This had me totally stumped. There’s a golden coloured powder on the wrapper – Cinnamon? Ginger?

Again, looking inside didn’t help.

The Taste Test: Hmmm. Tastes like KitKat. In the interests of research and accurate reporting I ate both, but it didn’t help. I just couldn’t figure out the flavor. They were tasty though. Malt perhaps? Could be.

Verdict: 7/10. Tasty, very nice indeed, but I was unable to establish what differentiated this from a regular KitKat. Maybe it was one.

As I closed my laptop Max appeared, right on queue, lead in his mouth, wagging his tail so hard his whole body wiggled from side to side. Max is my labrador, the one good thing to come out of my relationship with John. Max was John’s puppy, but John’s new girlfriend hated dogs, so when John left me he left Max too. Five years ago that was, and it couldn’t have worked out better.

We walk by the beach every morning. Rain or shine, summer or winter, Max and I are there, same time every day. If the tide’s in we’re up on the greensward, Max sniffing out rabbits while I greet my fellow walkers, dishing out dog treats to Max’s friends, and comments about the weather to the owners. Max likes it best when the tide’s out, and I do too. He gets to charge about on the sand, in and out of the water, chasing seagulls. I get to stroll along slowly, watching worm casts appear in the wet sand, turning over rocks in the rock pools, feeling the sea breeze on my face.

The tide was heading out yesterday morning, still just covering the rocks that mark the edge of the beach before the sand begins. Max ran straight down to the beach, barking, which isn’t like him, so I hurried to catch up, worried that something was wrong. And, well, it wasn’t wrong, per se, just, well, odd. Down on the beach, left by the tide, was a huge ball of ice. Just sitting there.

Max was right up next to it, barking at it, unsure of what to do. I ruffled his neck and told him it was ok and, reassured, he ran off to chase a seagull that had ventured close. The ice ball was big, almost as big as me, and perfectly spherical. I placed my palm flat on it, and it was cold and wet to the touch, which wasn’t really surprising. I looked around, but there was nobody else on the beach, and no signs of anything out to sea that might explain it. As I looked back into the sphere I caught the reflection of two people, but when I turned they were gone.

A shiver went down my spine, but I couldn’t help but look back into the ice. The figures were close now, I could see them walking hand in hand along the beach. A couple it was, with a black lab almost identical to Max, and a golden retriever too. She had dark hair pulled back in a ponytail, pretty much like mine, and was wearing shorts and wellies with a black rain jacket. I looked down at what I was wearing, and a sharp chill ran through my body. The man had tousled blonde hair, and was also wearing the beach-in-autumn outfit of shorts, wellies and a rainjacket. That was too much for me. It was too strange and I needed to get to work, so I called Max and headed for home.

We were back on the beach later for our evening walk, but the ice-sphere was gone, carried away by the sea or melted by the salt. Neither the old couple with two spaniels nor the widower with the retired greyhound knew anything about it, and looked at me a little strangely when I asked, so I let it go and didn’t mention it to any of the other evening walkers. Funny thing though. There was a new guy walking on the beach in the evening. Blonde, tousled hair. Golden retriever.

I’m looking forward to this morning’s walk.

~~
Inspired by Beach Treasure taken by Seaside Shooter from Flickr.

Written for Flickr Fiction, now renamed Ficktion and living over here where you can read other pieces too.

It’s been about six months since I joined in, so it might take a while to get warmed up again – bear with me!

I was running from.

The weight of mediocrity was chasing me, and no matter how fast, or how far I ran I could feel its heavy breath on the wind behind me, feel the weight of its footsteps on the ground. Everywhere I turned, everywhere I ran it was there, just behind, ready to catch and consume me.

It was there when I flew through the cornfield, eyes wide in terror like so many before. Is there an original way to run through a field of corn? If you’re running to it’s leisurely, relaxed, gleeful, sensual. If you’re running from it’s dark and grey and cold and hurried.

Sometimes I caught a glimpse of the exceptional, and as I darted towards it I was running to, not from. Others darted too though, and the run turned into a stampede, with normality and convention right at the heart.

I kept running, through many fields: Golden fields of wheat and green meadows with sprinklings of spring flowers. I fled through cities: Bright, tall, glass cities, and old, worn, battered ones, bustling with people but empty of soul. In all I was indifferent, pedestrian, middling, undistinguished.

Everywhere I ran, and in everything I did, mediocrity was right there behind me.

Eventually I slowed – you can’t run forever – and mediocrity caught me, permeated my existence and turned me into yet another cookie cutter person in this cookie cutter world.

I’m biding my time though. Building up my resources. Preparing. Waiting. Until the time is right. And then I’ll run again.
~~

This short return to Flickr Fiction was inspired by This picture taken by tomdebiec from Flickr.

Written for Flickr Fiction Friday. Other Flickr Fictioneers who may have written about the same picture are: Donal,Elimare, Tadamack, Aquafortis, Chris, Valsha, Neil, and Mari.

Apologies to everyone for my absence from this for the last month or so.

While I like the pictures, and do want to write something based on some of them (which is partly why I haven’t read or commented on the pieces written by the rest of the group – Donal,Elimare, Tadamack, Aquafortis, Chris, Valsha, and Neil.), I just haven’t felt like focussing on one thing for very long this week. Last week I was lost in the lace knitting and a good book.

I probably won’t be writing anything based on this week’s picture, but I will tell you why I selected it (I don’t usually pick the pictures, but I did choose this one).

I was browsing through the “Last 7 Days Interesting” sets on Flickr, and found one that had fire in it, but didn’t grab me. The fire did though, to a perhaps slightly worrying extent, so I took myself off to the creative commons licensed section of Flickr, and had a bit of a browse for fire related shots, and this one was exactly what was in my head.

Mt Victoria Fire by Phobo from Flickr.

I really like the way the fire seems to be exploding out of the trees – it gives the impression that something has either landed from the sky or is flying up. It made me think of children setting off fireworks, of meteors zooming out of the sky and crashing into the trees, of the moment when a small fire gets out of control and takes over, of the beginning of destruction, or the beginning of life.

When I clicked on the picture to see it properly I read that it was taken on Mount Victoria in Wellington, New Zealand, and was a bonfire as part of a Guy Fawkes display. I lived in Wellington for almost a year, seven years ago, but I arrived in Wellington just after Nov 5th, and left just before, so didn’t see any displays.

Knowing the background to the picture made it both easier and harder to write about – on the one hand, I could put together a tale set in Wellington pretty accurately (ohhh, maybe there’d be an earthquake), on the other hand, it’d be harder (but not difficult, lets face it) to forget what I know about the setting.

Anyway, hopefully this weekend my inspiration will return, and I’ll start writing again. I think it’s hiding in a chocolate bar. I just need to find the right one.

Every bloody afternoon he’d be sat there, talking to the tree stump. It was just so embarrassing. I hated walking home from school through the park, just because of him. It’s not like I wanted to have anything to do with him, it wasn’t my fault that our mums were best friends. So, our families took holidays together. I didn’t have a choice in that. It didn’t stop everyone slagging me for it though. Tree hugger Terence, they called him. We’d walk past him, the group of us, and I knew it’d start.
“Hey Laura, there’s your boyfriend talking to the tree again. Why don’t you stay and join him? We don’t mind if you leave us”
I tried everything to get them to shut up – I ignored them, I got angry with them and stormed off, I laughed at Terence with them, but none of it made any difference.
Every day, we’d walk through the park. My stomach would knot and I’d get more and more tense as we got closer to the stump. If Terence hadn’t got there yet, or had been and gone I could relax. Otherwise it’d start up again. Most times he was there though. If the weather was ok enough for us to be walking home, it was ok enough for Terence to sit and talk to himself in front of the tree.

He didn’t used to be so lame. Terence, I mean. He was pretty cool for a while, and I was happy to be seen with him, and for people to think we were friends. Then his clothes just got a bit too odd, and he started liking shouty and moany music instead of the stuff that everyone else liked. And then he started talking to the tree.

I’d never admit it to my friends, but on holidays we still hung out. We’d always known each other, and he was like my brother, except a brother that didn’t get on my nerves at home, and didn’t try to blame me when he did something wrong. On holidays he was the same smart and funny Terence that he’d always been. He didn’t talk to plants on holidays.

I never mentioned the tree stuff to him when we were alone. I wanted to. I wanted to scream at him that he was making an idiot of himself and didn’t he care?, but something stopped me. I’d seen the look on his face when I’d joined in laughing at him with the others, and I didn’t want to see it again.

After a while he started bunking off school. I didn’t blame him, really. The slagging started up there as well, but really, he brought it on himself. He could have stopped it if he’d just started acting normal. Stopped talking to the tree stump. Instead he spent more and more time there. Mum started asking me questions about him at school – had I seen him that day, asking me to pass messages to his mum through him. I covered for him for a while – I bunked off too sometimes so I could pass on any messages without my friends seeing me.

Then one day I got home from school – it was pouring rain, so I’d got the bus – and his mum was there, sat at the kitchen table with my mum, both of them holding big mugs of tea steaming in the cold air.
“We need to have a chat with you Laura. About Terence.”

The school had rung. They knew he hadn’t been going. They knew about the tree. Terence had told his mum all about how the tree spoke to him, and how he felt comfortable talking to it.
“We’ve found a nice safe place for him to stay for a while. Somewhere he can get some help.”

~~

This beginning was inspired by This picture taken by Right Index from Flickr.

Written for Flickr Fiction Friday. Other Flickr Fictioneers who may have written about the same picture are: Donal,Elimare, Tadamack, Aquafortis, Chris, Valsha, and Neil.

Friday night we went to see American Buffalo at the Gate theatre. It was ‘meh’. The highlight for me was that one of the actors was Aidan Gillen, who I’m watching in season 3 of The Wire right now, and who played Stuart in Queer as Folk. He fluffed a few lines (forgivable, as it was a proview), but his style of acting was to be fast, and enthusiastic, which seemed to fit the play. The other actors were playing more of a considered style, pausing before delivering each line, which just didn’t work when the dialogue is supposed to be snappy and the lines supposed to cutting over each other. Bad direction was my conclusion.
It was a nice night though, despite that. Good company makes up for all sorts of things.

I’m uninspired generally at the moment though.

I bought ingredients for cupcakes, but didn’t make any.

I intended to make my Gadzooks dress, but the weekend went somewhere without that happening.

I didn’t write any flickr fiction, again.

I’ve knitted a little, but it’s not particularly exciting:

Mosaic mitts, from Interweave Holiday Gifts – I finished these a week ago, but hadn’t posted them. My feelings are mixed. My gauge was off, but they just about fit me, so I didn’t rip back. The colours don’t go that well together, but they’re ok, and pretty spring-like, so I left them.
Meh.

Gentleman’s Plain Winter Sock. Round and round and round I go, just in stockingette. Kinda what I feel like at the moment.

The beginnings of Tori from magknits, except I’ve knitted a small hem on the bottom as I don’t plan on using the kid silk haze. Just a plain knitted vest.

See, uninspired. I’m hoping to be snapped out of this soon, but the end of the weekend and the arrival of Monday morning does not fill me with joy. On the plus side, Cast-On is back to make the commute fly by. Yay for Brenda.

I’m feeling better now though, although I’m still quite tired and don’t really feel like eating.

Anyway, this means that I’ve decided to sit out this week’s Flickr Fiction Friday.
Other Flickr Fictioners who may have taken part this week though, are: Donal,Elimare, Tadmack, Aquafortis, Chris, Valsha, and Neil.

“Great thanks Doctor.”

“And how are the pills working out for you?

“Oh, I don’t need them any more. That electric shock treatment you showed me has been working a treat.”

“But you checked yourself out of the hospital after the first treatment. You were scheduled for five more sessions. That’s why we were trying the pills instead.”

“Oh I know Doctor, but I didn’t like the pills, so I thought I’d give the electric shocks another go, and I feel great now.”

“But you haven’t been back to the hospital.”

“Oh no Doctor, there’s no need for all that fuss. My Billy wired me up at home instead.”

~~

Inspired by This picture taken by receivingend from Flickr.

Written for Flickr Fiction Friday. Other Flickr Fictioners who may have written about the same picture are: Donal,Elimare, Tadamack, Aquafortis, HeavySigh, Chris, Valsha, and Neil.

Lilian was the girl next door. I always knew I’d marry her. We grew up together. Started school on the same day – different schools, of course. She was bright, she’d help me with my homework. We both got teased about spending time together. The boys in my class didn’t understand why I’d rather play with her than them after school, but Lilian could play just as well as them – she could climb trees better than any of them, and when they let us join in she’d always win at hide and seek.
Of course, things changed a bit when we got older, but it was natural that we’d be each other’s first kiss, and then that we’d get engaged.

An air hostess, she was. ‘Trolly Dolly’, I liked to call her. She’d pretend to get all indignant and annoyed at me, but there’d be this lovely glint in her eye and she couldn’t keep a straight face for long before her face broke into a giggle. She never got annoyed at me really. I could never get annoyed at her. She was too nice, too perfect.

She’d always wanted to travel a lot. When she got the job as an air hostess she was so happy. Radiant. I was so proud of her. I didn’t want her to work, really, but we needed the money. Saving for a house for one day. Of course, her job meant that we couldn’t get married, or have children for a while, married women not being allowed to be air hostesses and all, so we had to stay living at home, next door to each other. When she was home that was. Sometimes there were early flights, or late ones, so she kept a room in a house with some of the other girls, up close to the airport. I didn’t mind though, when she was home Lilian was always right next door, and she’d make dinner for me, and help mam with the washing and things, so it was enough for me. I got a bit of stick from the lads about it, being 25 and all, I was old enough to be married and settled down, but I knew that one day it’d come right.

I saw Lily whenever she wasn’t flying or off on training. It meant it was only for a couple of days each week, but oh, those days! We’d go for long walks in the park, holding hands the whole time, then she’d cook dinner for me, and we’d go out for a drink, or out dancing together. She loved to dance, did Lily. Always at the centre of the party. I wanted to marry her, but she said that if work found out she’d lose her job, and she loved it so much that I couldn’t ask her again. Of course, when the rules changed and married women were allowed to fly still everything was different.

The day the rules changed I was so happy. I had the ring already, from my grandma. I asked her to come for a walk with me, down to the river where we’d had our first kiss all those years before. Then I got down on one knee and asked her to be my wife. She said yes and made me the happiest man in the world. She said that she’d like to wait a little while, until she was really sure that they’d still let her fly, but we could start planning, and I was happy with that.

I proposed again as soon as the rules were changed. I’d had it all planned out. A picnic in the park, with some sparkling wine ready for when she said yes, which she did, making me the happiest man in the world. We got married the next year, when things had settled down a bit with the new rules. She joked that she was old for a bride, at twenty-six, but she looked so happy, and so beautiful, you’d have thought she was barely twenty.

We had a small wedding, at the local church, with a party after in the room above the pub. Lilian didn’t know many people locally any more, being away so much, so it was mainly family. It was a wonderful day. She looked so beautiful, and we were so happy. Everyone was so excited for us too, finally being able to be together. Lilian moved next door to live with me after that, and we started our lives together.

We were so happy together, Lily and I. We had a big group of friends, and whenever she was home we’d be off to dinner with one crowd or another, or out dancing somewhere. Often a group would end up back with us at our flat until the early hours of the morning. It was so much fun.

Lilian and I had a good life. She was a perfect wife. My clothes were always clean, and when she was home there was always dinner on the table for me. She even baked cakes for the church sales. Did me proud, my Lilian.

Our lives fitted into a sort of pattern. When Lily got too old to fly the airline moved her to ground staff. That was against the new rules, of course, but she didn’t want to fight it then. Didn’t want people knowing her real age. She kept her room in the house she shared up by the airport though – it made sense, there were still late nights and early mornings checking people in, and by then we’d got used to the routine of her being away a lot of the time.

When the airline stopped her flying I wanted Lilian to stay home full time. Most of her salary went on the room that she rented anyway. She wouldn’t have it though, independent she was, my Lilian. I wouldn’t have made her stop working. It would have crushed her. I wanted children, but she didn’t, and despite my best efforts I couldn’t change her mind. She was on the pill, and didn’t want to stop taking it. We were happy, anyway, we’d settled into a pattern over the years, and didn’t need to change it. Why fix something that isn’t broken? That’s what I always said.

I was waiting for her to come home when I got the call. A heart attack, they said. It was too late to do anything. Lily was gone. Suddenly. She’d been so full of life, and it was gone, snuffed out.

I’ll never forget that day. My Lilian, gone forever. I didn’t know what to do. I was lost without her.

I met him at the hospital. The doctor called us both into a room. Said there was some confusion over who Lily’s husband was.

I didn’t understand it. I thought the doctor had got it wrong. He must have got things mixed up, but the other man had a picture of her. A picture of my Lilian. With him. It didn’t make sense.

I never really got used to it. I kept thinking about him, about her life with him. About this part of her that I’d never seen.

I didn’t believe it, really. I knew it had happened, all the legal stuff that came when she died showed me that, but I tried to pretend it was all a big mistake. Sometimes there’d be fresh flowers on her grave when I arrived. At first I threw them away, but after a while I was glad that someone was with her when I wasn’t.

I saw him, a few times, at Lily’s grave. Arrived once while he was there, but I left and waited until he’d have finished and gone. He seemed to take it harder than me. He was really angry with Lily at first. I couldn’t be, I just couldn’t get angry at her. I was too upset that she was gone to mind what she’d done, and I’d have given anything to have her back. I’d have shared her with him, even. Just to have her back.

The tenth anniversary of her death we both ended up at the graveyard at the same time. He’d brought a photograph along with him, of Lilian, and asked if I wanted to see it. I missed her so much. I couldn’t help it, crying like that.

Her tenth anniversary, that’s when we met again properly. I was devastated still. I needed someone to take on some of my grief, to show someone what I’d lost. When I gave him the picture he just broke down, and I knew he understood.

We spent a while at her grave then, in silence, but together. When it started to rain he asked if I wanted to go to a cafe, and I said yes.

We met up regularly after that. To talk about Lily. To hear about the part we never saw. To share stories. To compete for her, sometimes. But mostly just to hold on to what we had left.

~~

Inspired by This picture taken by Joffa H from Flickr.

Written for Flickr Fiction Friday. Other Flickr Fictioners who may have written about the same picture are: Donal,Elimare, Tadamack, Aquafortis, HeavySigh, Chris, Valsha, and Neil.

Suzie was already in the end phone box, with Nathan, of course, their lips welded together for the last fifteen minutes. How did Laura end up here, again, with another of Nathan’s lame-ass friends expecting her to join him in one of the phone boxes. James, this one was called. He was quite cute actually, for a change. Hadn’t really paid her much attention. Just walked over to the phone box at the other end, sat down on the grass, and started skinning up. That was different.

Usually they hovered around Laura, trying to pay her compliments that sounded fake and stupid, then trying to kiss her. Sometimes she let them. A bit of a snog, that was all. Hands on top of her clothes at all times. James didn’t seem that interested in that, or her come to think of it.

“Want some?” James asked, holding the joint up towards her. “We’re gonna be here a while with those two, might as well make the most of it.” Why not?, Laura thought, and sat down opposite James, legs crossed on the dirt. She’d smoked before, but still wasn’t great at it. Her long hair fell across her face as she reached over for the joint, and their fingers brushed ever so slightly as she took it. She inhaled, then retreated back under her hair to hide the cough she couldn’t keep down.
“S’alright you know, you can cough if you need to. Takes a bit of practice, that’s all.” James leaned back against the broken phone box and shut his eyes. Laura took another drag, and let the cough come this time. James just kept his eyes shut. He was quite cute, this one. Nathan’s cousin, staying with his family for the week. He had thick, ear length, sandy coloured hair, and a bunch of freckles over his sun weathered skin. He dressed like he didn’t really care – old jeans, skate shoes and a green surfers against sewage hoody.

~~

This snippet of a possible beginning that I got tired of writing was inspired by This picture taken by Rick Harris from Flickr. See, then they go on to have a conversation, but I’m too tired to write it, and I should really start thinking about next week’s instead.

Written for Flickr Fiction Friday. Other Flickr Fictioners who may have written about the same picture are: Donal,Elimare, Tadamack, Aquafortis, HeavySigh, Chris, Valsha, and Neil.