Fiction 500: Beatles

Prompt for this story was Start with Yesterday and include at least three other Beatles song titles. Not sure why I wrote it in dialect, but the idea wouldn't budge. There's a translation at the end. 

Yesterday. A should av dun it yesterday. Bit a never. It’s aye me that has tae dae it an a couldnae be fashed - It’s a sair fecht gettin oanybody tae dae oanyhing roon here. Awbdies aye too busy and they aw hink sombdae else’ll dae it fir em. Ah dinnae blame em mind, naebdie wants to be phonin a call centre half way across the universe jist tae find oot whits wrang wi their telly.

An noo am waiting for they twa eejits frae the hydro tae come back doon aff the hill and tell us they’ve fixed it. Cos it wisnae the telly after aw, it wis the power line tae the transmitter at the tap. And we cannae turn anyhing back oan at aw till they gies us the go aheid.  

It’s a gey long and winding road up yon hill (though it’s a nice wee hurl sometimes when the sun’s oot) so a dairsay it’ll be a whiley yet afore they get back, up tae their oxters in mud ah dinnae doot, and expectin tae trail it ben the hoose withoot a by yer leave.

Jist from me tae you, ah could’ve dun withoot this cairy-oan, but like a say, it aye seems tae finish up bein me that his tae dae aw-hing. Ah brocht it on masel a suppose. Well am fair scunnered wi it aw, scunnered a want tae tell yes, it’s a right footer, and wan day al no bother and then they’ll no ken whit’s hit them.  Wan day.  A mean it. A will. Yes’ll no see me gettin aw trauchled like this again.  

Yesterday. I should have done it yesterday. But I didn’t do it. It’s always me that has to do it and I couldn’t be bothered. It’s a struggle getting anyone to do anything round here. Everyone is always too busy and they all think someone else will do it for them. Mind you, I don’t blame them. No-one wants to have to phone a call centre half way across the universe just to find out what’s wrong with their telly.

And now I’m waiting for those two idiots from the power company to come back down the hill and tell me they’ve fixed it. Because it wasn’t the telly after all, it was the power line to the transmitter at the top. And we can’t turn anything at all back on until they give us the go ahead.

It’s a pretty long and winding road up that hill (though it’s a nice drive sometimes when the sun’s shining), so I dare say it’ll be a while before they get back, up to their armpits in mud I don’t doubt and expecting to trail it through the house without a by your leave.

Just from me to you, I could have done without this nonsense, but like I say, it always seems to end up being me that has to do everything. I brought it on myself I suppose. Well I’m pretty fed up with it all, fed up I want to tell you, it’s a real inconvenience and one day I’ll not bother and then they’ll not know what’s hit them. One day.  I mean it, I will. You won’t see me getting landed with it like this again.

Fiction 500: The sun was shining in my eyes (2)

The sun was shining in my eyes. I closed them. Ran my fingers through the hot gritty sand. Luxuriated in the warm air. Dug my toes into the sand till I reached the wet cold layer. Listened to the sounds around me. Opened my eyes as if in soft focus and walked to the water. Jumped when the delicious cold saltiness swarmed around me. Floated, kicked, felt alive.  

Walked back across the sand. Sticky, sticking to my legs. Drying. Deliciously abrasive.

Repeat ad nauseum

Fiction 500 : The sun was shining in my eyes (1)

The sun was shining in my eyes. It was early evening, but the sand was still deliciously warm under my bare feet, My skin tingled with that spicy combination of salt spray, sun and abrasive sand. I had spent the day at the beach, recharging my tired batteries, not to mention my empty soul and now I felt alive and unfettered, ready to face whatever the world might throw at me.  Behind me a few families with children still lingered. Savouring the rays and the freedom and the fun that might not come again for another year. I could hear the laughter and the delighted shouts as the jumped over the waves, splashed in the tide, filled their buckets with water to fill the moats of their castles. I didn’t want this day to end, I just wanted to carry on - remembering childhood summers and the excitement of seeing the sea again as you crested that last hill. Running over the dunes, then over the rippling sand, to the waters edge, That exhilarating moment as you first felt the icy shock of the cold North Sea water hitting your warm skin.

As I walked, I suddenly became aware of people coming towards me. All I could see were two shapes outlined by the low-hanging sun. I walked towards them, they walked towards me. I had no idea who or what they were. As they grew closer I could hear that they were arguing. Not in English, I couldn’t tell what they were saying, but the tones of their voices told me everything I needed to know. And now different childhood memories were returning. Fights and shouting and hiding, cowering behind the sofa, under the covers with my fingers in my ears. Terrified and powerless, not knowing how to deal with a world that could change from calm to vicious in just a few seconds.

I stopped. And put my hands to my ears, then shaded my eyes. I don’t know what happened next

_________

And now here I am waiting to be sentenced. I know I did it. That is all. I don’t know why. I don’t know if I care.

Fiction 500: Keys

She watched helplessly as the keys dropped from his grasp into the icy water. No, no. Please no. They were miles from anywhere on a little-used B-road. “Let’s stop here for a look at the waterfall” he’d said, “it’s wonderful this time of year”.

This time of year, cold and bleak, with night approaching rapidly, but yes, it had been wonderful. No vegetation at all, just black rocks and the powerful stream of icy, gushing, crystal clear  water. They’d stood on the old stone bridge for half an hour, lost in the torrent of noise and the patterns it made as it hit the still pool below. She’d felt peaceful, happy, at one with the world.

But now, now, the keys were gone.  It would be madness to go down there to try to retrieve them.  Why had he taken them out of the car anyway. This wasn’t the city where opportunists might steal a march on them and make off with the car.  It was six feet away from them. At least he hadn’t locked the doors they could have shelter at least.

A thought flickered through her mind. He hadn’t locked the doors, had he?… Or had he just pressed the button anyway.  That reflex thing that all drivers do. Leave the car and press the button. She turned away from him and walked slowly to the car. Thoughts racing, but feeling like she was walking in slow motion. Please no, he didn’t. We’ll die up here, why did we leave our jackets in the car. We have outdoor gear, cooking gear, sleeping bags even, a shovel, everything you would need, we’re not stupid, we just got out to stand on a bloody bridge FFS. Fear and panic rose in her throat.  She felt sick. She wanted to hit him, kick him, kick herself, scream. She hated him, hated him with all her heart. And alongside the fear the inconvenience. They had plans for later, a movie to watch, a meal to cook, laundry to do.  

And now she was beside the car, willing herself to try the handle, knowing the door wouldn’t open and her worst fears would be realised. She could hear him behind her, hovering anxiously.  She tried to speak, but her breath was uneven, words wouldn’t come. She couldn’t look at him.  Over the rushing sound of the blood in her veins (or was it the waterfall) and her thudding heartbeat, she heard a popping sound - the central locking being released.

Fooled you, he said, did you really think I’d dangle the keys like that over the edge. The was the spare set for my old car, the scrappy forgot to take them from me yesterday.

Fiction 500: Keys (2)

I saw her looking at me with a sort of strange expression on her face as I dangled the keys over the edge of the bridge then let them slip slowly out of my grasp. I'd hesitated before I let them go, did I really want to do this or did I want to keep something back for old times sake. But in the end I let them go. It seemed like the time was right. New beginnings and all that

I leaned on the bridge just watching. Thinking of all the good times we'd had, mentally saying goodbye. Savouring the end of a great day out. Stopping to see the waterfall had been the icing on the cake.

It must just have been seconds but when I turned round again she had this really weird wide eyed look on her face. Angry yet stunned looking at the same time. If looks could kill, I'd not be telling you this now.

Then she turned round and sort of stumbled towards the car, making hysterical sobbing noises. I could just about make out something about being stuck up here all night and dying of hypothermia. WTF?

Then it clicked. She thought I'd dropped the car keys. Well I had. But only the spare set for my old car which after ten years loyal service I'd had to send to the scrappy the day before

I walked up behind her, waiting for her to calm down a bit. Now that I'd figured it out, I wondered about letting it go on for a bit longer but then I thought I'd have to deal with her seriously flipping out and I didn't want to spoil the moment I had planned for later. Patting the ring box in my pocket I pressed unlock and opened the doors just as she reached out for the handle.

Fooled you :)

Fiction 500: Something smelt strange

Something smelt strange. Not exactly bad, not definitely unpleasant, but maybe a bit unpleasant. Like apples when they start to go off a bit, mixed with cakey chocolatey smell, and some kind of floral essence and just a hint of rottenness. So definitely strange, if not necessarily bad.

The strangest thing though was I couldn’t pinpoint the smell at all.  There was not fruit to go off.  No cakes or chocolate.  No flowers. I’d cleaned everywhere. Emptied cupboards, moved furniture, scrubbed floors, checked the soles of all the shoes to see if anything was getting carried about. It wasn’t coming from the huge pile of clean laundry - some of these liquids can smell very strange.  Not live up to the descriptions on the bottles at all - but t wasn’t them in this case.

It was kind of becoming an issue. I seemed to be the only person who could smell it.  And it wasn’t constant either. Sometimes it was there and sometimes it wasn’t.  We’d be sitting just watching telly and I’d have to get up and leave the room it was so overpowering. One night it was blowing a gale outside and I just had to open the window for five minutes to get rid of it.  And sometimes that didn’t even work - opening the windows I mean.  Sometimes it seemed to come in from outside. I’d open the door on my way out and be hit with a wall of smell that would push its way past me and would lie there waiting for me to come back. Other times it would be in my bedroom waiting for me when I went to bed.

And before you ask, No. It wasn’t me, nor any of the kids. They’re not the kind to hold back. If you smell they’ll not be slow in pointing it out. Of course they thought it was hilarious. One of them called in my smell monster, another said maybe it was a poltergeist in smell form, or death stalking me and waiting for its moment to grab hold of me now that I was, in their eyes, well over the hill at 45.  

I didn’t say anything, but I quite liked the smell monster idea.  After a while I’d noticed it came at times when I might be about to lose my temper about something - usually something that didn’t matter in the bigger scale of things.. Was I conjuring up the smell to distract myself or was it like a guardian angel smell looking out for me at those moments when pressure cooker rages threatened to blow off the top of my skull?  Whatever - once I’d made that connection it stopped being a problem. It still comes and goes, but I don’t mention it now. Don’’t have to hide from it. Life is calm. The mind is a strange place and we’ll never understand its secrets!

Fiction 500: Silence

Silence.

The absence of sound

Silence

Harsh, awkward, spiky, rough, stacatto, clamouring, deafening, ringing, jangling, threatening, ominous, portentous.

Silence

Smooth, velvety, comforting, embracing, nurturing, nourishing, calming, cleansing, soothing, dreamy, soft, elusive, precious

Silence

Everything and nothing