Tag Archives: story

The butterfly and the duckling

Liskeard Writers Prompt for 21/01/2020: Picture prompt – the butterfly and the duckling.

When you think about reincarnation, as I’m sure you do from time to time, do you consider the possibility that you would come back as a long-living creature – such as an Aldabra Giant Tortoise or a Greenland Shark, or a creature with a short life-span, such as an adult Mayfly or a House Mouse

Well, this story involves two people that meet, fall in love, and die, all too young, in an airplane crash.

They are pure-hearted souls that qualified, without dispute, for reincarnation.

Jessica was transformed into a beautiful Blue Morpho butterfly; Leonides, strangely inappropriately, was reincarnated as a duckling, an ugly duckling, with feathers all stubby and brown.

As you know, or maybe you don’t, all animals, insects, mammals (apart from most humans) have the ability to converse with each other. They don’t always choose to; but, they can hold conversations in many ways apart from the spoken language that we expect of them.

So, Jessica and Leonides were able to find each other by a series of clicks, quacks, chirps, flutters, and a fair degree of luck.

They remained friends throughout their reincarnated lives, sadly Jessica’s was one of brevity, and Leonides grew to be an ugly swan, who used the brute strength of his wings to quell the dissatisfaction that he felt at not having also been brought back as a beautiful butterfly, where he could spend a brief, but exquisite, life with Jessica – as they had done when in human form.

The calendar that their picture adorns is a tribute to a moment in their second lives. And the picture was taken from an actual scene that caught the artist’s eye – so beautiful it was.

Keeping A Light On. (Revisited).

Keeping A Light On. (Revisited).

Every evening, the little old man climbed to the top of the spiral staircase to light the lamp; staying there, thinking upon life, until the dawn’s early light rose. He slept, during the day, in a cot near the base of the lighthouse; eating the food that the kind folk from the village left him.

For forty years he had tended to the flame that shone out for the mariners’ safety; like his father, and his grandfather, before him.

The mariners, whose sea had receded ten miles beyond the old coast line many, many years ago.

‘The Key’ #SoCS @LindaGHill

‘The Key’ #SoCS @LindaGHill – Linda’s Lovely site here.

I found a key, close by the door of an old boarded-up building. I thought that the key would fit the door, unlock it, and allow me to enter the boarded-up property, where I would find an old wooden chest which would contain a quantity of treasure that exceeded my imagination to imagine it.

The key did fit the door, and the door opened upon the most unlikely treasure chest location that I could think to encounter. There weren’t any floorboards remaining – due to the ravages of time – and the plaster that should have been hugging the walls was now filling the gaps between the floor joists around the edges of the room.

However, there was a large wooden chest, albeit slightly below flor level, and covered in a thick layer of dust – well dust that had become a veritable skin for the treasure container.

I carefully walked across to where it lay and found that the lid wasn’t locked shut. It opened easily, and without the expected creak that is probably usual from badly maintained hinges.

Now, this is where thing got a little strange.

The chest was very deep. In fact, it was much deeper than theoretically possible, being to a depth of six or seven feet; and there at the bottom of the chest was just one thing, a piece of parchment the size of an old white five-pound note (they were larger than the current five-pound notes, shall we say twice the size?

I was leaning down into the chest to try and reach the ancient paper, when I was pushed by unseen hands and toppled forward. Any light was quickly removed as the lid of the chest closed upon me and , having been winded by my fall, it was a few seconds before I could gather myself. I had a torch, which I retrieved from a pocket, and I gathered up the parchment.

The words upon it, although in an ancient script, were legible,

‘East is East,

And West is West,

Now You are interred

Within this Chest!’

It took me a long time to die. It took me a very short time before that happened to curse my finding of a key to a house that, to my knowledge, had never stood on the corner of Elim Street and Douglas Avenue before.

For a short while I was a kind of a Cause Célèbre in the neighbourhood; then like my earthly body, mentions of me faded away… to nothing.

The Thin King

The Thin King

The man was a rake –

well, as thin as a rake –

he was also a king.

He stood looking at the cuboid cardboard package that had been delivered to the palace;

he stood there,

thin king,

outside of the box.

No Repetition Story (WIP)

No Repetition Story (WIP)

(200 words without repetition.

Any comments gratefully received) – G:) )

“What are you doing?” shouted Lady Melanie Montmorency. “Get out of my brand new jacuzzi immediately!”

Brendan o’Briain leapt about three feet skywards into clear air at his landlady’s voice, unwillingly exposing a pale nakedness for her Ladyship’s unwanted delight.

“Sorry!” was heard uttered upon the Irish lumberjack’s sudden departure.

“Funny fellow; but, so well endowed.” sincere sounding approval soaked smoothly within those virtuously aristocratic words.

Disaster avoided, said water-filled garden feature, receiving some needed cleansing attention, soon returned to its former glory.

Later, ‘Dive-In Thursday’ commenced; all behaved impeccably; ubiquitous aperitifs were copiously imbibed, perky petit-fours neatly nibbled, clandestine conversation eloquently colluded.

Observing proceedings, Tangworthy Times’ lead reporter, Mrs. Fenella Finglewort, vividly reported: ‘absolute debauchery, total mayhem, flagrant philandering – so jealous!’ Pictures left nothing unimagined.

Friday’s headlines read: ‘Upper Class Street Theatre Brings Down Lasting Shame!’ which nobody understood – heavy editorial restraints meant little, as subsequent salaciousness could be experienced per highly detailed pictures printed within.

“The Cakes!”

“The Cakes!”

The Cakes were flying out of the door.

“Stop!” came the cry from the rear of the café.

The last few Victoria Sponge slices beat their wings all the more and reached the freedom of the open air.

“Come back here at once!” shouted Mrs. Flour.

The cakes, not having ears, turned a blind eye to the command.

Free of the café, where they had always waited for the slice of the cake knife with dread, the cakes swooped and glided along the air currents above the town.

“Crumbs!” said the first Herring gull that spotted them – and very soon they were.

A Tale of Three…

A Tale of Three…

Aubrey the Strawberry, Salty the Peanut, and Banango the Weird – a mixed up one if there ever was – walked into Kind Café, one day.

It had been a very hot day, and the three of them were in search of an Ice-cream each to cool themselves down.

Aubrey, Salty, and Banango surveyed the ice-cream menu.

Aubrey looked on with dismay as she saw the options, Salty turned up his little peanut nose at the PB &J cone;

Banango ordered a Banana and Mango Chip Cornet (with sprinkles).

Aubrey and Salty looked at Banango with wonder – he was being really weird lately.

Banango paid and took his selection ‘to go’ and they all left the Kind Café.

Within two minutes a hungry Herring Gull had swooped down and the Banana, Mango Chips, Sprinkles and Banango the Weird had all been swiped by the hungry gull.

Aubrey and Salty were sad, but this was slightly relieved by the fact that Banango the Weird had gone as he had always said he had wanted to.