Ricky Plummer could barely contain his excitement as the double decker bus inched its way down Porthampton's high street. There was such a bounce in his step he was sure someone had put springs in his shoes. Though he could have done with them, or a ladder at least. He wasn't the only one standing on the pavement dressed in his regimental blues and whites. Thousands of townsfolk were there for the same reason he was; to welcome home their heroes.
As the cheers and screams crescendoed like waves, Ricky desperately tried to push his small frame through the throng. He wanted to get the best glimpse, the closest glimpse he would ever have of his hero, Porthampton FC's prize striker Robby Simmonds. It wasn't as easy as he thought. He was so used to people avoiding him on the street, recoiling at his size and disfigured face it was a new experience to suddenly feel like he was invisible. Not one person shuffled to the side to let him in. Getting through was like trying to knock down a wall with a feather; completely impossible. Frustration and desperation built up inside him like magma in a volcano. He searched for gaps in the crowd trying any means to get to the barriers that lined the street. All he wanted was a passing shot, something to file away in his memory, something happy for him to relive if ever he was sad but as the minutes passed and the rumble of the bus engines grew louder Ricky's hopes faded. By the time he made it to the metal barriers the bus had passed and the glorious FA Cup winners were meeting and greeting others along the parade route. Ricky's heart sank. It was like someone had just ripped his soul from his body.
One by one the crowds dispersed, leaving Ricky standing alone on the street, utterly despondent. As dark fell Ricky trudged home, with cheeks caked in salty tears. The walk home took him passed Porthampton's stadium, but Ricky was too upset to even acknowledge it was there. He stared at the pavement, and chose to occupy his mind by counting the cracks as he walked.
"eight, nine, ten," he mumbled to himself until he walked smack into a towering, suited figure.
Contrite, Ricky jumped back.
"I'm really sorry," he said sheepishly and looked up.
Recognition was instant. Ricky's legs suddenly went to jelly.
"Umm, I, I, err. R-Ro-Robby!" he stuttered.
"Alright lad?" Robby Simmonds said with a wry smile on his face. He slapped the Ricky's shoulders affectionately before walking on.
Ricky had to lift his jaw from the floor
Monday, June 7, 2010
Sunday, June 6, 2010
Spontaneous healing
Purple bruises, oozing cuts
Bill got from time to time
but cos he never let them heal
they stayed gooey with slime
Til one day on his way from school
freak lightening did strike
it sent electric through him
as he peddled on his bike
The next day when he woke up
he felt all out of sorts
but didn't realise what was wrong
until his class for sports
He took a knock across his knees
with a hockey stick
but when he looked upon the wound
there'd be no scab to pick
Sparks of blue leapt from his skin
where blood dripped from his knee
but before Bill could wipe it up
the wound healed instantly
Bill got from time to time
but cos he never let them heal
they stayed gooey with slime
Til one day on his way from school
freak lightening did strike
it sent electric through him
as he peddled on his bike
The next day when he woke up
he felt all out of sorts
but didn't realise what was wrong
until his class for sports
He took a knock across his knees
with a hockey stick
but when he looked upon the wound
there'd be no scab to pick
Sparks of blue leapt from his skin
where blood dripped from his knee
but before Bill could wipe it up
the wound healed instantly
Saturday, June 5, 2010
A very woolly idea!
"Jamie!" screeched Jamie's mother. "Get your backside down here and mow that lawn."
Jamie pulled his duvet over his head to muffle the sound of her drumbeat voice.
"I can't mum, my legs hurt," he mumbled.
"No excuses, Jamie. When I come back from work today I want that lawn so neat and trim you could use it as a putting green."
The last thing Jamie heard was the front door slam shut.
The race was now on. The only thing was Jamie hated mowing the lawn. Every Spring, Summer and Autumn he had to mow the lawn every fortnight. This year, however, he had a secret weapon.
He leapt out of bed, threw on his clothes and ran into the garden. It took him a good ten minutes to wade through the two foot high grass to get to the back fence, where he put his plan into action. With a set of wire clippers he cut the down the fence and waited for the inevitable woolly stampede.
Sure enough the lure of the lush green, weed-riddled grass was too much for the residents of the field and before Jamie knew it an entire flock of sheep were busily munching on his mother's lawn.
By six in the evening the lawn was as smooth as silk, and riddled with sheep poo.
"That'll do nicely," said Jamie, proudly.
Jamie pulled his duvet over his head to muffle the sound of her drumbeat voice.
"I can't mum, my legs hurt," he mumbled.
"No excuses, Jamie. When I come back from work today I want that lawn so neat and trim you could use it as a putting green."
The last thing Jamie heard was the front door slam shut.
The race was now on. The only thing was Jamie hated mowing the lawn. Every Spring, Summer and Autumn he had to mow the lawn every fortnight. This year, however, he had a secret weapon.
He leapt out of bed, threw on his clothes and ran into the garden. It took him a good ten minutes to wade through the two foot high grass to get to the back fence, where he put his plan into action. With a set of wire clippers he cut the down the fence and waited for the inevitable woolly stampede.
Sure enough the lure of the lush green, weed-riddled grass was too much for the residents of the field and before Jamie knew it an entire flock of sheep were busily munching on his mother's lawn.
By six in the evening the lawn was as smooth as silk, and riddled with sheep poo.
"That'll do nicely," said Jamie, proudly.
Friday, June 4, 2010
Tales from Grimwold: the legend of Linus Bartleby
It had been two years since Macadam Snore arrived at the white castle of Galdorgalere; home of the heinous Wizard. Ever since the Wizard saved Macadam's village from destruction from the Grima Pinbeam, Macadam had been duty bound to serve the Wizard for eternity. Macadam knew he would never be free to enjoy the life he once knew with his parents-helping his father sow and reap corncrops, baking bread with his mother and playing Wisp with the other village children-but never imagined his servitude would be as ruthless, tiring or dispiriting. No matter what he did he could never seem to please the Wizard. He would follow instructions to the letter but the Wizard would always find a way to critise his work, punishing him with either no food or worse, locking him in the castle basement for a day where spiders the size of his hand scuttled across putrid puddles on the floor, lizards longer than his body climbed the slime covered walls, and skeletons of the Wizards previous assistants lay in corners like discarded kindling.
Every night Macadam tried to stem the tears from flowing down his face at the despair that was his life. He didn't want to give the Wizard the satisfaction of knowing he was being tormented, but invariably one stray droplet of salty water would roll down his cheek before being swiftly brushed away by Macadam's dirty hand.
Then one day the Wizard summoned Macadam to the Grand Reception room where the Wizard was hosting a dinner for the most eminent magicians, sorcerers and shamens in the land. It was the most lavish occasion Macadam had ever seen. Silks of red, gold, blue and green were draped in deep swathes across the ceiling, beautiful girls with long waves of auburn hair danced in the middle of the room whilst a hundred or more magicians dressed in the finest clothes they could conjure watched on from teh comfort of the gold chairs they sat on. But Macadam was drawn to the food; so abundant he was sure it could feed the entire population of Grimwold for a year-one hundred spit-roasted pigs, four thousand potatoes, two thousand carrots, seventy gallons of gravy and more besides were carried through the room on glimmering gold trays.
"Boy, come here," said the Wizard to Macadam.
Macadam, with his head held low in the manner the Wizard expected, shuffled barefoot to the Wizard's side.
"What is your bidding, my master?" Macadam said.
"I grow weary of these dancers. Their toing and froing is making my head hurt. I want you to entertain me and my guests with a story," said the Wizard. With that he slapped his hands in quick succession and the six dancers dispersed, scurring off to the sides of the room.
Macadam starred out to the room of expectant faces that were clearly eager to hear what tale he had to tell. He trembled, not only at the thought of having to tell a story to a room full of strangers but to have to tell one that would please not only the Wizard but all of his guests as well.
He took a deep breath, stepped forward, summoned the strength from within him and took advantage of the only opportunity he had to be heard.
"My tale is one of truth and is about Linus Bartleby, the greatest magician in the world," he began to a chorus of gasps.
From the corner of his eye Macadam could see the bubble of anger forming on the Wizard's ruddy cheeks. It was the effect Macadam had hoped for.
"He was a legend and everywhere he went the people adored him. But he was a good magician. He helped those that most needed it. He gave food to the hungry, water to the thirsty and a home for those with nowhere to live. But the other magicians in the world were jealous of his fame. One day they captured Linus and threatened him to relinquish his powers or face death. Linus, without a glimmer of fear, said that he would only if the magicians could prove they were truely powerful enough. He told them to all cast a vanishing spell on each other. The magician who was left would be crowned the best."
The Wizard arose abruptly, his face purple with rage and his cheeks puffing. "I will not be outdone by this...Linus," he huffed. "I have never heard of such a tale but will heartily say that I am the most powerful wizard in the land."
One of the Wizard's guests rose suddenly and thumped his fist on the table. "That is an outrage I am the most powerful."
"No, I am," said another.
Before long the Wizard's grand reception room was filled with angry, over-inflated claims of grandeur and superiority.
Macadam stood back and waited for what he was sure was the inevitable.
One by one each of the magician's cast fiery bolts of light across the room. They bounced off the walls, brought down the silk veils from the ceiling, set fire to the tables and chairs until puff after puff, each and every magician disappeared, including the great Wizard himself.
Macadam sat back grabbed a leg of pork and feasted like he had never feasted before.
Every night Macadam tried to stem the tears from flowing down his face at the despair that was his life. He didn't want to give the Wizard the satisfaction of knowing he was being tormented, but invariably one stray droplet of salty water would roll down his cheek before being swiftly brushed away by Macadam's dirty hand.
Then one day the Wizard summoned Macadam to the Grand Reception room where the Wizard was hosting a dinner for the most eminent magicians, sorcerers and shamens in the land. It was the most lavish occasion Macadam had ever seen. Silks of red, gold, blue and green were draped in deep swathes across the ceiling, beautiful girls with long waves of auburn hair danced in the middle of the room whilst a hundred or more magicians dressed in the finest clothes they could conjure watched on from teh comfort of the gold chairs they sat on. But Macadam was drawn to the food; so abundant he was sure it could feed the entire population of Grimwold for a year-one hundred spit-roasted pigs, four thousand potatoes, two thousand carrots, seventy gallons of gravy and more besides were carried through the room on glimmering gold trays.
"Boy, come here," said the Wizard to Macadam.
Macadam, with his head held low in the manner the Wizard expected, shuffled barefoot to the Wizard's side.
"What is your bidding, my master?" Macadam said.
"I grow weary of these dancers. Their toing and froing is making my head hurt. I want you to entertain me and my guests with a story," said the Wizard. With that he slapped his hands in quick succession and the six dancers dispersed, scurring off to the sides of the room.
Macadam starred out to the room of expectant faces that were clearly eager to hear what tale he had to tell. He trembled, not only at the thought of having to tell a story to a room full of strangers but to have to tell one that would please not only the Wizard but all of his guests as well.
He took a deep breath, stepped forward, summoned the strength from within him and took advantage of the only opportunity he had to be heard.
"My tale is one of truth and is about Linus Bartleby, the greatest magician in the world," he began to a chorus of gasps.
From the corner of his eye Macadam could see the bubble of anger forming on the Wizard's ruddy cheeks. It was the effect Macadam had hoped for.
"He was a legend and everywhere he went the people adored him. But he was a good magician. He helped those that most needed it. He gave food to the hungry, water to the thirsty and a home for those with nowhere to live. But the other magicians in the world were jealous of his fame. One day they captured Linus and threatened him to relinquish his powers or face death. Linus, without a glimmer of fear, said that he would only if the magicians could prove they were truely powerful enough. He told them to all cast a vanishing spell on each other. The magician who was left would be crowned the best."
The Wizard arose abruptly, his face purple with rage and his cheeks puffing. "I will not be outdone by this...Linus," he huffed. "I have never heard of such a tale but will heartily say that I am the most powerful wizard in the land."
One of the Wizard's guests rose suddenly and thumped his fist on the table. "That is an outrage I am the most powerful."
"No, I am," said another.
Before long the Wizard's grand reception room was filled with angry, over-inflated claims of grandeur and superiority.
Macadam stood back and waited for what he was sure was the inevitable.
One by one each of the magician's cast fiery bolts of light across the room. They bounced off the walls, brought down the silk veils from the ceiling, set fire to the tables and chairs until puff after puff, each and every magician disappeared, including the great Wizard himself.
Macadam sat back grabbed a leg of pork and feasted like he had never feasted before.
Thursday, June 3, 2010
The pursuit of fame
"He's out there, Sam," Captain Hammer said as he pulled his slimline telescope from its leather sheath and stared out across the ocean. "And I'm going to catch him."
"What's out there?" Sam asked, hesitantly, shuffling from one foot to the other.
Captain Hammer paused. "My future," he said. "All nine hundred pounds of him."
Captain Hammer snapped the telescope shut and marched below deck leaving Sam with a bemused look on his face.
"He's in pursuit, lad," snapped Grim the deckhand, "of the elusive Mambo Snapper, and its fame and fortune."
"Mambo Snapper?" said Sam.
"Yeah, though everyone onboard thinks it's a myth, an old sea legend. I mean who would believe that a fifty foot fish exists."
Sam stared out at the stern of the ship. His jaw dropped. "I do. Because it's chasing us."
"What's out there?" Sam asked, hesitantly, shuffling from one foot to the other.
Captain Hammer paused. "My future," he said. "All nine hundred pounds of him."
Captain Hammer snapped the telescope shut and marched below deck leaving Sam with a bemused look on his face.
"He's in pursuit, lad," snapped Grim the deckhand, "of the elusive Mambo Snapper, and its fame and fortune."
"Mambo Snapper?" said Sam.
"Yeah, though everyone onboard thinks it's a myth, an old sea legend. I mean who would believe that a fifty foot fish exists."
Sam stared out at the stern of the ship. His jaw dropped. "I do. Because it's chasing us."
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
Don't trust your imagination
It was the best invention Milo had ever come up with. Far better than the automated dog walker or the self cleaning hamster cage. He marvelled at his computer chip creation; 'Jerry the homework completer'.
On the first day of term he fired Jerry up, ready to do his duty. He pressed the start button, watched as Jerry's arms jerked into life and his glassy eyes turned from cold black to electric blue.
"First assignment, please," said Jerry in a monotone, tinny voice.
Milo handed Jerry his homework diary, his english text book, a pad of lined paper and a pen.
Within three minutes Jerry had scrawled words across two pages; the answers to three questions on Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet.
"Cheers, Jerry," Milo said as he took the pages from Jerry's tweezer fingers.
Milo had high hopes. He knew it was risky, not just because Jerry's handwriting didn't match his own but that he had no idea if Jerry had provided plausible answers to his essay questions. Not too accurate, but accurate enough to gain a good grade. He knew he wasn't the brightest light in the room when it came to arts. He was better at science. So he never bothered to read what Jerry had written before he handed it in.
When the moment came for Mrs Norris to hand back the essays Milo felt his palms get sweaty. His heart quickened and his breath became rapid and shallow. He was sure he'd been caught out. As Mrs Norris walked towards him a wry smile formed on her face.
"Well, well, Milo," she said. "Your essay was the biggest surprise of all, especially as it was the same sentence written over and over again."
On the first day of term he fired Jerry up, ready to do his duty. He pressed the start button, watched as Jerry's arms jerked into life and his glassy eyes turned from cold black to electric blue.
"First assignment, please," said Jerry in a monotone, tinny voice.
Milo handed Jerry his homework diary, his english text book, a pad of lined paper and a pen.
Within three minutes Jerry had scrawled words across two pages; the answers to three questions on Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet.
"Cheers, Jerry," Milo said as he took the pages from Jerry's tweezer fingers.
Milo had high hopes. He knew it was risky, not just because Jerry's handwriting didn't match his own but that he had no idea if Jerry had provided plausible answers to his essay questions. Not too accurate, but accurate enough to gain a good grade. He knew he wasn't the brightest light in the room when it came to arts. He was better at science. So he never bothered to read what Jerry had written before he handed it in.
When the moment came for Mrs Norris to hand back the essays Milo felt his palms get sweaty. His heart quickened and his breath became rapid and shallow. He was sure he'd been caught out. As Mrs Norris walked towards him a wry smile formed on her face.
"Well, well, Milo," she said. "Your essay was the biggest surprise of all, especially as it was the same sentence written over and over again."
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
Crop circles
"Who is she, Pa? said Tom as he stared through the iron bars of Clear County's only jail cell.
"No idea, son," said his father as he unclipped his gun belt and slung it on the table. "Cricker brought her in."
Cowering in the corner, with her knees clasped to her chest, was a young girl in dirty rags and with a mop of tangled, sandy hair on her head.
When Tom's eyes met hers his body jolted, like a bolt of lightening had just speared him. In his mind's eye he saw his mother mopping his brow when he was sick.
He shook his head.
"Where did he find her?" Tom asked.
"Wandering through one of Hamley's corn field. Damn old coot thought she was making crop circles."
Tom laughed. "Like Mom," he muttered.
"Now, now, Tom, what did I tell you about dragging up the past. It's a whole world of hurt. You've gotta move on. She would have wanted that."
Tom sat back on a wooden bench, unable to take his eyes from the girl.
"I wish you had let me see her, before she died."
"What good would that have done?" said Tom's dad as kicked back and lit a pipe. As ribbons of wispy smoke curled through the air the girl stood up.
She unfurled her body and in doing so her tangled hair blossomed into flowing golden tresses, and her tattered dress burst into a riot of floral colours. As she stepped forward she held her arms out toward Tom.
Mesmermised, Tom walked towards her, drawn in by her angelic form and her soft voice, like a feather on a breeze.
"Goodbye Tom," she said.
"No idea, son," said his father as he unclipped his gun belt and slung it on the table. "Cricker brought her in."
Cowering in the corner, with her knees clasped to her chest, was a young girl in dirty rags and with a mop of tangled, sandy hair on her head.
When Tom's eyes met hers his body jolted, like a bolt of lightening had just speared him. In his mind's eye he saw his mother mopping his brow when he was sick.
He shook his head.
"Where did he find her?" Tom asked.
"Wandering through one of Hamley's corn field. Damn old coot thought she was making crop circles."
Tom laughed. "Like Mom," he muttered.
"Now, now, Tom, what did I tell you about dragging up the past. It's a whole world of hurt. You've gotta move on. She would have wanted that."
Tom sat back on a wooden bench, unable to take his eyes from the girl.
"I wish you had let me see her, before she died."
"What good would that have done?" said Tom's dad as kicked back and lit a pipe. As ribbons of wispy smoke curled through the air the girl stood up.
She unfurled her body and in doing so her tangled hair blossomed into flowing golden tresses, and her tattered dress burst into a riot of floral colours. As she stepped forward she held her arms out toward Tom.
Mesmermised, Tom walked towards her, drawn in by her angelic form and her soft voice, like a feather on a breeze.
"Goodbye Tom," she said.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
