, but she seemed to have frequent feverish spells, which suggested she had a hysterical personality.
Bill swore his life consisted of a series of frenetic fiascos that would blend nicely with this diagnosis.
They made peace with Maria’s family; got married; and they lived and loved through many more frenetic, feverish, fiascos together.
This is a response to a Flash Fiction prompt from ‘Putting My Feet In the Dirt’, Writing Prompts hosted by ‘M’. Which can be found by following the link below..
This is a response to a Flash Fiction prompt from ‘Putting My Feet In the Dirt’, Writing Prompts hosted by ‘M’. Which can be found by following the link below..
We always knew when the twins were around Lenny would whistle, with a merry tune Louise would talk quietly to herself out loud, Their whole world was built on creative sound.
Twin flames burning, developing together.
~
Lenny became a gifted musician, Hitting the heights with his every note Courting his audience with sounds sublime In many joyful musical compositions
Twin flames burning, together forever.
~
Louise became a writer transforming words Rehearsing poetry and prose unbowed Vocalising and testing words out loud. Testing her thoughts on the listening birds
Twin flames identically developing together.
~
Twins, creating patterns of words with music Together a symphony of mingling works
This is a response to a Flash Fiction prompt from ‘Putting My Feet In the Dirt’, Writing Prompts hosted by ‘M’. Which can be found by following the link below..
‘Gerri, the Coronavirus update is just beginning on TV love! It’s the PM, alongside the PROF. outlining the health view and SIR.P., taking the scientific stance’ exclaimed Peter Smith, quite loudly as his wife Geraldine was busy in the kitchen preparing the evening meal. There was a vocal reaction to this, Peter was unsure how this information had been received. Sometimes he felt that his wife’s surface enthusiastic response masked an undercurrent of resignation. They had endured the highs and lows of the worldwide pandemic for almost a year now and the constant flow of facts and figures and graphs had begun to show signs of overkill. They sat down together to listen to the latest stream of data.
The PM opened the proceedings with a long fact-filled description of the latest developments. This inspiring rundown of facts and figures ended with the sentence…..’We are making excellent progress in the fight against this deadly threat to our way of life and I’m sure we will eventually be able to get this virus under control. I will now hand you over to the Prof, who will outline the situation so far.’
The Professor confidently began to interpret the meaning of the figures on several charts and after some health advice finished by saying. ‘If everyone obeys the recommended behavioural instructions, eventually we will certainly beat this virus.’
Next, Sir P, the esteemed head of science outlined the up-to-minute scientific research on the progress of the worldwide attempts to produce an effective vaccine to stem the uncontrolled spread of the virus. His closing words were, ‘Eventually, when the bulk of the population has had a vaccination, herd immunity will develop and we will have the virus on the run.
Eventually after some questions from the media and the public the PM closed the meeting with the words….Stay at home, Protect the NHS, Save lives and eventually we’ll certainly beat this virus.
Geraldine looked at Peter and said, ‘It’s frightening Pete! Whatever are we going to do on the day after eventually?’
Peter grinned and replied, ‘Easy Geri! We’ll invite our friends and family round to enjoy a wild party and celebrate for the whole day!’
‘Ooh Yes Pete! Then we can book a holiday abroad and celebrate with the rest of the family overseas.’
This is a response to a Flash Fiction prompt from ‘Putting My Feet In the Dirt’, Writing Prompts hosted by ‘M’. Which can be found by following the link below..
Alistair Carlton-Smith enjoyed his job, ferrying passengers on short pleasure flights, who were prepared to enjoy the spectacular views of La Gomera, a small mountainous island in the Canary Islands from the air. Alistair was an ex-pilot who had trained and obtained his flying qualifications in the UK. He was a happy-go-lucky man with an easy-going personality who excelled in his job and loved his laid back lifestyle. On the fateful day where our story begins, he picked up a young couple at the airfield. The young man, conspicuous by a shock of bright red hair with a face full of freckles, was quite short with a bubbly demeanour. He was accompanied by his girlfriend; a pretty young woman with long auburn hair and piercing green eyes.
‘Welcome aboard folks, Lovely to meet you both, I’m Alistair, what do you call yourselves?’
‘I’m Jenny, and this handsome man is my boyfriend Mike.’
‘Lovely to meet you both, we have a few formalities before takeoff, but you are in for a ride you will never forget.’
Little did Captain Alistair realise how prophetic those words would be. The scenery they flew over was spectacular, steep rocky mountains that engulfed the island sheltering fertile valleys where hardy people had lived and survived on the rocky fertile land for centuries; scraping a living by exporting their produce to the mainland. Captain Alistair handled his aircraft with ease, climbing high peaks and diving down low into rocky valleys, pointing out the precipitous beauty of the landscape, with soaring ravines and sleepy villages.
Suddenly there was a shudder in the engine as they were making a steep climb.
‘What’s that Captain?’ Mike yelled as the plane began to nosedive towards the floor of a large isolated valley containing what looked like a dried-up riverbed.
‘I’m not certain,’ replied Captain Alistair, ‘Seems to be a fuel problem, although we were fully refuelled before we took off, I’m going to attempt a landing in that riverbed and call for help. Hold tight’
. The aircraft hit the ground and came to a juddering halt.
Jenny and Mike were shaken up but unharmed. Captain Alistair attempted to send an SOS, but sadly the radio was badly damaged in the crash landing. Mobile telephone signals were impossibly non-existent here.
‘What are you going to do?’ cried Jenny, looking at the steep sides of the mountain that surrounded them.
Captain Alistair grinned reassuring and proceeded to purse his lips and emit a loud, sharp, series of whistles.
‘What are you doing?’ shouted Mike ‘This isn’t the time to whistle in the wind.’
The response from the erstwhile pilot was a further series of even louder whistles. Jenny began sobbing helplessly as the whistling continued unabated. Suddenly there was an answering whistle from one side of the valley and another fainter whistle from further afield. After a few moments of this weird symphony, Captain Alistair turned to his passengers and said,
‘Don’t worry, help is on the way.’
Jenny and Mike were astonished when a rescue helicopter arrived and hovered above them sending down a rope ladder.
The alarm had been raised by the use of a whistling language that is unique to La Gomera, a fascinating demonstration of La Gomera’s unique whistling language. This is a historical form of communication the early settlers developed, to pass messages from one high ravine to another. Sadly assumed to be redundant, in these days of mobile phones, the authorities are trying to preserve this whistling language, through compulsory lessons at school.
‘On the small and mountainous island in the Canaries called La Gomera, Silbo Gomero is a language that employs a range of whistle sounds in place of words. In Spanish, “silbar” means to whistle, and the language of Silbo Gomero consists of four ”vowels” and four ”consonants” that when put together form as many as 4,000 words. This avian method of communication is believed by scholars to have arrived with the early African settlers as long as 2,500 years ago. And it can be heard for up to two miles. “Silbadors” were once considered a dying breed, but since 1999 Silbo has been a required language in La Gomera schools.’
This is a response to a Flash Fiction prompt from ‘Putting My Feet In the Dirt’, Writing Prompts hosted by ‘M’. Which can be found by following the link below..
TUESDAY 2nd FEBRUARY 2021 This is a response to a Flash Fiction prompt from ‘Putting My Feet In the Dirt’, Writing Prompts hosted by ‘M’. Which can be found by following the link below..
I lay on the mountainside seeking inspiration. I examined my problem to solve the conundrum. It began to rain, I looked at my watch. A drop of rain landed on my nose and supplied the answer.
~~~~~
LITTLE BY LITTLE
by John Yeo
Every day, with the warming return of the watery sun, the snow would melt, then seep and freeze again.
Forming pools of water that would rise and trickle and soon flood the surrounding plains.
It starts in the mountain peaks, flowing and falling down rocky slopes, creating rivulets and cataracts descending into well-worn river beds.
Tiny drops of water that little by little would wear away and hone and shape the boulders and rocky escarpments.
Erosion over time smooths hard rock.
Water, dripping on a rock over thousands of years, can eat through the rock.
A river pounding against rock can cut through the rock over an extended period of time.
Caves, set in the mountainside, created by rainwater slowly seeping through limestone rock, are formed little by little as the centuries turn into aeons.
Stalagmites and stalactites are formed by traces of dissolved rock deposited by water dripping from the ground above.
I realise there is a lot of truth in the old adage, ‘The sands of time grind exceeding small.’ Perhaps a parallel should be, ‘A drop of water can create the sand.’
This is a response to a Flash Fiction prompt from ‘Putting My Feet In the Dirt’, Writing Prompts hosted by ‘M’. Which can be found by following the link below..
johnandmargaret1607 