Flamingo Podnyalsya Ch 3

Flamingo Podnyalsya

Chapter 3

By Phil Miller

It was 10 pm and at the back of an empty bar in Leigh, Essex, sat Chris Flicka. Not a lot going on, just how he liked it. He kept himself to himself these day’s and was looking forward to some quiet time, just him and a bottle. He filled his large wine glass half full, took a nice gulp and sluiced it around his mouth, tantalising his taste buds. “How many can I sink tonight?”, he said quietly before answering himself, “as many as it takes.”

Just as he settled back in the comfortable leather captain’s chair by the open fire a young brunette wearing a tight knee-length low cut black dress sauntered up to him and sat down with not so much as a word. He looked around to see if there was anyone with her then looked down at the floor and shook his head as she fingered a drum roll delicately on the table. He looked up at her and with a wry smile said, “Sorry! Do I know you?”

“Do you drive?”

“You know I do!”

“I need a lift home. Some weirdo has been following me and I think I might be in danger.”

“Sorry, I’m getting pissed at the moment. What about a cab?”

“But what if the cab driver tries something on? What if he takes me somewhere dark and then decides to do really bad things to me.”

“I don’t think you’d mind really, would you?

“Sorry!”

“You look like the sort that likes a bit of rough stuff,” he said smilingly before landing his hand on her lightly tanned knee. Mika grabbed his hand and gently slid it between her warm legs. Chris felt the heat on her knickerless flesh and felt his heart racing. He put his other hand around the back of her neck, grabbed her hair, and pulled her to him. They sat kissing for a moment. She felt like mounting him there and then as she felt herself becoming wet but as she made her move he pushed her away and sat back in the chair with his hands on the table, taking in a deep breath.

“I can’t do this Mika. I can’t do it anymore,” he spoke softly.

“You didn’t mind it for the last 2 years. what’s changed?” she said in her velvet Irish accent.” You don’t want to play with me no more?” She purred as she teasingly slipped a perfectly pedicured foot from her Giuseppe Zanotti 6” heel and placed it on his crotch. She was driving him mad.

He knew the role-playing games she liked. He knew her favourite perfume and what she liked to eat, the music she liked to dance naked to and the toys she likes to play with. He knew about her ambition for her husband’s online cybersecurity business. How had they kept their secret liaison's so secret? He had fallen for her in a big way but she told him from the outset that she would never leave David, her husband. If she did then he would hunt them both down and kill them. He’s killed before.

“Honestly, I just can’t do this anymore Mika,” he said before taking another large gulp of red wine.

Mika stared at him for a moment and then shifted closer.

“What? You don’t want me anymore?”

“I just can’t, Its Sara.”

“Don’t tell me you’re starting again,” she said mockingly. “You bastard. You’ve had your fun and now you want out do you?”

“It’s not like that.”

“What then?”

“Sara’s got an aggressive tumour in her head. It’s inoperable, She’s gonna die,” he held his head in his hands.                                                                                             

Mika sat wide-eyed, staring into the void for a moment but then her face lit up with a devilish grin.

“This could be our chance, Chris.”

“What?” He said with incredulity.

“Me and you, it could work couldn’t it?”

“I don’t believe you,”

“What! Come on, once she goes then it just leaves David.”

“He won’t be around forever, might even sort it myself or pay someone.”

“Yeah! That’s about your mark. For fuck sake Mika, my wife is dying, I can’t do this anymore.”

“It’s a bit late for tea and sympathy Chris. You make me laugh. We’ve been at it like rabbits for two years and now you decide to get a conscience for the poor little dedicated missus.” She stood with her stiletto in her right hand and smashed it down on to the table. “ Don’t forget I know what you did to Credi. All it takes is a phone call.”

“I’ve got to be with her, she has no-one else.”

“Drink up, I’m ordering us a cab.”

Chris sat hopelessly staring at his wine glass as Mika tapped away at her Uber app.

“Well, come on darling, let’s go, I’ve got a room booked at the Piers.”  She took out a small silver mirror from her bag then delicately applied some Rimmel lip liner, checked her hair and made for the door and then stopped with her back to Chris who sat with one hand on his knee and the other holding his wine glass staring after her. Mika looked to her right just enough to catch him in her peripheral vision. He stood and walked slowly up to her, stopping by her side.  Mika slid her arm in his and laughed as they left the pub.

When he woke in the morning she was gone. It had been a wild night. She had left £200 pound along with a half dozen wraps of Charlie on the small bedside cabinet and a nice big “THANK YOU DARLING” in bright red lipstick on the ornate bedroom mirror. He felt like crap and wondered how he was going to escape from this nightmare.

Everything looked rosy 5 years ago when he and Sara moved to an old secluded farmhouse in Goats Lane, Brentwood. The place needed a lot of work. New roof, kitchen and bathroom. Walls needed knocking through and the nursery had to be built ready for when he and Sara started a family. It had 2 acres of land so plenty of room for a few horses for his adorable wife. He had courted her for 7 years before finally having the courage to ask for her hand. The father-in-law disapproved. Thought his daughter could do better.  Jenny, the mother-in-law, was just glad to see their only daughter happy.

Copyright Phillip Miller

WRONG NUMBER?

WRONG NUMBER

By Rosemary Clarke

The rest of the toilet was clean, all graffiti removed, the white paint gleaming; only a silver painted number remained.  Taking a pen from her bag she scribbled it down with some satisfaction then stepped out into the badly lit club: concrete with a bar; an underground lair for underground people. 

The band on stage gyrated in black jeans and logoed  T-shirts, their drinks sprayed over those in front who yelled for more. Jess moved her hand along the wall finding her way up to the brightly lit pub and through the double doors.  She breathed a lungful of sea air walking down the Esplanade towards the town itself.  No buses at this time of night, it was lucky she could walk it.  The houses near the park had now been converted into flats so, turning her key in the lock she pushed the heavy outer door; fortunately, someone had left the small passage light on allowing her to easily find her way up the stone stairs.  Opening her door she switched on the light, settling into her favourite armchair.

Her mobile came out of her pocket.  Glancing at the paper in her hand she keyed in the number.

"Hi, you the guy who has sex and the works?"
A muffled voice, not too sure of himself.
"So what're the works?  Is it like E or fetish or what?"
Again the quiet stammering words roll over each other.
"So where are you?  Where do I come?  I'm like up for that scene."
The phone went dead.

Smiling Jess shook her head and redialled.

"Samuel, I know it's you.  What do you mean leaving your number for anyone to see!  Have you no sense child?  No use you're saying sorry nan, there's plenty who could find you and some nasty pieces of work they are!  Well, you just change your number young man before you do get in trouble and if I see any more of your handiwork I shall tell your mother you see if I don't!"
She cut the call, a pleased smile spreading over her face; only just able to get into a fifteen at the cinema and thinks he's grown up!

She shook her head standing to make herself a nice cup of tea; the young!

Copyright Rosemary Clarke

Quickly Quickly Butterfly

Designed by Shelley

Copyright Shelley Miller

BRAINWASHED

BRAINWASHED 

By Peter Wodgate

They arrive with smiles and white coats

gliding down corridors of despair.

Conceitedly, they say,

“And how are we today?”

They mean me, and don’t see,

the shadows that leap from wall to wall

sometimes short, sometimes  tall

but always there ready to descend.

I tried to warn them,

those in white coats

and the world,

for mankind has been invaded,

bombarded and persuaded

by commercial craft.

Our brains will shrink,

no time to think,

just led like lambs to slaughter.

No:

I tried but failed,

their patronising ignorance prevailed.

I retreat to the corner of my room

and await my fate.

Those idiots insist it is all in my head,

strap me to the bed

and shock my system into submission.

I awake and the shadows have gone;

I can stand tall, no conscience at all,

the treatment, a success,

I will join the masses

indoctrinated into a world without scruples.

My papers are filed in a manner that’s formal

and stamped on the front are the words;

NOW NORMAL.

Copyright  Peter Wodgate

WRITE ME A LOVE STORY Ch 3

WRITE ME A LOVE STORY

By Janet Baldey

CHAPTER 3 

For a few weeks after Frank left, I ignored market day.  In the past, it had been a regular weekly event and the sale of our produce had made all the difference to our finances, but following his departure, I hid myself away like a wounded animal.  Fully aware I’d be the centre of attention as an abandoned wife, I dreaded the thought of the pitying looks and pointing fingers.   It took a curt letter from the Bank to twist my arm.   The farm was now running on credit and I needed every penny I could raise. Reluctantly, I realised the time had come for me to hold my head high and face out the stares and whispers.

Perversely, once I had made this decision, I began to look forward to it.  Market day had always been an opportunity to catch up on gossip, and recently there'd been little chance of that.  Apart from the occasional tradesman, I’d seen no-one except Sarah.   Sarah was my best and oldest friend and although she lived over five miles away, she’d made the trek across the soft and rolling hills as soon as she’d heard the news.  

After my tears had dried, we sat looking at each other while the steam from a freshly boiled kettle filled my tiny kitchen.

‘What you need.’  Sarah said.   ‘Is a dog to keep you company.’

I shook my head.  I’d had a dog once.  Sandy, a collie cross.   Sandy was elderly when we first leased the farm and, by degrees, grew more arthritic until some days she could barely stumble outside to do her business.   One evening Frank took her for a walk, a gun by his side.   When he returned he was on his own.

‘It was the kindest thing,’ he’d said.

I remember staring at him, at first too shocked to react.  Then my fists clenched and I started screaming at him.

‘How could you have done that?  I never even said goodbye!’

Frank shrugged.

‘Her life was becoming a misery and if you’d had your way it would have dragged on and on.’

 I’d sank into a chair, my hands covering my face. At last I looked up and saw Frank hovering in the doorway, his face was half defiant, half sheepish and he wouldn’t look at me.   Maybe he thought he was doing the right thing and during the next few days, I decided he might have been right, but even so it had taken a long time for me to forgive him.  From then on I’d vowed that no other dog would take Sandy’s place.

* * *

As I laid out my wares on the trestle table, I realised how pathetic they looked.   There were eggs, potatoes and beets but I hadn’t had time to make any butter or cheese.  At the last moment, I’d raided my store cupboard and added some bottled fruit and jam.  After all, with Frank gone I wouldn’t need so much.   I remembered how much he had loved my home-made preserves and my heart twisted.

By now, the other stallholders were arriving.   As soon as they saw me, they stopped what they were doing and came over.   Soon I was surrounded by a crowd of women and warm words washed over me like a softly lapping tide.

‘I heard my dear…silly bugger.’

‘These men…’  

‘Fools they are…’. 

‘What they won’t do for a bit of glory…’

As they spoke, they comforted me, put their arms about me, patted me and stroked my hair. 

Up until then I’d kept my emotions under control but their kindness was too much.   My eyes began to fill and desperately I looked around, blinking furiously.   Then I saw Sarah and Sarah understood, as I knew she would.

Winking, she made a clacking gesture with her hands and lifted her eyes to Heaven.   Putting her fingers in her mouth, she whistled and the shrill sound cut through the hubbub.

‘Come on ladies.   Give the girl a rest; we’ve got customers to fleece.’  

Chuckling, the women began to move away.   But they hadn’t done with me yet.   One by one they returned, each bearing a gift, a round ripe cheese, tomatoes, runner beans, watercress, a trussed chicken.   Brushing away my thanks, they piled their offerings onto my table before returning to their stalls.

Overwhelmed, I stood looking around from out of blurred eyes.  Suddenly, a ray of sun broke through the clouds and the figures moving slowly around the square were picked out in gold and my spirits soared.  I’d forgotten how kind people could be.  None of them was rich, all worked hard but they’d given willingly and somewhere deep inside me a tiny ember ignited and warmth coursed through me as I realised that, in this ancient place, similar small acts of kindness must have taken place all through the centuries. I crossed my fingers, praying that it would always be so.

As if denying my prayer, a deafening roar shattered the sky and faces, aged by shock, swung towards the East.   Flying low over the horizon was a huge plane, hedge-hopping across the fields, its wings skimming the trees as it chased its own shadow.   As it drew nearer, its Luftwaffe crosses were clearly visible.

Hands were clapped to ears and panicked voices screamed out from the crowd.

‘It’s a bloody Heinkel!’

‘It’ll blow us to smithereens!’

Everyone had heard horror stories of Nazi bombers jettisoning unexploded bombs to speed their way across the channel, especially if they were being chased by British fighters.

Suddenly, a shrill screech pierced the air.   Mad Meg was standing, her scrawny arms outstretched towards the sky, her fingers hooked into claws.   Spittle flying from her lips, she howled abuse at the bomber, her greasy hair whirling about her head.

A silent tableau of villagers stood around the raving woman watching the plane’s progress.  As their eyes swivelled, the monster disappeared into the murk and as the rent in the clouds sealed over the dull beat of its engines faded into the distance.

‘Good for you, Meggie.   You saw ‘im off.’  A voice roared ebullient with relief.

Immediately, a gale of laughter erupted as people slipped back into their lives and went about their business.

* * *

My unsold wares packed up ready to go; I was having a last word with Sarah when I felt a hand brush my shoulder.   It was Becca, Joe Smith’s wife.   As usual, she had a grubby toddler in tow; the child ducked behind its mother peeping out at us from time to time, twin canals of slime oozing from its nose.  Once more, Becca’s skirt was stretched tight over her belly.   Long ago I’d lost count of the number of children swarming through the dilapidated farmhouse the Smiths called home.

‘Joe asked me to remind you that you got Prince booked the second week in September.’   

I gasped.   With all that had been going on, it had completely slipped my mind.   Second week in September!  That was just over five weeks time.    Round as an apple and kind as a Christian, Prince’s chestnut bulk was a familiar sight in the fields.  Most of the small farmers used Joe’s horse.   It worked to everyone’s advantage.  Hiring a heavy horse was cheaper than owning one and Joe made a tidy bit of money without lifting much more than a finger.

‘Have you ever worked with a carthorse afore?’

I shook my head.   That had always been Frank’s job.   I could deal with Barley, but the thought of turning a collar over Prince’s huge, restless head worried me more than I liked to admit.

I stared into her wet, black eyes. As usual, they were inscrutable.  Once Frank had almost bought a mare with eyes like that.   An old horseman friend of ours had advised against it.  

‘Somewhere along the line, that mare’s been marked,’ he’d said.   ‘Never trust an animal with eyes like that.’  

   ‘Daresay Joe’ll help.’  Becca’s gaze slid over my face.  ‘It’ll be an extra mind.’

When she’d gone, Sarah looked at me.

‘What are you going to do?’ she asked.

         ‘If I know Joe, he won’t be able to drag himself away from the pub.’  I said, forcing my lips into a smile.

         Sarah’s eyes darkened.   ‘Oh yes he will.’   She bent towards me, her eyes were intense.

         ‘Just you take very great care.   You hear me?’

Copyright Janet Baldey

RIVER VIEW

RIVER VIEW

By Peter Woodgate

On the little wooden bridge that spans the river

I used to sit with bread, and net, and jar.

The fish I caught were small, just sticklebacks

but in my world I really didn’t care.

Of course, I had some disappointments,

days when I was out of luck,

I then would turn my thoughts, to other things

and use the bread to feed a coot or duck.

The river, then, was peaceful, as it flowed

through banks of willow herb and celandine,

and as I sat there in those halcyon days

the sun shone endlessly upon the scene.

I visit still that little bridge that stands

defiantly against “old times” decay,

my eyes will keenly seek, those visions of the past

But focus only on scenes of dismay.

For looking back at that, which I perceived,

as pleasing, despite my youthful folly,

it was much better then than what is now on view,

a bicycle wheel and supermarket trolley.

Copyright Peter Woodgate

Romany Galactica ~ Part 3 of 4

Romany Galactica ~ Part 3 of 4

By Len Morgan

 The airlock opened and in came Anju flanked by three security officers.  She gazed about, tap tap tapping a pair of synth-leather gloves against her left palm.   Short jet black hair framed her face, accentuating her flawless complexion.   Focusing his eyes on full red lips and narrow aquiline nose Sonny thought, God she’s beautiful.

“Snap out of it Sonny!   Don’t think with your dick, that’s what she’s counting on.”

“We have a warrant to search this vessel and its cargo.”

“Search away,” he said.

“I must caution you not to leave this planet without my authorization.   If you do so, your ship will be destroyed."

 “Be serious Anju, we’re in the middle of a refit or hadn’t you noticed we’re missing our primary drive?” he grinned at her.

“My name is Commander Drax, you can call me Commander,” her voice was cold and impersonal.

“Anju—”  She slapped him across the face with her gloves. 

“Throw them down and I’ll slap you back if it’s a duel you want,” he wasn’t smiling now. 

“Out of my way,” she commanded, heading for the comms pod as if he didn’t exist.

“If you find anything I’ll be in my cabin,” he said.

“I want to check the CM cubes you purchased, where are they?”

“Try the cargo hold,” he said opening the cabin door.

“Locker seven,”   an unemotional mechanical voice said.   It was the basic computer voice that came as standard with the ship, Sonny hadn’t heard it in an age; that wasn't a good sign.

Anju nodded towards her assistants, go get them, bring them here and check those synths while you're down there.”    She sat the life-sign indicator unit down beside the console.

Sonny closed the cabin door, settled on his single bunk and clicked his fingers twice to extinguish the lights.

.-...-.

The door burst open.   He shook his head and clicked his fingers, “Shit.”   The lights came on and he realized he didn’t have, a hangover, “Bloody Anju,” It took seeing her again, in her true light, to purge him of her once and for all.

“Outside!” said the deadpan officer.  "Commander wants to see you.”

“Remember, I’m the captain of this ship, and according to Inter-Galactic law, I’m in charge here.  This is piracy!”

“Out!”   He was dragged from his bunk and pushed roughly towards the door.

“Say please, and show some respect, you toad,” he turned to make eye contact and was slapped across the face.  “You’ll regret that,” he said.

“Outside!”

“You’re not from the 'gentle persuasion school' then?”  The man’s face remained impassive, he didn’t reply.

“This ship is ‘New Chicago’ territory and your intrusion is an act of war.”

“Shut up Bono.   It was you who let us in and as far as I’m concerned you are a smuggler.   I’m impounding this vessel.   When we find your contraband this ship will be dismantled and sold for scrap.   You will become a permanent guest in solitary confinement and I will take pleasure in breaking you very slowly.  You’ll be old and grey when you get out, no upgrades for you, Bono—“

 He clapped his hands, “Big speech, Drax.”

“Commander!”    She reminded him.

“And, it’s Captain Bono to you!” He said.  "Let me remind you, there are a few tales I could tell that would shake the foundations of your cosy little world.”

“Blackmail Bono?”

“Gentle reminder Drax,” he whispered.

She laughed.  It took all his willpower not to take her into his arms.   He could do it, but he would be the loser.

“I’m here Sonny, lean on me,” Sher's voice in his mind.

Support, he thought.

“Amigo’s,” she replied, “Watch, this should be good.”

He watched as Anju pressed the spot behind her left ear to answer a personal com-con call.   Her face paled, her lips tightened.  She shook her head in pique, becoming agitated and unable to contain her anger.  She turned away from him and for a while stood motionless.  Her underlings swapped questioning glances. She turned to face them.  

“It appears captain, that your cargo is in order and you will be taking on a diplomatic passenger for your onward journey.”

“Well thank you, Commander.  As soon as you have returned my cargo to the hold you’re free to leave.”

“Listen, you unctuous little shite!   If I hadn’t been warned off, by my superior officer I would kick your useless butt all over this ship.”  She grabbed the life-sign test monitor she’d been using on the CM crystals and turned to leave.  It beeped.   She looked in the direction the scope was pointing—‘Nav-con’.   “What’s this then?”

“That will be my Companion.   She’s here to maintain my sanity on long haul journeys...”

“Ah, she wasn’t very successful was she?”

“At least I was sane, to begin with, Drax.”

She laughed, “Who told you that?”   She removed the CM from its housing.   “Does--She--have a name?”

“She came with the ship, could say she's the spirit of this ship; her name is Cher.”

“Her life is pretty tenuous at this moment Bono,” Anju began to throw the cube into the air and catch it, higher, and higher until it hit the ceiling. 

“Careful!” He said.

 “Ah!   Look what you made me do,” she stepped back, allowing her eyes to follow its flight to the ground.

He dove full length to catch it but he was too late.   It bounced a foot into the air landing at her feet. 

“He tried to attack me, restrain him!” Anju yelled.   He was dragged to his feet, he struggled right up to the moment they put the cuffs on him.  “Take him to a holding cell I’ll follow in a while.   Oh, S o n n y...”   He looked back to see her foot poised above the CM cube.

“No!” he yelled.   His words were drowned by the crunch of the cube under her foot.  

She spread the pieces with the toe of her jack-boot.  “Oops,” she smiled at him.

“You evil venomous bitch!   She never did any harm to you, she was alive and you’ve murdered her.   I’ll see you pay for that if it’s the last thing I do!”

“Tears, for your widdle plastic toy, Sonny-boy?”  She smiled in triumph.   “Take him away.”

Copyright Len Morgan

To be continued/...