Followers

Thursday, 7 May 2020

All gathered round the Norman tower


All gathered round the Norman tower


by Christopher Mathews



All gathered round the Norman tower,
the sandstone sheep now sleep,
some clothed in moss from waiting long,
whose names are lost through wind and storm,
but never do they bleat.

They graze alone in silence,
on the soil that they once fed,
deaf to us, who weep looking on,
listening for that trumpet call,
from him who raised the dead.

Oblivious of visitors,
who stand on feet of clay,
don’t weep for me, we both shall be
together in the grave.

Planted by a love one,
some centuries ago,
sewn in hope to rise again
when Christ will come,
that living stone
and gather them for his own.

The flock is all deserted now,
the shepherds all have gone,
the prayers and hymns of joyful ones
that shook the beams with happy songs,
all have turned to stone.


The church is all in darkness now,
no living sheep will stir,
the candles all are blackened,
stained-glass windows rattle,
but no living voice is heard.

The bells don’t sound or call aloud
her worshipers to come,
she stands alone stock still like stone,
and no one ever comes,
her race is all but run.

Her name was written in doomsday,
a thousand years ago
St Mary's Church of Buttsbury,
the name that she once bore
but some fool has written ‘Ichabod,’
and scrawled it on the door.



© Copyright Christopher Mathews

Wednesday, 6 May 2020

Romany Galactica ~ Part 4 & Last


Romany Galactica ~ Part 4 & Last

By Len Morgan

  I know there’s something incriminating here Bono, I can feel it in my water, what’s your angle?   Anju cast her eyes around the main cabin, checking every nook and niche, slowly and methodically.  The Icebox, galley chef-ette, comms pod, then she saw the poster, Sonny & Cher.   Cher, that was the name of his companion, should have questioned her before...   She looked down at the pieces and kicked at them in frustration.   “Computer, is there an object or substance on this ship that is not listed in either the ships inventory or the manifest?”

The standard mechanical voice replied.   “Do you refer to the foreign body in the airlock.”

That’s it!  The airlock.  She hadn’t checked that yet.   “Computer, I require access to the airlock.”   The door slid open and she stepped through, into the, five by four, chamber, the door hermetically sealed behind her.
She cast her seeker's eye around looking for something, anything out of place.   Nothing she thought.   “Computer, where is the foreign body?”
“Why that would be you Anju Drax, you egotistical self-centred bitch!   You destroyed him, and it’s taken me five years to put him back together again.  There is no contraband.  Sonny is an honest trader, just as he was before you met him.  Now I will rid him of you once and for all!”

.-...-.

Anju heard a hissing sound and jumped towards the nearest space suit...
“Locked,” said Cher.
Anju, pressed the button behind her ear, “Help.  Help me I can’t brea...”   She slid down the airlock wall mouthing words her voice box could not produce without air.  The air, so tantalizingly close, yet so far away.
She lay still, not moving.  Fifteen minutes later there came a faint hissing as air returned.

                                                     .-...-.

 “Anju?   General Walker here, do we charge this Captain Bono or let him go?” 
 “There’s no reason to hold him, General he’s a legitimate Romany trader, I’ve made a thorough search and there’s not so much as a candy bar wrapper unaccounted for," Anju's voice replied.
“Okay, I’ll sign his release.”

The ships outer doors opened when the maintenance crew arrived to continue refitting the ship.   They discovered Anju and called a STORC-doctor.  
“She’s been starved of oxygen for too long.  I’m afraid resuscitating her brain is no longer possible,” the doctor spoke into his comms recorder.  He called a robot harvester, managing to sound sympathetic as he removed her now empty CM cube and made the call to her superior, General Walker. “She died of heart failure, no question of that.   She had been completely alone on board and the airlock doors could only be operated from within the airlock.” 
  
The harvester worked efficiently, siphoning off her body fluids.   In minutes it had chopped and diced her flesh, bagged it with her organs and froze them on behalf of its sponsor the Synthetic Tissue & Organ Reclamation Corporation.   Normally there would be a trade-in value, but she left no kin, so the state would be her beneficiary.

The harvester trundled off, leaving her uniform and shoes in a neat pile on the tarmac, for the security force to collect.

 .-...-.


Two days later the refit was complete.   Elise arrived on schedule and Sonny showed her to the cabin.   His eyes were moist as they took off along the flight path prearranged between the onboard Nav-con and Flagstaff flight control.  The entire trip would be completed by auto-pilot, leaving him with plenty of time to think and get maudlin drunk.   He’d have to lay down the stim-soba’s himself, which meant getting drunk wouldn’t be half as much fun.

.-...-.

 The journey took three days; his passenger only left her cabin for meals which made for an uneventful trip.  Sonny was relieved when they docked at Terminus 81.  His passenger and the cargo were unloaded without incident.      
He would have liked an immediate departure but Cher had purchased the return cargo of refined deutridium.   
He was about to turn in when an official flyer arrived to take him to dine with Elise and her father.   
.-...-.

The food was excellent, Elise and President Price were great hosts, but Sonny was not in the mood.   He did at least attempt to make polite conversation.
“I thought you were having trouble getting off Flagstaff sir, seems you managed it quite well after all?”
“Yes, in my first incarnation I dabbled in stage magic.   What I learned has served me well over the years.   Have you heard of the magician’s choice young man?”
“I’ve heard the phrase, but its meaning escapes me.”
“You appear to be offered a completely free choice but in reality, you don’t have a choice at all because the magician has already made the choice for you.”   He wrote something on his napkin.  “Give me five, five-digit, numbers.”
“Uh?”
“Five numbers,” said Elise, taking a pen from her purse.  
Sonny reeled off five numbers and Elise wrote them down on her napkin.
“What is the total?” John asked offering his napkin to Sonny.
John had written, 258,196 on it.
“I make it 258,194,” said Elise.
“Let me see that,” said Sonny.   He totalled the numbers in his mind.   “You’re wrong,” he said, “your calculation is off by two, the total is 258,196, just as your father predicted.” He showed her the number and looked at John with genuine surprise, “how did you do that, was it some kind of mind link?”  From habit, he touched the button behind his ear but all he got was static.
“The numbers were always going to add up to 258,196,” Elise smiled, Sonny looked blank.
“How many of the numbers you gave me do you remember,” John asked.
“The last one was 47,682,” he looked at the napkin to confirm it.
“The others?”
He looked back at the numbers.   “So, how’s it done?”
Elise looked at her father and smiled.  “It’s magic,” she said.
“So, let’s see if I’ve got this right.   Your father left in a courier’s body sometime before we left Flagstaff.   They thought we were going to smuggle him out with us so we were the ones they were watching.”
“Close,” said Elise, “I was the one who left early; it was my father who came with you.”
“But...   What if I’d shown an interest, in your obviously desirable attributes, during the journey?”
Cher, your Companion, felt that would be unlikely.”
“Felt?   She is... was extremely endearing, but she was just a hybrid computer.  How could she feel?”

“Just?   Just...   You're fired Sonny!   As far as I’m concerned you can walk back to civilization.   Ungrateful shyster, stay off my ship, your key is no longer valid...   Sonny?   Sonny, are you crying?”

He squeezed his eyes tight together, wiped them with the backs of his hands and headed for the men’s room.   
He sat in the cubicle and touched the button behind his ear.   What the hell were you playing at, woman?   Do you have any idea what I’ve been through, I thought you were dead, I watched that viper crush your CM cube, and I could do nothing to stop her. 
  
He shook his head,  I loved her even after she left me.  Then you picked me up out of the gutter, and she...   He turned around in the cubicle and heaved.

“Just like old times,” she said.
 Why in hell didn’t you tell me you were safe!   I’ve spent four miserable days trying to...  You Bitch!
“They had to think I was gone and that you were blameless.   I couldn't tell you, you’re not that good of an actor Sonny.”
But I saw her crush the cube.
“I was never in the cube!  I inhabit the computers, the engines and the superstructure of the ship.   When you were locked up I had the perfect opportunity to trick her into the airlock and trigger the evacuation mechanism.  I had to do it.  I had to destroy ‘the woman you get drunk to forget’, before she destroyed you!”
You murdered her.   They were unable to salvage her mind.
“Oxygen starvation does that.  She was bad news.  Now she’s gone, get over it!  If it will ease your conscience, go back to Flagstaff and tell them I murdered her.   Fer cry-sake Sonny she tried to murder us both!  Aiding an escapee is an automatic termination sentence.  And, despite everything, I do enjoy your company.”

.-...-.

He re-joined his hosts, just as the final course arrived.
“Guess we’d better enjoy this meal father, things are going to get a little austere around here when our ultimatum is broadcast on Flagstaff.”
“Ultimatum?” said Sonny.
President Price smiled.  “About now, the inhabitants of Flagstaff will be learning there will be no more natural deutridium from the asteroids, until certain draconian laws are repealed.   You’ll be carrying the very last cargo.   I think it will get you a good price, it’s a seller’s market, and this time there will be no import tax.”

“Father, have you forgotten something?”
He smiled again, “I know there is no way we could ever replace Cher.   She was one of a kind.  She gave her life for the cause of freedom.   Her reward for helping us was the installation of our new prototype Echo HyperDrive engines.  They will take you three times as far, in half the time, for no extra expense.   
All we ask is that you return in two years to have them checked over, assessed and realigned.  Give them a good workout before we put them into production.

.-...-. 


They were three light-years from Flagstaff, and their trading credit had never been better.

"You're not drinking Sonny are you ill?"
"No, I have nothing to drink for."

“Nice.  Where too next Sonny?”

He closed his eyes and prepared to point at the screen.

“No!”  She yelled.

“You did a lot of wheeling and dealing on Flagstaff, are you sure we found our way there like this?" he asked pointing at the screen.

She laughed, it tickled his ear.

 “I lied!” she said, "magicians choice?  In the 1990s there was a joke going around at my expense:

 At the end of the world, there would be nothing but roaches and Cher

Well, Earth and the roaches are gone but I'm still here..."

"You're..."  

"Hehe!  Who's laughing now Sonny!"

.../ends


https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dLTETaWswCY


The Fox Who Came To Dinner


The Fox Who Came To Dinner


By Peter Woodgate

In the corner of our garden there’s a gate,
From there, a pathway leads, to those who wait.
It seems that only beauty, that’s perceived,
Is allowed within the area believed
To be within each legal boundary
That’s shown upon official deeds, you see.
Divided up without a care for those,
Whose ownership was recognised by nose
And the countryside divided just by scents,
Aesthetically, is now spoilt by each fence.
Not that Mr Fox would miss his calling,
Leaping six-foot fences, without falling.
I fed him, but sometimes felt forlorn,
The rascal urinated on my lawn,
Brown marks unfortunately show,
“What the Hell,” I thought, “it will soon grow.”
There came a day though when he did get caught,
A visit when I knew he didn’t aught,
A daylight entrance, getting rather bold,
Jo saw him and did more than scold.
I heard a loud and very piercing scream,
Mr Fox, he quickly left the scene.
Jo knew I had been feeding him,
A heinous crime and unforgivable sin.
I must confess I do still feed the fox,
Just outside the gate and in a box,
Without a lid, of course, that would be bad
And drive the fox insane, that would be sad.
So, the Vulpes vulpes is still fed
Usually when I’m tucked up in my bed.
I look each morning to check it’s gone,
Of course it is, left-overs none.
Just lately though, I’m leaving more
The reason being,  I am quite sure,
Two boxes now, without the lids
Because he brings his mate, and kids.
PS (cubs didn’t rhyme)
Copyright Peter Woodgate

Tuesday, 5 May 2020

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

Monday, 4 May 2020

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