A warning

'Now listen very carefully,' whispered Witchety-Woo and she drew Bobby Bird up close to her so her awful twisted nose touched his cheek and her sour, putrid breath invaded his nostrils. Birdy grimaced and wriggled and tried to create some space between them but Witchy held him tightly, her long dirty fingernails digging into his arms.
'Whatever you do boy, don't be caught out there in the dark after midnight...'
He looked at her and frowned.
'I'm warning you!' she hissed fiercely and then pointed a long crooked finger towards the window where the pale moon shone through the dark winter branches. 'For there are strange and terrible things out there in those woods...strange, ghastly, beastly things and there's no telling what they will do...what they are capable of...If you want to come out of there alive boy, you'll take care and listen to what wise Witchy is telling you...'

Strange places...

In the land of Naranjamanine everything was vibrant and fragrant. Too much time spent there gave one a headache. The sun was a big beaming yellow grapefruit and in all the trees there were limes and bright pink flowers. It was advised to take dark shades when passing through the country. There was little you could do about the smell though, for how can one create no smell? Impossible! The best thing to do was to wear thick, tightly packed cotton nose plugs, but this looked very silly and the vapours still clung to one's hair and skin. It entered through the mouth and eyes and more private regions. On hot humid days it was so bad that it stung. One's skin would grow red and sore and ooze with citrus acid. It was vital to cover up on such days.

Coming out of Naranjamanine, one came into a cooler territory where the mountains of Submentolt grew - yes grew- they were always growing: at night they deflated slightly like a pair of lungs but at the height of mid afternoon they stood upright and stretched on and on for what seemed like forever. It was very difficult to see their tops. Only an expect eye could make them out. Here, the smell and vibrancy waned and was replaced by a gentle wind that licked and soothed the skin burns and carried away the sweet fragrances to some place unknown.

The mountains of Submentolt brought relief but only momentarily for it was here the pesky leghuggers dwelled. These super cute furry creatures had big saucer cup eyes - which lured you in -and were not to be trusted, for this was all part of their pretense. Once they disarmed you with their beguiling looks, they quickly got a hold of you and the nightmare of trying to shake them off would begin...

The truth about dreams...

'Amy, you really annoyed me in my dream last night. I'm not very happy with you!' said Lizzie sulkily over breakfast.
Mrs Mayhew raised one eyebrow as she placed the toast rack on the table between them.
'What did she do Lizzie?' she asked humouring her.
'I'd rather not say!' declared Lizzie defiantly.
Mrs Mayhew looked down at little Amy who looked back at her wide-eyed and innocent.
'Well Amy,' said Mrs Mayhew 'What do you think about all this?'
Amy tilted her head to one side in consideration.
'Yes,' said Amy 'I imagine I probably was a little annoying...'
'Understatement! You were being totally obnoxious!' interjected Lizzie.
Mrs Mayhew rolled her eyes and laughed.
'You two, what a silly imaginative pair you are! Just a dream!'
She turned her back to fetch the orange juice from the fridge. Meanwhile Lizzie and Amy exchanged knowing looks and in turn rolled their eyes at their mother's adult foolishness.

Mole and bullfrog

The mole came out of his hole and looked around. He spied a big fat bullfrog looking straight at him.
'Reeeebit' croaked the bullfrog in acknowledgement.
I said the mole 'spied', the mole had very bad eye sight so the bullfrog looked more like a huge blancmange shape looming in front of him. The mole sniffed the air...it certainly didn't smell like a nice blancmange... and blancmanges don't normally speak... The mole squinted further still but eventually, failing to make out what was in front of him, he shrugged his shoulders and disappeared back down his hole...

The bullfrog was of the chilled variety. He shrugged his shoulders too. Then spying a fly nearby he gave a quick flick of his tongue and swallowed the nice little hairy snack.

The hand

Out of the dark hollow of the old oak tree came a withered grey hand with long yellow fingernails - jagged and ripped and filled with black soil. The long index finger unfurled and then curled, unfurled and then curled. It beckoned to Amy slowly. It beckoned and called for her to crawl into the hollow beside it but Amy was scared and did not want to go.

Night things

It had long gone midnight and the only light that now lit the streets were the orange glowing street laps, dully ebbing and softly buzzing. The world was quiet, sleeping...or so it seemed. Busy people never see the smaller details. They rush about and forget about the night things. But there is a whole other world out there in the dark and they watch you when you walk, late at night, towards your home, all alone.

Evelyn's not happy

It was pouring down with rain and late in the evening. Evelyn had the heaters turned up and was squinting to see through the misty car screen window as she drove home from the office. She wasn't feeling very happy. In fact she was very close to breaking down. She was tired and feeling downright miserable. Seeing a nearby lay-by suddenly, she swerved into it, turned off the car engine and sat with her head in her arms resting against the steering wheel. The rain continued to pitter-patter on the roof but otherwise all she could hear was her rapid breathing which was quickly turning into wretched quivering sobs. Each breath she drew in, the more desperate her cries became until she was wailing at the top of her lungs.

Eventually this subsided a bit and she sat there quietly, her wet cheek pressed into the top of her hand. It was all such a mess. Such a mess. She remembered back to the days when she was a child then in that moment, and, in particular, she remembered going to her cousins' house to visit Amy and Lizzie. It was funny, the memories were vague and foggy but one thing was always clear when she looked back: those were some of the happiest times of her life.

Nowadays, nothing felt right anymore. She felt like Dorothy without her ruby slippers. Somewhere along the way she had woken up in a strange land where everyone and everything was all very well but...all she wanted to do was go home. Home...

But where was that? What was that? She couldn't tell. She didn't know but every day the longing grew deeper within her. It pulled at her insides and tore at her heart...

Another one liner

I want to develop the Lizzie Sleeping entry a lot more as I have bigger ideas for that and characters...but for now just a sentence or two - trying to keep the discipline going...

Bobbie Bird sat on his front the doorstep, head in his hands and gazed through his splayed fingers at the huge rip in down the front of his new blue jeans. His knew his dad would go spare... and the last thing Birdy wanted was to upset his father...

Lizzie sleeping

Twelve year old Lizzie Mayhew lay sleeping in the hospital. She'd been sleeping for a long time. Everyone was worried. The doctor's said the prognosis was not good. Nana May sat by Lizzie's bed and held her hand. It felt cold and damp so Nana May rubbed it gently between her own weathered palm.
'Lizzie?' she whispered, leaning in. 'Lizzie my love?'
Lizzie kept sleeping.
'Listen Lizzie, I know you can hear me, everyone else is thinking the worst but I know you're coming back. We just need more time. I need to find a way to stall them. Lizzie, I don't want to alarm you but they're thinking of pulling the plug...'
She took a deep breath and carried on fiercely, determined.
'But I won't let them do that. I won't let it come to that. Trust me. Just please Lizzie, hurry up in there okay? Hurry up and come back. Don't pretend any of it is real. It's not. It may seem so but it is not where you belong. Here is where you belong. With us. Here, in 1979.'

Mrs Mayhew silently watched Nana May from the entrance of the hospital bedroom. Her hand holding the frame and her small oval face peering round, framed with wispy bits of white blonde hair.
Poor dear... she thought and she felt her eyes begin to glisten. She's losing it too. We're all losing it... She stepped forward and into Nana May's view. Nana May looked up. She smiled sympathetically.
'Don't worry Anna, Lizzie is coming back.'
Mrs Mayhew pressed her lips together and forced a smile back. She nodded quietly and moved towards her mother-in-law and rested her arm on her shoulder. She looked down at Lizzie sleeping.
'You hear that Lizzie?' her voice broke ever so slightly. 'Nana May says you're coming back to us. Is that so?' She stroked her daughters hair and then wiped away at the edges of her partly opened mouth with her thumb.
'How's Henry? Amy?' asked Nana.
'He's gone back to work. He didn't really want to but we were driving each other insane with him being in the house all day. Amy's at school.' Anna's eyes never left her daughter's face, as if staring at her for long enough might break this awful spell. Nana watched her.
'Such a sleeping beauty...' she muttered. 'What we need here is a prince...'
Mrs Mayhew sighed. Silly woman, she thought. Always away with the fairies.
'No, Nana,' she corrected 'What we need now is a miracle.'

***************************************************************
Amy Mayhew sat by a tree near the school fence in her lunch break cautiously eyeing up her sandwich with a frown on her face. She peeled back the brown bread to reveal an unappetising sight. She hated cheese and tomato sandwiches. The tomato made the bread pink and soggy. Obviously with every thing going on, her mother had momentarily forgotten that. Sighing she wrapped them back up and walked towards the nearby bin. So much for lunch. She sat back down despondently and picked at the buckle on her shoe.

A ball flew overhead and past the metal bars and footsteps thundered over towards her. A small dirt cloud blew in her face as their owner skidded to a halt.
'Awww, man!' came a whiny, exasperated voice. Amy looked up. There stood Robert Bird from class 5G. Or Birdy as he was often called by his peers. Noticing her, Birdy quickly blushed and looked down at his feet awkwardly.
'Oh...H-hi A-amy,' he stammered, 'How's your sister?'
'Still sleeping,' came Amy's quiet reply.
'Do you think she'll wake up soon?' Birdy asked tentatively, looking up with difficulty, his head to one side, squinting like he was staring at the sun.
'Dunno,' Amy breathed 'Nana says so but no one else seems very positive.'
'Oh....'
Amy looked at him and then behind her.
'Need help fetching your ball back?' she asked
'Nah it's okay.'
'You sure? The fence is pretty high.'
'I can climb it,' he puffed
'Not saying you can't...'

'Right then.' and he made for the fence. Though struggle as he might he failed to hoist himself up and over it. Impatient calls quickly followed him from across the field.
'Come on Birdy! What's takin' ya so long?'
Amy looked at him expectantly. She raised her eyebrows.
'Pity yer can't fly Bobby Bird!' came another shout followed by distinguishable laughter.
'Do you need a lift up?' said Amy, willing to compromise. Birdy smiled embarrassed. 'Yeah, that'd be good thanks.'
With some effort Amy helped assist Birdy over the fence and he raced off in the direction of the ball. He soon came back with it.
'Throw it over!' said Amy. The ball landed in the dirt beside her and she kicked it with some force back towards the boys who, forgetting Birdy, quickly began to reimmerse themselves in the game.
'Could've said thanks,' grumbled Birdy, watching them through the bars.
'How are we going to get you back over again?' asked Amy

Little time today so just a quick one...

He brought the blade down clumsily missing the onion and slicing into the side of his finger. The white chopping board rapidly changed colour as the blood spread over the surface...

Part 2

Reckon it may need a little more work but an idea in the making at least...

Continued...

The little man said nothing, his hat bent low over his face, but he pulled his coat aside slightly and pulled out a long black walking cane. He then lifted the cane above his head where it reached the door bell and leaned forward ever so slightly on his feet. DING-DONG went the bell as the wood pressed against it.

'Oh I see,' gulped Robert a little flustered. 'Er...ok, how can I help you?'

The cane went slowly backside the coat and out came a parcel which unfurled before him to reveal a string of cheap shiny watches.

'Oh! No. Sorry. I....not today thank you.' said Robert abruptly

He went to close the door, a little annoyed but relieved to get back to his supper. It failed to shut. Looking down he saw the black cane had once again appeared and was lodged between the door and the frame. He looked up crossly.
'Excuse me, but do you mind?'
The salesman held up a hand, indicating that he wanted one further moment.
'What?' Robert heaved impatient, widening the gap only slightly. 'To be frank sir, I am just about to sit down to dinner. I've had a long day and I'm really not in the mood.'
The cane returned to the coat...and out came a large portable stereo.

Where does he find the space?

The strange little man placed it on the floor and the pressed play.Extremely loud rock music began blaring out through the speakers. Robert instinctively raised his hands to his ears.

'What the-' he shouted 'Seriously I haven't got time for this - my food is getting cold!!!'

The stereo switched off abruptly. The man shook his head and shrugged his shoulders. He picked up the stereo and turned to go.

'Wait!' yelled Robert, perplexed. 'What was the point of that? What was the sell?'

The man kept walking. He waved his hand dismissively after him. Robert rolled his eyes. 'Weirdo,' he muttered under his breath and slammed the door. He was still pulling a disgruntled face and wondering about the bizarre incident as he entered the kitchen, but confusion quickly switched to alarm when he looked down at his dinner plate.

It was empty...

Glass littered the kitchen surface by the window and a small red brick lay nearby on the carpet. Robert's mouth hung open in horror. It had all been a distraction! He swiftly retraced his steps back to the front door, which he quickly flung open. He ran out into the street, looking frantically both ways.

A little distance away he spotted something and he quickly moved towards it. There, on the pavement lay a pile of clothes: the tench coat, the hat and the shiny string of watches. Further on he could make out a cane and the large portable stereo. Squinting further still into the distance, he could have sworn he saw two big bushy orange tails rapidly disappear round the corner...

...but most telling of all that a crime had been committed was the lone yellow chip, stained with red ketchup, reassembling a severed finger, not far from his shoe...

Another technical hitch

A few days have elapsed and I have not been keeping my promise to write a sentence every day! Why? Well, I kept meaning to come back and do Part 2 of the last entry but things got in the way and there wasn't a nice free window of space in which to do this. I do want to come back and finish this little story but I need to try and keep with the whole routine of this blog... I realise I won't be able to write every day but I should try to be a little more disciplined.

I haven't got time right now to carry on Part 2 - I may have later - but for now, I shall just write a sentence or two...

She sat at the bus stop waiting for the last bus to come. Hair dishevelled, stinking of booze and clasping a jar of pickles, which she was eating with gay abandon - brine trickling down her arm and into the sleeves of her coat.

1st part of a two part story...

(This would be a full story, I reckon, except it is now lunch time and I must go...tune in for part 2 tomorrow hopefully...)
Robert was just about to sit down to dinner. It had been a long, long day at the office and he was worn out. As a result, he was less than enthusiastic about the thought of slaving away at the kitchen stove this evening - or even waiting around by microwave for that matter. Instead, he had nipped into the local fish and chip shop on the way home. He reasoned he deserved a treat for all that hard work. This was the little rainbow moment of this otherwise grey, boring day. Sad but true.

Key through the lock; door open; straight into the kitchen - quick, quick, quick; shoes flung in any old direction, coat tossed onto a chair... All that was needed was a bottle of Heinz, he wasn't even prepared to change out of his starchy office clothes. Must eat now, was all he was thinking as the smell of frying oil drifted up through the newspaper (yes, newspaper, his local was proper authentic and renown for it - the best fish and chip shop in the county award 2010, thank you very much!) and sank into his skin from where he was gripping it.

Paper unwrapped; lovely big piece of battered fish onto plate; heaps of slightly bashed up yummy thick chips; generous squirt of Heinz. Fork: check! knife: check! Fish on fork, fork to mouth and....

DING-DONG!

The fork hovered in mid-air.
'Bloody hell,' he swore, his eyes looked towards the door. Eyes back to fish on fork...
'F-it, they can F-off.' And fork towards mouth, ready to enter...saliva glands squirting and drooling....oh boy, oh boy, mega rainbow moment and...

DING-DONG! DING-DONG, DING-DONG, DING-DONG! (in fast, desperate succession)

ARGHHHHH! He was up off the chair, striding to the door, yanking it open with some force.

'What?!'

At first there appeared to be no one there.

'What-the...?'

And then a little cough and Robert's eyes were drawn downwards. There on the doorstep was the tiniest man he had ever seen. Dressed in a sort of nineteen-forties trench-coat and hat, with briefcase... not taller than three feet.

'How did you ring that bell?' asked Robert amazed, forgetting his manners and his dinner temporarily.

Just a sentence today? Okay...a little bit more...

Last night I slipped outside as the clock struck twelve in my pajamas. I left my fluffy slippers on the doorstep and let the soft dewy grass blades slip between my toes as I ran silently down to the back of the garden. The moon was high in the sky and the garden was lit just well enough that I fancied we might all have a barbecue in this dim light. Wouldn't that be lovely? A moonlit barbecue...no artificial lights...we could even wear our swimwear and go moon bathing!

I looked for white and yellow eyes in the bushes and high in the trees, I listened for the night time sounds. Croaks and squeals and the wind lightly rushing through the dark blue leaves. I crouched down on all fours and hopped along like a frog, hop, hop, hop, jumping from one paving slap to the next. As I did my eyes darted under the hedgerows looking for potential hob goblins and foxes.

Suddenly I caught a stare. Two small orbs floated in the dark. Then they blinked and disappeared and there was a crash through the undergrowth as it fled. I wanted to know and see what they saw...I wanted them to share their secrets...

Trying a different approach...

Okay, it is now the 20th of January and eleven days have passed since I wrote the first entry...so this experiment is not work as I had hoped...I think I need to be braver and more quirky if necessary. So...even if I cannot write a passage or have no inspiration on one particular day, I will aim to at least write one sentence every day. They will probably be very random and they may or may not take form....this is a more manageable task so let's try this.

So...my sentence/passage for today...

The bruised and battered banana sat on the desk in the office. It eyed up the diet coke can suspiciously. It didn't trust its shiny metal exterior...The banana knew about internal matters from experience. Something told the banana that this coke can was not the solid character that he made himself out to be.

If only he could prove his theory...but being a banana there was little he could do but lie on the desk and slowly grow browner. He was hoping someone would eventually put him out of his misery. Worst case scenario was to turn completely black and wind up in the bin. What a waste of potential. His banana brain shifted back to the coke can...he knew his competitor would end up in the bin eventually too, but he also knew that by then he would have fullfilled his purpose. The odds were in his favour.

What's he got going that's so good? What's he got that I haven't? The banana wondered jealously. Just because he is oh so shiny...Looks can be deceiving... He's not even natural! Where as me! Full of potassium! Full of vitamins! Good for babies! A natural sweet to satisfy sugar cravings... He mentally went on and on. He would have probably broke into song about his benefits, but whilst there was indeed a natual opera singer lurking within this banana, fate had cast the short straw in this instance, which is fair enough because the banana had enough talent really.

If the banana had had eyes they would have given the diet coke can the evils. You! It thought. You! You're just full of EMPTY CALORIES!!!!! (which was actually ill-informed as diet coke does not actually contain any calories. Full fat coke on the otherhand...well, then his slander would have been accurate)

Fortunately, the coke can was oblivious to all this built up resentment and internal commotion. The coke can was simply thinking about one thing: Love (with a capital L).

For you see, the coke can had never seen such a beautiful banana. Its brown and beaten nature was, to the coke can's mind, truly vintage. The coke can prayed, and hoped in its cold metal heart that the banana would fulfil its purpose. It hoped that it might stay on the desk long enough to witness this glorious moment. All the coke can really wanted in its life was to leave this world happy, knowing that the banana was going to be okay.

The coke can never knew what the banana was thinking. The banana never knew the coke can's true feelings. It would not have made a difference if they had. A few hours later the banana was eaten, washed down with large slurps of diet coke. Each party had differing thoughts and mixed feelings of this experience, but in the end, having served their purpose, together, they shared a common grave.

Snowy woods

She’d been reading a book about creative visualisation and now, finished, she decided to retreat inside her imagination for a while. She imagined the landscape of her life as a dark and endless forest during the winter. The ground was covered with a few inches of snow and there was no light in this forest, except for the moon which reflected dully off the white powder and sometimes made the silver birch trees shimmer. Little silver knives of flickering light. It was silent here. That eerie, muffled snow silent. The forest grew blacker and murkier in the distance. She imagined it never ended. It went on and on and on and it was all the same.

Yet here, in the centre, she decided to create something new. A heart. It grew up from the icy ground slowly. Cracking and twisting as it went. At first a big heap of black soil and roots. A lump. But it shifted and changed and edges were defined and accentuated. She worked it like soft clay.

Before long it began to look like a house – a small cottage with a thatched roof –and she made it gorgeous. She put all the warmth of her soul into its creation. Everything about it was good. There were small bulbous windows filled with pot plants that seemed to blossom in abundance despite the snow. Cherry red curtains hung around them, tied up with thin pretty white ribbons. The door was strong and sturdy wood, also with a little window at the top, and warm light shone through it and cast its glow onto the snow.

Anyone walking in the desolation of these woods would want to go inside, but then she fashioned a lock and the lock was fastened. ‘This is my heart’ she said. ‘And within it lies comfort and happiness and only the good things I wish to keep inside it.’ She drew a solid silver key from her dressing gown pocket; it glistened faintly in the dark. She inserted it in the lock, turn it firmly and went within.

The cottage was warm and cosy. A small log fire burnt in the corner. Sofas to sink into and dream framed the room and there were colourful crochet blankets of every woollen colour from the rainbow. A small cat lay by the fireside and he was black and he looked at her with beautiful sea blue eyes. On the kitchen table were a multitude of decorative mugs. All steaming with hot, delicious comfort and a plate piled high with sweet and savoury pastry delights that made the mouth water. ‘These are for my guests. For those I love who I allow into my heart.’ She said, and then she took one and curled up with the cat on a sofa nearest to the fire.

For a while they sat watching the fire flicker, snap and pop. She, content to just be still and the cat, happy enough to allow a low steady purr. Somewhere during that time she noticed the grandfather clock in the corner ticking softly. She checked the time. It was twenty to midnight. Later she would hear soft, padded footsteps growing closer from outside.

She knew who it was for he had once lived here with her. Eventually, she went to the door and opened it. The cat followed, entwining its fluffed up tail around her leg.
‘Hello,’ she said calmly through the snow. It was falling gently now.
‘Hello,’ he echoed back.
‘I suppose it is rather cold out?’
‘Yes, it is rather.’
'Have you come a long way?'
'You can't imagine.'
'Actually, I think I can. Would you like a drink? Something warm?'
‘Yes…Thanks.’
‘You know you can’t come in.’
‘I know.’