Rude Awakenings

I lounged in a luxurious lengthy bath this morning, appreciating the warm waters soothing my sleepingy body. It was 5:18. Mere minutes earlier, I was viciously dragged out of a lovely sleep by my alarm clock, which I think is now in a trillion pieces on the far side of the Bedroom. Oooooh how I love me sleep.

That said, I simply had to get up, and what better way to get the day going than by having a nice bath to begin with.

The thing, with me and baths, is that I forget why I’m there. I’m up early for a reason. Sorry alarm clock. I have to be out early, so I have to get up early. And I have to get ready early. As soon as I slide under the soothing warm water all urgency instantly leaves me. I blend into the water. Breathe in the steam. Become a physical ripple in my liquid surroundings. I almost drift into a meditative state… I say almost, I have a problem meditating so don’t quite get there.

This morning was no different.

Suddenly, I realised I had to bathe to get ready for the day. I reached for the soap and got a nice lather going, when suddenly some unimaginable force yanked the soap from my slippery hands. I watched, in both awe and horror, as the tiny white block made its way gently through the steamy air of the Bathroom, stopping only for a double somersault before it literally vanished from sight. I couldn’t see it anywhere. I rubbed my eyes (forgetting VERY briefly about my soapy hands) to peer through the steam in the hopes of seeing it – and all I could see then was tears. Stinging tears.

Swiftly, I resolved that situation, caught my breath, heaved myself like a dead weight from out of the water, and walked across the Bathroom to the cabinet on the other side to get another block of soap.

I found the original block of soap on the way back when I trod on it, and propelled myself forwards like an inept ice-skater, arms and legs flailing. I fell head-first back into the bath, causing most of the water to leave in rather a sharp fashion. Bathroom flooded, knees hurting from hitting the side of the bath, and now two missing bars of soap, enough was enough for today’s idea of a relaxing bath.

Lucky for me, though, I was awake, and after a hasty wash I was ready for the day.

images from pixabay

Wordle: Past Times

We used to walk along the riverbank
Watching ripples on the surface
And be carried by the water
You know, where one stands still
And the flow downstream makes
One appear to be moving

We used to watch the eagles
Circle overhead, watching us,
… As we used to say

We used to sit for hours
Around the roaring fire
And talk of tales of hope and freedom
Way passed the last of the sunlight
Beyond the end of the day

We used to do a lot of things
Now merely lots of memories,
Drips and drabs of thought,
But we did them.
And who knows,
Maybe one day,
We’ll get to do them again

And they say romance is dead

Old Mal creaked and groaned as he leant forward in his dusty old chair. He was bent completely double with his arm out-stretched as far as he could, but he still couldn’t reach it.

He muttered something inaudible.

“What’s that you say?” Ornelle, his wife, glanced up and over at him from her dusty chair. “Oh – what are you doing? Let me help you.”

She dragged herself up out of the chair and across the candle-lit room. She first pulled up and straightened out Old Mal. Then, she picked up his hand from the floor, which was still clutching a single wilted rose. If it wasn’t bits of him falling off, it was bits of her. It was something they were both used to after becoming undead several and then some years before.

“I wanted to surprise you.” Old Mal said, sheepishly.

“After five hundred years of you doing the same thing,” Ornelle reattached Mal’s hand, “You’d think you’d know by now that I don’t like roses.”


It’s February 1st. White Rabbits!
And this is my post for my new Monthly theme.  I’m starting early.

Full Circle

Gerald looked out of his bedsit window and pondered.

The street looks different, somehow. I’m sure there’s a storm brewing. Why’s Mr Hecklethorpe’s there? I’m sure it collapsed. Did it collapse? Nah – I must have dreamt it.

That cheese must have been strong last night. I’m getting flashbacks on my dream… Mr Hecklethorpe’s house; some really annoyed women standing half-naked in a field. And chariots. I can’t make head nor tail of it.

And I’m pretty sure I was a baby. Weird.

He picked up his pad and pen and started to write.

The Gods and Goddesses gathered in the Great Hall on Mount Olympus, for their daily view on the affairs of the mortals who live on the Earth beneath them. They were looking for someone special; someone they could use as a toy in their daily manipulative games. Someone open to suggestion that would do exactly as they commanded.

Gerald’s telephone rang, so he promptly answered it.

“Hello.” Gerald snapped, subconsciously.

“Erm, hello,” stuttered the voice on the other end, “is that Athena’s?”

“Sorry, you’ve got the wrong number.” Gerald wondered who or what Athena’s was… and why it seemed to strike a chord with him.

“Ah, sorry mister,” the elderly-sounding lady said, somewhat annoyed. “This phone of mine is utter rubbish. I’m going to scrap it – throw it away – it’s always misdialling. Sorry to have bothered you.” She rang off.

Gerald picked up his pad and pen again, and read his first few scribbled words. Realising Athena was one of the Goddesses on Mount Olympus he felt a shudder run down the length of his spine.

Now that’s a coincidence if ever there was one! He thought.

He put down his pen.

I can finish this some other time. I think I’ll nip and see Mum.

Absent-mindedly, he tore the page from the pad and tossed it into his waste paper basket before heading out.


Decades ago, I began an occasional bit-part story called Legendary Circles. The tale crosses time and space and the great divide between mortals and the Gods of Mount Olympus. Being a bit-part series, the story segments appeared out of sequence, with some earlier parts being set after later parts and vice versa. As such, there are huge gaping holes within and between the segments, which is both intentional and unplanned in equal measure, as each segment sent the story off in a different direction.

This is the final segment of the series, part twenty. It carries on in part from the previous part, but separated on a different level. It draws in the original part, and snippets from other segments posted along the way. I wanted to bring a little closure on the tale… something I tend to do very rarely with my tales.

It’s meant to come, as the title says, full circle; also in reference to the Legendary Circles overarching title the series had. I had a great deal of fun writing both it and the characters, and, as there are so many holes, I may add in another sneaky part or two as time goes on. You never know!

All parts of the story are now linked in the Storylines menu, should you feel the need to read them from beginning to end. Or any old way really… it may flow better that way!

The Superhero Diaries 2.6: Discarded Plans

The Elite Force of Britain, like many people around the world, receive their fair share of junk mail in the post. Someone, however, took the time to create a postcard (addressed to Betty Stretch but intended for the entire EFB membership) featuring a photograph of a hastily drawn map and part of the letter that was written on the reverse. Here, the letter, which had been hand-written in tiny letters, appears in full:Dear Betty Stretch,
This is just to warn you that I have been made aware that a gang of sinister individuals are planning something against you and your fellow superheroes in the amazing Elite Force of Britain.

I was in my regular coffee shop, Beens Aroma, at my regular table, when I recognised one of the people sitting at the next table to me.

I heard them mention the EFB quite a few times, and they also mentioned something about Middlehaven Isle. They were speaking in whispers, apart from the one I recognised, Big-Mouthed Bert.

Big-Mouthed Bert blurted out that he’d drawn up a map of the Banking Quadrant, with specifics detailing the security guards’ rota change times. He’d also announced to the entire coffee shop that the ‘waiting for go’ point was at the bus stop on the corner of Crescent Way by the main banking complex.

Something panicked the group, four of them, three men (one being BMB) and one woman, and they fled the scene. They left their notepad on the table and BMB’s badly drawn map. I tore off a page and began writing this letter when I realised that they could come back at any time, so I took a quick photo of the map with this letter for proof, and then left the pad on the table. I returned to my table and had managed to get my part of the letter in my bag when the woman returned. She looked around the coffee shop, eyeing everyone suspiciously. She glared at me for longer than she did the others, for some reason, and then snatched the pad from the table and left the shop again. I was nervous, but hid it by pretending to choke on a slurp of coffee. To be honest, I didn’t pretend – I actually choked as I’d forgotten the coffee was so hot, but you don’t need to know that.

As I’m now short of space that’s all I can tell you. They drew up the map yesterday, Wednesday, and I got the impression they are planning their hit very soon. Just thought I’d give you the heads up.

Picture on postcard