Category Alastair’s Photo Fiction

What Lies Beneath – Alastair’s Photo Fiction

freyathewriter 14 Comments

Here is my offering for Alastair’s Photo Fiction this week, inspired by the photo below.  Why not take part? And why not visit his photography and writing blog to take a look at his other photos…?

Copyright - Kattermonran

Copyright – Kattermonran

– What Lies Beneath –

The four seasons are a distant memory – those days are long gone. Now we have The Dry and The Wet. I miss the crunch of autumn leaves underfoot, the mists hanging in the valleys at sunrise.

The onslaught of rain is tough at first. One day, the sun is high and fierce enough to leave us all parched at each ragged breath, the next the air is heavy, clouds low and pregnant with water. After a few weeks, the downpour ceases for a while, puddles lie still. It is this time that will find me, toes touching the very edge of one of these glistening pools, watching, waiting, staring.

“Alison? Alison! I’m here.”

The voice is faint, as if my imagination is playing cruel tricks. But this is real, agonisingly so.

The Washed Away, they call them. Most believe that they were drowned in the Flood Times, when the heavens opened for four long years. But I know the truth. Yes, they were washed away, but not drowned. Just taken down; down to The Below.

“Mother! It’s so good to see you!”

We smile, making do. It’s all we have.


 

Gargling with a Gargoyle – Alastair’s Photo Fiction

freyathewriter 12 Comments

Here is my offering for Alastair’s Photo Fiction this week, inspired by the photo below.  Why not take part? And why not visit his photography and writing blog to take a look at his other photos…?

Copyright - A Mixed Bag

Copyright – A Mixed Bag

– Gargling with a Gargoyle –

Sally has caught The Sore Throat, as my ever-pessimistic and annoyingly accurate husband had predicted.

Sally is usually smilingly robust (like me), but today, she is distraught.

“Sweetheart, what’s wrong?” I do my best to be sympathetic, like a good mummy, but my mind is where I really want to be – immersed in the dreaming spires of Oxford, or more realistically my distance-learning course in Middle English.

I click on the link and the photo materialises – closely followed by the best squeal my daughter’s throat can muster. She hides her face in my shoulder, her little body shaking.

“It’s only the silly old gargoyle, Sally! I thought you liked him?” This is really weird. I stroke her hot little forehead, wondering if she is hallucinating.

“But Daddy had to put one in his throat when he was poorly last week! And he washed it in TCP too! It’s too big for my throat, Mummy!”

Her little face crumples, and I try very hard to suppress a smile. No wonder she had been so obsessed with John and his morning ministrations to his Man Flu.

Time to buy a dictionary – and indulge in a quick spelling lesson.


 

Happy Days – Alastair’s Photo Fiction

freyathewriter 11 Comments

Here is my offering for Alastair’s Photo Fiction this week, inspired by the photo below.  Why not take part? And why not visit his photography and writing blog to take a look at his other photos…?

Copyright - A Mixed Bag

Copyright – A Mixed Bag

– Happy Days –

“Sir, we’re stuck.”
“For God’s sake, I know that! Just get them to sort it out!”
“Errr…”
“Is your radio broken? Look, I’ll use my phone. Don’t you have yours on you? What kind of security are you?”
“My radio isn’t broken, sir. They won’t help us.”
“What do you mean? I’ve got a COBRA committee meeting in 25 minutes!”
“I think they know that, sir. That’s why they have us hostage up here -”
“Hostage! What for? Who are they?”
“I understand that they want the London Eye to be nationalised.”
“You’re joking! Really and truly – this is a joke, isn’t it?”
“No, sir. This is just the first of many demands, apparently. They want fun to be owned by the people.”
“What?”
“The Home Secretary is stranded half way up the funicular railway in Aberystwyth, the Deputy Prime Minister is stuck on a boat in the middle of Loch Ness.”
“And who is holding us to ransom, may I ask?”
“The Ministry of Fun, sir.”
“And the joke’s on us, I take it?”
“It rather seems that it is, sir.”