Hidden in Plane Sight – Alastair’s Photo Fiction

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…?

19-08-august-4th-2013

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– Hidden in Plane Sight –

“Look here, Givens, you need to paint the camouflage in properly! Here, give me your brush, for Pete’s sake.”

Archie Givens nodded, pretending to listen and pay attention as the uniformed NCO swirled the grey-green paint over the canvas in front of him.

“See? That’s the way! Make it count, boy! Now get your finger out!”

Archie took the paintbrush and started again, feigning concentration.  Satisfied at last, the military man strode away, making a beeline for the cafeteria.

Archie dropped his brush into the paint tin and shook his head at his best mate Johnny, who was curled up on the ground laughing silently, tears running down his cheeks.

“He don’t half get me goat! I’ll bloody swing for him! It’s not as if the Jerry pilots’ll be checking my artwork on these decoys from thousands of feet up!”

Johnny sniggered, then picked up the brush and daubed out a female pin-up, complete with nipped in waist, large breasts and a come-hither pout.

“Just in case, eh ? One last moment of joy for ‘em before our ack ack girls shoot ’em down!”

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This is my tribute to the many artists, builders, engineers and visionaries who worked on the K, Q and Starfish decoy sites in the UK during World War II, not forgetting the women of the ATS who risked their lives manning anti-aircraft guns.

 

On Top of the World – Alastair’s Photo Fiction

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…?

18-07-july-28th-2013

– On Top of the World –

I stand on the swaying platform. The wind is scratching at my cheeks, clawing tears from my eyes. For a second, I remember a hiking trip in the Cambrian mountains…

My heart jumps in my chest with fear and laughter as I slip-slide backwards, my feet losing their grip on the scree skittering far below. The echoes of our joy career all around as you and I collapse safely at the top, lungs burning, chests heaving with the effort. Life is rainbow-hued.

Now, everything is fear. I inch forward to the edge of the platform, scanning the seas as they boil below. I see the top of The Shard cutting through the oily waves, and the summit of Heron Tower in the distance. London is gone. You are lost to me, flotsam and jetsam – somewhere.

I steel myself, zip up my diving gear, check my oxygen tanks and mask. The time has come.

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For non-Londoners, and non-Brits, here is information on The Shard and Heron Tower

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Nocturne – Alastair’s Photo Fiction

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…?

17-07-july-21st-2013

– Nocturne –

There was no way out. Sandra slumped onto the seat.

She knew there wouldn’t be a train coming in 1 minute, or in 6 minutes. The display was broken, frozen in time. It was 3am, she had fallen asleep at the station on a Sunday morning after another heavy night, and all her so-called friends had left her to it.

‘Acquaintances,’ she said firmly to herself. ‘Not friends.’

She thought about last night, or what she could remember of it. Her life had been chaotic since The Accident. She always thought of it like that, turning the horrific events into a novel. Anything but admit that it was real, that it had happened to her, that in one moment, she had changed so many lives.

‘Ruined lives,’ she thought.

A single tear tracked its way down her cheek.

She closed her eyes. She could wait. Nothing really mattered, not any more.