I left it downstairs

 Geraldine's story

 On a quiet, mild spring evening, John and Patricia decided to watch a television program dedicated to China, it’s geography, it’s development, it’s population and overall what their future would look like.  A long fascinating broadcast that was to last at least 3 hours.

The house they lived in was rather large with 2 bedrooms and a bathroom downstairs, at the same level as the garage. Then, upstairs was the living area : kitchen, dining-room, very big lounge, study and another couple of bedrooms. A terrace rounded the level with a wide space where you could eat outdoors around a garden table.

After a quick snack, they sank into their armchairs with a drink and sitting confortabily started watching TV.  They were travelling from one part of China to another, very different, going from the developped Shanghaï to the most remote fishermen’s or small farmer’s villages.

When their dog started to bark, John shut him up".

-« Shhh ! Don’t bark  you fool !  We can’t hear » !

When they finally went to bed, they felt they had so much new knowledge about this huge country that they were discussing when they would finally decide to take steps to go visit the place…

Next morning, Patricia woke up first, got the coffee and breakfast ready and the lovely smell of hot toast got John out of bed.

Sitting on the terrace overwatching the blossoming cherry and plum trees, they were set for a lovely day.

Patricia started walking donwstairs and exclaimed :

-       « Oh ! John, did you leave your wallet downstairs !  It’s on the first step…

-       No, not that I remember !

-       But look, here is the key of the house just next to it.  Gosh, what on earth happened here ?

-       I don’t know !  Let’s have a look through the wallet !  Has any money been stolen ?

-       I don’t really know how much I had in there…. But I never have much…

-       Well, there are a few coins and a 10 euro banknote.

How strange !  The identity and credit cards were untouched !

As Patricia walked out of the house, right in the middle of the lane, she found a bunch of keys she had never seen before ! 

-       What on earth are these keys, where do they come from ! she shouted out loud.

The mystery was growing….

John went off to work and Patricia heard her neighbour calling her from behind the fence.  They lived in exactly the same house, as there were 4 of them built by 4 Italian bricklayers who  had left Italy in the sixties when hunger and poverty were still around.  Since they had done well, they had all built new houses and rented the first ones out.

-       Hi Geraldine !

-       Hi Mary, how are you ?  Lovely day again.

-       Well, something very strange happened last night ! We were watching TV in the back room and I think that’s when we were burgled while we were watching a fantastic television documentary about China !

-       Oh ! so did we ! Wasn’t it wonderful !  China is realy so inspiring and there’s so much we’ve never heard about, yet to discover ! So tell me about last night.

-       Well, when we went to bed, I found that things had been moved around near my jewellery box. As I went looking through it, I realized my grandmother’s neckless and earrings were missing.

Then my husband came out of his room and his military medals had been scattered on his commode and two of them had been taken !  He was very upset, certainly more than me with the loss of my jewels….

-       Then Patricia showed Mary the keys she had found on the ground in front of her house.  Do these keys belong to you ?

-       Yes ! They the keys of the Charity Organization I volunteer for. Where did you find them ?

-       Well just in front of my door, in the lane….

Come in for some coffee and we’ll try and figure out what happened.

After a discussion with more details about the evening in each house, Patricia and Mary came to a relatively plausible conclusion :

The burglers started in Mary’s house and ran out as soon as they had found a rather substantial booty, steeling the key in the entrance for their next visit…

After that first fruitfull visit, they probably started their visit in house number 2.  As they reached the first floor, they had picked up John’s wallet intending to look through it…  Then the dog barked quite loudly which made them run away as quickly as possible, dropping the wallet and key of the house on the first step.  And as they were running as quickly as they could, they dropped the neighbour’s key in the alley.   They fled as quickly as possible hoping nobody was after them.

Mary was releaved they hadn’t managed to keep the keys and Patricia and John found they had been very lucky : if they had heard the burglers before they ran away, they could have got into trouble !

When Patricia went home after the sucessfull outcome of the mystery, she went straight to the dog, giving him a huge cuddle :

-       Sorry we shouted at you last night and thank you, thank you, thank you… you’re the most wonderful dog ever….

 ------------------------------------------Story made by elecronic intelligence

It was a lazy Sunday afternoon, and I was curled up on the couch with a good book. As I flipped through the pages, I suddenly realized that I had left my phone down stairs.  Groaning, I got up from the couch and made my way down to the first floor. As I descended the stairs, I noticed that something was off. The usually quiet house was filled with an eerie silence.

My heart pounding, I quickened my pace and reached the bottom of the stairs. That's when I saw it - the front door was wide open.

Panic set in as I realized that someone must have broken in. I frantically looked around for something to use as a weapon, but all I had was a decorative vase.

I tiptoed towards the door, vase raised above my head, ready to strike. But as I peeked outside, I saw that there was no one there.

Feeling a mix of relief and confusion, I looked around to see if anything had been stolen. It was then that I remembered why I had come downstairs in the first place - my phone.

I looked around, but it was nowhere to be found. With a sinking feeling in my stomach, I realized that whoever had broken in must have taken it.

Feeling violated and vulnerable, I called the police and waited for them to arrive. As I sat there, I couldn't help but think that this was all my fault - I shouldn't have left my phone downstairs.

 

 

----------------------------------

 

Annemarie's story

Alice gazed at the gauzy filaments of a spider’s web as she climbed the stairs, holding
tightly to the old wooden banister… and forgot what she had been downstairs for. It
happened so often - one or other of them had those slight lapses pf memory when they
went to the garage, downstairs or just into the next room for something and forgot what he
or she had gone for, so often that the sentence, ‘I’ve left it downstairs, it had become a
euphemism between them for something forgotten; ( sometimes, thought Alice, it felt like a
sign to an incipient Alzheimer’s sentence.) The couple usually laughed or Alice would say
“That’s the problem with multitasking- easy to forget something. Anyway it’s good for us,
going up and downstairs, good for our bone density and for the extra exercise.” Sometime
during the day, or the following day after a good night’s sleep, the forgotten, no the lapsed
word would have descended from brain to mouth.

After her husband passed away, after forty-eight years of marriage with all its ups and
downs, Alice had sold the rambling house set in the undulating countryside north of
Edinburgh; the garden with all its ups and downs was too much for her and Alice had
decided to move to Sussex. It was so much nearer to her two daughters and the five
grandchildren and she could help with baby-sitting, looking after their homes, animals and
plants when they went on holiday - she could be useful.
She bought the bungalow in her daughters names (hopefully to live long enough for them
to avoid death duties.) There could be no greater contrast between her old home in the
tree-covered hills and her cosy modern bungalow on the coast. Sunlight cross-crossed the
room casting rippled reflections from the sea onto her walls; she could hear the constant
whoosh whoosh of the waves breaking on the pebbled beach. Passers-by enjoying the
brisk sea air would wave or stop for a few words as she pottered in the postage-size front
garden. She joined a couple of clubs and felt very much part of the community. It was true
that after a some years she no longer needed to baby-sit but her daughters, and
sometimes the whole family, came to see her, have a proper Sunday roast in her small
dining room, a room filled with memories and photos of Michael and her time together or
they would take her out somewhere special.
Today it was for a birthday lunch and a surprise visit she knew not where.
“Well that was a delicious meal. I am so lucky to have you two lovely daughters. I could
almost do with a siesta,” said Alice, draping around her neck her silk scarf, a birthday gift
designed and hand-printed by her eldest granddaughter. “But,” she added “first the
surprise. What on earth is it?”
“Wait and see, Mum; it’s a surprise after all, ” said her younger daughter mysteriously. Ten
minutes later the two women and Alice were wending their way through an avenue of
elderly, gnarled trees bordered by a profusion of rose beds. Alice would never forget the
all-pervading scent on that hot summer afternoon as they ambled up to the entrance. Nor
would she forget the sign -“The Elms Residential Home. Luxury care for the over 55’s”.
Too shocked, too stunned to say anything she followed her daughters in, allowed herself to
be shown around a large luxury bedroom (or what Alice termed bed-sitting room), a
communal room with several elderly women and men in comfy old people chairs.
“And now the gorgeous gardens,” trilled her elder daughter.

“This is our surprise. Between us we’ve saved you all the trouble of finding somewhere, of
selling the bungalow and all the paper work done. No more housework, there’s a dining
room as well with really decent meals and what’s more proper care if you should need it.
You move in in three weeks time,  she added gleefully, both daughters with big smiles on
their well made-up faces.
Close to tears Alice stared at the two of them. “But why on earth would you do all this
without consulting me?”
“Mum this is our surprise. We’ve noticed how forgetful you've become. It’s much better to
be here now before you get worse, somewhere you can be with other people, where you’ll
have help when you need it. We’ve been worried about you for a while. You live in a
bungalow but you are forever saying ‘I’ve left it downstairs'

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sarah's story

I left it downstairs 5 – Annette
(23.02.2023)

She stands there on the landing, her white hair like a halo against the dark hallway behind her.  Her eyes seem to be gazing into an interminable grey-blue distance, past the wooden, open verandah, past the rooftops below.  She lays one hand on the banister to steady herself, because the other hand is clutching something.
"I left it dowwnstairs," she says, her voice become as soft as the cloud of vaporous hair that is now all that is left of the rich brown tresses she had twenty years ago.
"No, you didn't.  You're holding it right now."
"I left it downstairs," she repeats, "I'm going down to fetch it."
"No, Mum," says the other voice sternly, almost in exasperation.  "You've got your telephone in your hand.  And you're not going downstairs.  You might trip, and then where would we be?"

She took a tentative step forward.  She would rather be down in the shop; someone might come in.  If anyone came it was usually in the afternoon, but sometimes they came in the morning.
"Go back to your room, Mum.  If you fall down the stairs you'll be back in hospital.  Would you like that?"
Fall down the stairs?  Was it as bad as that?  And back in hospital?  No, she certainly didn't want that to happen.  She turned and walked slowly back to her room
They had kept her in the hospital for ten days.  That was when she had let the soup burn and it had set off the smoke alarm and the neighbours had called the fire department.  They had finally decided there was no reason to keep her there and had sent her home.  But Bertie had come up and there was talk among the authorities, and now it seemed Bertie had some power of attorney over her.
She lay down on her bed.  There wasn't much else to do.  She forgot why she had wanted her telephone.  She tried to remember but it was too difficult.  She would remember later; she always did.
She hadn't been out for her walk today.  Every morning she went out after breakfast and walked around the village.  Not all the way around it; though it was a small village, you couldn't go all round it on account of the steep wooded slopes on the north side.  But she had her little route, out through the 15th century gate, on past the cemetery and back along the walls, chatting with neighbours and picking up sticks as she went.  She had checked with the mayor; it was all right to pick up the sticks.  She generally brought back a bagful and built a fire with them in the kitchen while she prepared lunch; that made it cosy when Andy was there at lunchtime.  Though actually it was he who made the lunch most of the time these days; she usually forgot something essential like the salt, or couldn't remember exactly how you finished the recipe.
That was it.  She wanted to phone Andy.  Why hadn't he come this morning?  She punched the keys and the phone began to ring at the other end, but there was no answer.  He was probably working in his atelier, soldering the little bits he put together for his sculptures.  When he was doing that he didn't hear his phone.  She drifted off to sleep.

She was awakened by a racket downstairs.  She called down to Bertie but of course he didn't hear her.  It sounded like somebody moving heavy things, there was grunting and swearing, then the door slammed shut.  The motor of a van started up under her window and after a moment it drove away.  Then all was quiet.
It was a quiet village.  A quiet, beautiful village.  It hadn't changed much since she had come there when Bertie was a toddler.  There were more tourists now, but that was good for business.  She had done right to leave her shop in town and come here; her clients had followed her, and the tourists made new ones.  The best times were before Bertie went away to university; then he had helped her in the garden and with the house, and she had hoped that after university he would come back and everything would be the same.  But he had gone off, and married, and divorced, and gone somewhere else, but had never come back here.  Except for a short visit from time to time, with his children.  But this time he had come without them.
She heard more noises, as if someone were pushing cartons around.  The door opened and closed several times.  Then she heard steps coming up the stairs and Bertie came into her room with two big suitcases.  He opened the drawers  and the wardrobe and began piling things into the cases.
"What are you doing?"
"I'm going home, and you're coming with me."
"But why are you taking so many things?  I won't need that much."
"No need to buy new things," was his cryptic reply.
Her heart sank a little.  Of course she would be glad to see her grandchildren, but she didn't get on that well with Bertie's third wife, and she always felt a little awkward in their house.  She had always liked it best being at home, knitting her sweaters, seeing her friends and neighbours.  Sleeping in her own bed, surrounded by her own things.  Well, maybe it wouldn't be for long.
"Come on, get your shoes on, we're going."
"Already?"

Out of doors, down the street a little, a group of neighbours were watching the proceedings.
"He's taking her away," said one.  "And she didn't even say good-by to us."
"I wanted to go in this morning but he said no," said a tall man with a grizzled beard.  They all knew whom he meant by "he".  "He said she wasn't well."
"She looked well enough to me just now," said the first one, whose name was Tina. "Don't you think so, Andy?"
"Maybe she'll be back," said another.
"I doubt it," said Tina.  "I heard something about putting her in a facility."
"Maybe the one in Belleville?  Then we could all go to see her.  Andy, don't look so guilty!  There was nothing you could do."
"I don't know," he began.
"Nonsense, your psychiatrist has forbidden it; you know that."
They all knew that Andy's wife had died of Alzheimer's, that he had taken care of her for the last five years of her life and that it had worn him down.  He had found a new partner in Annette, but when she had started to show signs of the same illness, his psychiatrist had sounded the alarm.  Now they lived separately but he came faithfully to see her every day.
"Actually, I don't think she's going to be in Belleville," said Julie, who until now had said nothing.  "I heard he was taking her down near him.  And I don't think she's coming back.  I saw a van in front of the house earlier, they were taking something away, and it looked like Annette's knitting machine."
"Maybe he was shipping it down there," said Tina.
"No.  The man from the van was giving him money, not taking it from him."
They were all silent for a moment.
"How do you know he was taking her down south?" asked Tina after a moment.
"He said so himself, actually.  I heard him talking to the estate agent."
"The estate agent!"
As she said these words, a little red car drove up in front of the house they were still staring at, and the person in question stepped out of it.  She placed a little printed panel against the front wall, slipped back into her car and drove away.  Though the printing was big enough to read from where they were, they all approached to see it more clearly.
"For Sale" said the sign, placed underneath the big window where the lettering still said "Designer Knits" but which now showed desolately empty of items for sale.  They turned and stared again down the street out of which Bertie's car, and then the estate agent's, had driven, but all they saw was a collection of dry leaves, twirled down the dusty gutter by the precocious winds of early autumn.
 

 

 

 

Paula's story and some photos

A Japanese toilet

James making delicious tea and coffee

Beautiful table

A gunshot split the silence of the night. A body tumbled softly to the ground. A car door slammed, an engine roared, then faded quickly away.

 

All up and down the up-to-now quiet suburban street, lights flicked on in the houses, and bedroom windows were flung open as men thrust their heads out. 

 

“What was that?” they called to each other.

“What’s going on?” 

“Did you hear that?” 

“That sounded like a gunshot!”

 

Henry glanced across the street, and there, at the foot of the driveway opposite his own, was a huddled form lying on the cement. “Jesus!” he cried, as he struggled to pull on jeans and a sweatshirt. “Call 15, Jules!” he called to his wife. “It looks like Jacob!”

 

As Henry raced downstairs, he could hear his wife on the phone, frantically asking for an ambulance. He ran across the street and knelt down next to his neighbor. Blood was seeping out of a small hole on the right side of Jacob’s chest, his pajama top nearly soaked already.

 

“Who did this? What happened?” Henry asked his friend. “Jules has called for help; an ambulance will be here soon.”

 

Jacob struggled to speak, grasping Henry’s sweatshirt to pull his head close to his own on the pavement. “It was Sylvia,” he gasped. “She’s taken everything. She cleared out the bank accounts this morning; she’s taken the car; she even, she even…” he paused to try and draw a breath.

 

“Don’t speak,” Henry said, trying to comfort the big man. “Help is on the way.”

 

“She even took the ring,” Jacob finally spat out.

 

The ring. Everyone on the block knew about the ring. Jacob’s most prized possession, a family heirloom generations old. A 6-and-a-half-carat diamond surrounded by sparkling sapphires and emeralds, it once had been appraised at €12 million. 

 

“Just rest,” Henry said. “Don’t talk. Save your breath.”

 

By now, more neighbors had reached the two men on the driveway, one gasping for breath, one cradling the other’s head in his lap. “My God,” the murmurs began. “What the hell?” And the news of Sylvia’s possibly fatal betrayal began to spread through the small crowd. “She shot him! And the ring! She made off with the ring!” The incredulous murmurs swept from one resident to the next. 

 

Police and ambulance sirens wailed as they neared the scene. Within minutes, the driveway was bathed in light and activity as the emergency medical technicians worked swiftly to try and stabilize Jacob’s vital signs and load him onto a gurney. Meanwhile, two police officers were working through the crowd of neighbors that had gathered, asking questions. The wife, it’s always the wife, one cop nodded as he listened to the excited voices.

 

As the medical staff lifted the gurney carrying Jacob’s inert form into the back of the ambulance, Jacob slowly reached out for Henry’s hand. “Henry,” he whispered urgently. “Henry, I need you to do something.” 

 

“Of course, Jake, whatever you need,” Henry told his friend. “What is it?”

 

“The ring,” the big man choked out the words. “The one Sylvia has is a fake. I had a reproduction made years ago without telling her. The real one is still in the house.” He paused to draw a ragged, shallow breath. “I left it downstairs, in my toolbox in the cellar. I figured it would always be safe there. Please, Henry, go get it and keep it safe. I’ll need it, if I make it through, to start fresh.”

 

Jacob wheezed then, and dropped Henry’s hand as his eyes rolled back into his head. The doctor sprang into action, slamming shut the ambulance doors, and the car roared away into the night. Henry turned to find Jules close behind him, her eyes wide in her pale face. “Did you hear that,” Henry whispered to his wife. She nodded wordlessly. He stared at her until a small grin began to spread across his face. He said softly, “All our problems are over.”

 

 

Jackie's poor contribution

Goosey Goosey Gander where shall I wander, Upstairs, downstairs and in my lady's chamber

There I met an old man who wouldn't say his prayers,

I took him by the left leg and threw him down the stairs.

The stairs went crack,
He nearly broke his back.
And all the little ducks went,
‘Quack, quack, quack

 

Old father Long-Legs
Can't say his prayers:
take him by the left leg,
And throw him downstairs.^[1

 

They're sending a boat in two days

Geraldine's story  

 

They're sending a big boat in a day or two"

 

When this theme came up on a cold December day in front of Sarah’s fire place, I didn’t realize for one second how difficult it would be.

Even more difficult having let 7 long weeks go by without even having given it a thought ! 

With so many friends and family here to greet Christmas together, so many meals to prepare and share, so many games to play with the grand’children, and then my Australian grandaughter Margot sharing our life till last week, the big boat got lost in the fogs !

Of course, not having Paula’s talent (and not being a journalist either), I can’t just sit here at the last minute and scoop up two or three ideas and make it look like something !

Of course, not being Sarah, I haven’t thought of 5 or 6 versions to  dispatch, all better than the previous one or how to cut them down to a reasonnable lenght !

Of course, not being Patrice, I can’t just sit down and start writing about whatever I’m feeling like writing, even if the topic is miles away from what is expected : I don’t have the guts !

The first thing I could see, where these boats full of migrants , most of them not knowing how to swim, taking all the possible risks to escape from the places they lived in for all reasons people like me and us can’t imagine, being lucky enough to live in democracies.  And because nothing is light or easy any more, despite democracy, I wanted to keep in the Christmas and New Year spirit trying not to get involved in painfull situations.

As you know, we are sailors and have had quite a bit of experience at being in trouble at  sea with our sailing boat.  So I tried something around this.  Being lost somewhere, and not wanting the help that would be sent to us.  I picked up my old World Atlas to find a few lost islands, then went checking on Google Earth to see what they looked like, how we could shelter, how we could feed ourselves, if we had time to stay around for a while before dying of thirst or hunger.  This took me to the Galapagos islands where I opted for the « Isla Pinta », quite apart from the main island, with a small creek on the Southern coast where we could have sheltered.  And distant from Ecuador for more than 1000 kms i.e. 540   nautic miles.  But no story came to my mind !

Then, I imagined this little boy having the worst possible nightmare : in the middle of the ocean, having to fight against a whale  who was far from being as nice as the one who sheltered Pinocchio in his tummy to help him escape the sharks.  At the climax of the story, when all was lost, he would wake up, holding his little pecker, pouring warm liquid around him before realizing he was wetting his bed, and oh ! that’s the last thing that could have happened to him, being in boarding school where any bed wetter was condemned to walk through the dormitory carrying his wet sheet in front of him.  Shame !  But I couldn’t write this story without recalling very bad memories from boarding school myslef !  Although I never wet my bed !

A few more ideas popped up around the merchant navy, a boat looking for us in the Tranquility Sea on the moon, something around the North Pole, with polar bears surrounding us and so forth.

Then, last but not least, I put on the computer in order not to come empty-handed and not to sink before the big boat would catch up with me !

 

They’re Sending a Boat in a Day or Two… from Annemarie

   Fred took hold of the soggy pigeon, ducked indoors from the teeming rain and untwined the stone from the  belly of the exhausted bird.

   “They’re sending a boat out in a day or two,” he deciphered, “we’ll have to get them ready, Wilma.”

   Meanwhile six months previously, in another land, a white-bearded man with curly, snow-white hair and exhausted eyebrows, a man as old as antiquity, had grumbled to his almost-as-venerably-old sons:

“Fancy asking me at 600years old, to build a boat and with just you three to help.. and in just six months. But it’s God's wish, his design.”

  Shem had drawn the plans according to God's requirement. He’d calculated cubits, gathered gopherwood and set his brawnier brothers, Shem and Japheth, to building the vessel. Finally finished, Noah thought it looked more like a wooden box with a roof, an ark in fact, than a boat but he was pleased, nonetheless, with his quincentennial-plus sons.

    Fine drizzle heralded a constant splattering of rain as they loaded banana trees, bamboo, grass and insects in preparation for the pairs of animals already corralled alongside Noah’s  remaining visible land. There was stamping and trumpeting, growling and snapping alongside exuberant beasts wallowing in the muddy grounds. The cacophony of sounds increased as Ham and Japheth eased, encouraged and coerced recalcitrant rhinos and rambunctious apes up the ramp and into newly constructed enclosures, coops and aviaries. Noah had arranged for as many pairs of each animal as possible to be rescued; of course not too many as Darwin had not yet been born.

   The drizzle turned to a deluge drowning trees, fields and habitations. Rivulets turned to streams which morphed into rivers and torrents filling the creeks, gullies and valleys; the waters lashed the Ark; the elephants lashed their trunks, while raindrops dripped off the long curved lashes sweeping their elephant eyes. The wind and the wolves howled, their eyes tight and nostrils flared.  Breezes turned to gusts, gusts to gales and wind whistled through the gopherwood gaps. The Ark rocked backwards , forwards, from side to side as the animals kicked, stampeded, cowered or clung with claws to roosts. Birds shrieked and flapped their wings in sheer fright and lisping snakes sneaked in corners.

The Ark rolled its way on the waters that now flooded  the disappearing land as they set off for just two more beasts.

   Amid a miasma of foul-smelling wet animal fur, the steaming stench of malodorous poo, pee and sea -sickness Noah’s family spent the voyage shoving food into one end of the animals and shovelling excrement from the other end. Noah himself spent the time incising a reassuring message in clay, which he attached to the belly of his best trained pigeon and sent it off.

A few days later.

   “Here comes the boat!” shouted Fred to his wife. They were soaking wet , on the lookout above the cave. Drenched to the skin they led Dino and his mate towards the Ark, now swaying at anchor nearby.  Despite strenuous efforts it was impossible to drive these gargantuan creatures into the ark. God in his wisdom, or was it his planning (?), had not allowed enough cubits to save and shelter these gigantic beasts. In the ensuing chaos the sabre-toothed tigers escaped and were responsible for the disappearance of Fred and Wilma. The Ark floated on for another thirty days without that last pair …and that, my friends, is why dinosaurs became extinct!

 ______________________________________________________

Paula

All the creatures in the animal kingdom were very excited. The word was out: “They’re sending a big boat in a day or two!” All the animals, the birds, the insects, the reptiles, and their mates were preparing. 

 

The creatures, being very intuitive, could sense something big was about to happen. Something bad. It was time to leave their paradise, on this big boat that apparently was coming for them. They sensed that the big boat meant safety, and ensured the survival of each of their species.

 

And sure enough, in two days’ time, a massive wooden ark appeared at the shoreline. The doors opened, a ramp was lowered, and the animals, the reptiles, the insects and the birds, all entered, two by two. Inside, it was warm and cozy, with spaces especially assigned to each species, ranged across the many decks. The creatures settled down for what would prove to be a 40-day and 40-night slog through the greatest flood any of them had ever experienced.

 

But that afternoon, as the ark finally pulled away from the makeshift pier, the sun was shining, and two beautiful white unicorns, symbols of purity and grace, were gallivanting in the forest, playfully butting each other with the large spiraling horns that nestled in the center of their foreheads. They stopped suddenly and trotted up onto a large hill overlooking the sea, and watched as the ark disappeared over the horizon. 

 

“Uh-oh,” one of them said to the other. “Was that today?”

 

 

______________________________________________________

 

Jackie

Another boat in two days

She’d had kids young, very young.  2 boys.  Naughtly, lively, rough,  tumble and constantly hungry.   The older boy born from a first 17 year old love affaire in high school;  from birth He was stocky in stature even as a baby, a solid mass of boy a difficult baby, crying, fisting and fighting back about everything,   A permanent scowl on his face, impatient and aggressive. 

He wouldn’t hesitate to hit his cowering little brother on the head to get the toy he wanted.     

Father of the second boy had freckles, smiles and soft blond hair with blue blue eyes.  She had fallen in love at 20 and married this calm natured man but they were seperated after she discovered that he was “too quiet”.     His son a chubby baby face with the same blond curls and sweet disposition. Full of giggles, loving hugs and although weaker in character was in awe of his big brother but also slightly afraid.

She was busy keeping house, a full time job and making ends meet.   The father of the younget boy came by from time to time causing jealousy between the brothers .   He took them out treated them the same but it was never regular and she hardly had any time to herself.       Television was on in their small one bedroom home non-stop;  the only way to keep the boys occupied and quiet for a time.  They watched everything, films, cartoons, games and the news.  She couldn’t check what they watched as she was too preoccupied so leaving them alone most of the day.

It was probably this special edition of the news that caught their eye.   Images of several boats full of people squashed together .  Men herding families, men, women and children onto a beach who were made to wade in the freezing water throwing their small belongings into the dingys.   The waves catching the small boats throwing the people about like toys.  

The journalist was describing the migrants crossing the channel, relating and showing the reels of the boats full to the brim with children and adults.   Although too young to understand the boys watched open mouthed as masked men in black anoraks pushed people like sardines into small boats, shouting and screaming insults piling the most people they could into boats – the younger boy put his fist in his mouth holding back tears biting on his thumb, wimpering , cringing and started to cry. 

The older boy smiled, clamping his fists and grinding his teeth enjoying the spectacle.

“Bath time” the young mother turned off the TV  herded them into the bathroom.     Pouring bubble bath and lego people and toys into the warm water she half closed the door and went back to making supper.

The older boy jumped with glee and said lets play migrants.  Oh yes, lets …I’m the chief.  They gathered together several plastic vessels and divided them up into rescues and migrants.   The older boy started to heave little lego people into a boat  and “up up away in you go” and launched the boat into the bathwater  creating waves with his hands  then all of a sudden plunged the boat down laughing his head off screaming and shouting  “drown”, “drown” capsized the little boat and all the people fell into the bottom of the bath - The sweet younger boy frightened by his behaviour stood up in the warm bathwater – slipped on the bar of soap and sank down into the pink rosy bubbles..     With a gleam in his eye – the images of the TV reportage  still in his head he pushed the younger one .    who slipped down in the soapy water, hit his head on the side and slowly sank – alarmed the older boy jumped out of the bath went to fetch his mother … I’ll rescue you the older boy shouted back don’t worry there ll be another boat in two days time.

 

 

 

5 words : Yellow roses ambulance glabrous ephemeral ephiphanie

 Mary Morgan's story

358 words

Ephemere

How strange. I feel myself dissolving.

The boundaries between myself and the outer world are melting.

All my senses are gone.

And yet, I breathe, slowly in and out in this thick, heavy soup I am a part of.

I try to shift, to turn.

I can no longer move.

I cannot tell whether it is night or day.

Time goes by but I don’t know how long.

I have time to think.

Everything is vague. I float through many lives,

chasing my thoughts of other times, other forms,

but they slip away like forgotten dreams.

Colors, sounds and smells swirl together.

I have no sense of space.

I am large as the universe and small as a cell.

My boundaries dissolve.

I am a part of everything,

of all the worlds I have ever known.

Of all times gone by.

Slowly I feel my body changing. I writhe.

I do not know this strange shape.

Time passes.

Thoughts form.

My mind is awash in color and scent!

I dream of my past, fields of flowers:

Blazing Star, Black-Eyed Susan, Phlox and Heliotrope.

And my favorite, yellow roses. Oh, the scent of roses!

And Leaves! Leaves soft, silky green, glaborous leaves!

I wake to a loud, shrill shriek.

Trembling, I search my mind, scanning…

Ah, it is a siren, an ambulance,

waking me from my stupor.

I bend a leg. It is stiff and tight. Ahhh! I try to stretch out.

I am trapped. I twist and turn.

Desperate to escape.

My body feels like dry winter twigs crackling,

then slowly, slowly filling with sap.

I push through,

first my legs and then my abdomen.

I crawl.

Damp petal wings droop from my sides.

My body pulses with blood.

Wings harden and grow.

Old lives fall away.

Suddenly an epiphany.

I am of the order Lepidoptera,

a Papillio, a butterfly!

I flap lightly and float up and up

into my ephemeral life.

All around me is a mineral world.

Gray, blue buildings flash like fish scales, undulating for as far as I can see.

I search for a scent, a hint of green, a spark of life.

Nothing.

I must go on.

Searching the void, of this ephemeral world.

 

____________________________

 Geraldine's story

As the ambulance took a sharp curve on this narrow road, Melanie opened her eyes and started moaning.

-       Where am I, why does my head ache so much, what happened, where am I going ?

-       Don’t be afraid. You’re all right.  It’s going to be all right. Just keep still and relax if you can !

There was this deep calm voice, coming from a long way a way, reaching her ears : who was talking ?

-       We’re not too far now.  We’ll be reaching the Hospital in a few minutes and you’ll be taken care of and taken in charge by them.

She wanted to talk but not a sound came out of her mouth.  She felt light and heavy at the same time. She saw this glaborous face leaning over her, taking her hand and very gently trying to bring her back to life !  But she felt alive, only she couldn’t find a way of letting him know !

So she closed her eyes again and started trying to make sense of all this, trying to remember who she was, what had happened that landed her in this critical situation.  A few moving images came towards her, but they were so blurred they couldn’t make sense and she passed out again.

The next thing she knew was she was being transfered to a stretcher in front of this huge modern building that looked like a hospital.  It was a hospital ! The deep voice of the man with the glaborous face came through to her :

-       Here we are.  We’ve reached the hospital now : they are going to take care of you. I’m off again there has been another accident. Do take care and recover : you look so young !

The stretcher rolled quickly on a cold stone floor through many corridoors, two doors burst open and she just had time to see all these creatures with green blouses and white masks and gloves bringing a mask to her face.  She was « out » !

Melanie was sitting up on her hospital bed, talking to a couple of people who seemed happy to see her.  Who were they, why were they there ? The young man, brown eyes and dark hair, tall and slim was holding her hand and a middle aged women with whitening hair and a very soft look was smiling.

-       At last we’ve been allowed to come and visit you !  How do you feel ?  Do you remember anything about the accident, how it happened, what happened ?

Melanie smiled back at them.  How nice of you to be here !  Could you tell me who you are ?

-       But darling, I’m your husband, Eric, said the young man looking very disturbed !  And your Mum is here along with me.  Don’t you recognize her ?

Melanie’s Mum’s face went white, but she tried to put on her best smile and leant over to kiss her daughter.  But Melanie moved hastily backwards, looking afraid.

So they just sat there with her for quite a moment, not talking, just showing their warm feelings and trying to hide their disconfort. Melanie’s eyes were going from one face to another and back again : who were these people she thought ! Well, she laid back on her pillows and her eyes just closed again, she felt so tired, all these new faces to have to face, all expecting something from her she couldn’t pay back !

When these strange people left and she woke up again, a nurse came into her room and said :

-       Were you happy to see your family ?  They were so worried about you ! And pleased to see you were doing better, but they still are a bit worried as you seemed not to have recognized them ! Do you remember them at all ?

-       No, I don’t know these people, but they seem to be nice !

-       Well I’ll tell you what happened now if you are ready to hear your story !

You were driving on a road you know by heart, after work, to fetch your baby Roseline at the nursery.  There was this big lorry driving towards you and apparently, the driver was answering his phone and lost control.  He pumbed into your car –it was a red Toyota- and smahed it to bits.  His only good reflex was to call the police immediately telling them an ambulance would certainly be needed. So, when you reached the hospital, you were diagnosed with head trauma with blood clots that needed removing immediately.  They operated you within minutes and saved you.  But apparently you’ve lost your memory, you’re hit by amnesia : we’re going to help you recover : this often happens after accidents, but we try and find out circumstances that can help. 

-       Do you remember anything ? The accident, your car, your baby, the ambulance that got you here ? Melanie looked at the nurse, didn’t answer, but you could guess a lot of things being stirred behind her forehead.  She stayed silent for a long while, then the nurse very gently said « anything coming up ? »

-       Well, said Melanie, I can see a glaborous head over my own and a deep warm voice trying to appease me.  That’s about all !

-       Do you remember where you were when you heard that voice ?

Another very long lapse of time went by before Melanie seemed to come back to life.

-       I think I was being driven somewhere… I was lying down…. This voice was so ephemera… but helpfull, so helpfull… It’s such a long way a way !

The nurse thanked Melanie for her help, then gave her her injection, pulled her pillows together, gave her some water with a couple of pills and asked her if she would be OK for the night.  Melanie smiling told her she would be fine.  And fell asleep.

Two days later, a big tall man with a glaborous face walked into Melanie’s room. As she looked up at him, he asked her :

-       Well, how do you feel today ?  I really thought you wouldn’t get through when I escorted you in the ambulance after your accident.  I did so hold your hand to try and keep you alive untill we got here !  Do you remember ?

Melanie’s face enlightened ! That voice, your voice….I can only just recall I wanted to hear it again !  and here it is ! It was so, so… strong !  I know it pulled me through… where did we meet ?

-       I was with you in the ambulance after your accident, do you remember ?

He sat with her for quite a while, telling her his version and making sure she was listening and trying to recall images, sounds, situations…

-       I have to go now, but I’ll be back in a few days.  Bye bye.

The ambulance man came three times a week to see Melanie and talk with her.

On the other hand, he was seeing her family giving him lots of details about their previous life, he would use for the following meeting.  When they all felt she had enough « stuff » to cope with, they decided it was time for her family to pay her another visit.

Eric walked into her room with a lovely big bunch of yellow roses (her favourite flowers) and her Mum followed with Roseline in ther arms.

-       Hi darling, how are you feeling today ?  Roseline was handed over to her and she picked her up and they both started laughing, then she rocked her delicately, the way she used to do.

-       Well, if your are feeling ok, the hospital has decided you’re ready to come home.

Melanie smiled at them all : « I think I’m ready now ».  At least I know who you are !

Let’s say next Sunday then « It’s Epyphany » , the day we’ve always loved to celebrate together…

 ___________________________

Annemarie's story

 

What do Words Mean?

Mimi sat up in bed…alone.Unlike her friends she was happy to wake early, to indulge in  a full hour of preparation before revealing herself to the world. How grateful she was to have her own home, her own mornings, despite the wonderful Max. Yes, they were an item but they agreed to keep their separate homes. It kept the magic going.

He took her out to restaurants, weekend painting experiences, trips abroad, stately homes, museums, and what a mine of information! Didn’t she have an ephemera of tickets and souvenirs in an intricately woven basket (bought from an eco women's project on their 2021 trip to a Botswanan village).

Yes, her home time was me-time, time to recover, time to replenish, time to rejuvenate body and face.

     She opened her vanity case and selected  her Anastasia Beverly Hills Precision Tweezers from an array of beauty aids laid out in readiness like a surgeon's operating tray - eyelash curler, scissors, cotton wipes, miniature massage machine (no chin-sag for Mimi). Underneath a cavern of  jars and tubes with a veritable dictionary, nay, a thesaurus of age-defying, beauty-enhancing minutely printed words.  Picking up her 5x magnifying mirror she checked for errant hairs on her pretty little  chin.

    She chose a  honey-potion-plus-ceramide-hydration mask and smeared it over her face. While it dried and extracted yesterday's pollution, while it tautened and eliminated wrinkles, she examined the ingredients on one of the tiny, plum-sized, thick glass jars containing a teaspoon of defiant anti-ageing cream; at least thirty words printed on the the 2 x2 centimetre label.  She examined the recently acquired eyelash conditioner. What an earth was chlorophenesin? A quick search on Google assured her that it was 'a little helper ingredient that works as a preservative. It works against bacteria and some species of fungi and yeast. It's often combined with IT-preservative, phenoxyethanol.' So that was good. £89! But worth it as her lashes after 20 applications were, for the first time in her life, flutterable.

      Absent-mindedly she read other promises and assurances printed on jars and tubes: Face-pack packets of natures wonders -  aloe Vera, cosmos organic in fresh pressed leaves to clean, clear and hydrate; hyaluronic acid serum is a great choice for those looking to improve the appearance of their skin; miracle golden-glow to illuminate the cheeks (more than 41 ingredients in that one; surprising there was sufficient cheek on which to spread the stuff); sublime energy skin- smoothing anti-age primer.  The beauty industry was a place where hyphenated words existed in hordes. So many scientific words, unpronounceable  and no use for writing; words merely to wipe, to layer, to plaster, to sculpt and paint upon her face. She pushed aside the bottles and jars to think about which exercise outfit to wear. Ten minutes later Mimi sluiced off the mask, ten minutes to instantly feeling ten years younger. She had to hurry now as she had the first of her body-enhancing classes. Just some lipstick to go on - yes, this was the one: “Shimmer bomb, a dusky rose, infallible 24hr lipstick of intense colour and boosting balm.” If only da Vinci and Rembrandt had such age-defying palettes of colours what more could they have achieved, she mused.

      Thursday was her 'Grit' class which entailed short, sharp bursts of high intensity training so it was as well that she had her Body-Balance class in the afternoon, an altogether less strenuous class, a yoga, Tai Chi and Pilates inspired workout to keep her long, strong, calm and centred… and she could quietly observe the latest exercise outfits worn by the younger  'Gritters'.

        All those meals out with Max were revealing themselves on her waistline. They had celebrated (did she really mean celebrated?) her seventieth birthday last year - with a surprise trip (from Max) to Amsterdam. How could she forget the 70 red roses in vases  around their room. He knew her preference was for yellow but as he informed her, yellow roses symbolised jealousy, infidelity and dying love whereas his red roses were  a symbol of his commitment, faithfulness, and loyalty.

     To counteract the meals out and bottles of gin thoughtfully sent during Covid, she had enrolled on Tuesday afternoon on a ViPR (pronounced viper of course) class - a whole-body workout to help build muscle and burn calories. She hoped it wouldn't be too aggressive; reading the blurb Mimi learnt that one ' can undertake a wide range of movements with this adaptable fitness tool - it can be lifted, dragged, rolled, thrown and even stepped on…' a long, hard rubber cylinder. The new ViPR class had been surprisingly active but Mimi had kept up with the best of the younger-than-Mimi women. Not only that but she had looked as good as them;  she wallowed in the “Gosh, you don’t look anywhere near 70…”, “what a fantastic figure you have…” “ what? Four children? I don’t believe you!” comments which were  scattered at her by her fellow 'Vipers'.

      She arrived home slim, sweaty, satisfied.  Time to try her new shampoo. Her hair had been somewhat lank lately. She remembered when she was a sweet sixteen,  having curled  her hair in a topknot on her head and that the boy she hankered after had mocked her, laughing and saying it looked like a chicken's bum… in front of all her friends! She’d been mortified but to be honest she thought the same thing about her friend who didn’t bother to put her false teeth in; although she'd never said so she thought waking up beside her must be like waking up to a hen's hole. Perhaps that’s when she had her epiphany; she would always make every effort to look after her svelte body and enhance the beautiful face nature had gifted her. The new shampoo pledged drop-defying bounce and body and a languished-after lustrous sheen to tired, lank hair.

       Before stepping into the shower she looked at the bottle to check how long to leave it on…

 thallium, mercury, selenium, and colchicine … just some of the ingredients, no wonder her hair would be thick, bouncy and lustrous.  After her shower and feeling relaxed, fit and beautiful Mimi had a bowl of carrot and fennel soup and went early to bed. Tomorrow was another day out with Max  - to visit, to be informed, to be fed, to be loved and she must look her best.

      The following morning Max failed to get an answer when he rang the doorbell. Quietly he let himself in. No Mimi downstairs. He tiptoed upstairs, peered round her bedroom door only to find her sobbing in bed, clutching handfuls of Caracas iced-chocolate-coloured hair (not lustrous) and her scalp a dome of  bald patches. Overnight Mimi had gone from glamorous to glabrous. So worried by the vicious scarlet patches Max took out his phone…When the ambulance arrived Max led her gently downstairs.

“And don’t forget my phone,” she said to Max, thinking to herself, I’ll need to research some decent wigs.

 _________________________________________

Jackie

It really is fascinating this business of writing.      Words become ideas and sentences, thoughts flow (well, normally) and stories are created magically.   

    When the five words were decided on at the last meeting my mind started to roll.  I think with glee about possible plots.    My imagination clicks in and I start to invent all sorts of tales.     So one morning, early, I sit down with tea and toast, trying not to get the marmalade on the computer, pushing the computer to the middle of the table so that I can  reach the keys, eat breakfast and still type.      Unfortunately  the page remains blank, I’m distracted by France Info on the radio and getting up to push the bread in the toaster down twice before it develops the brown crispiness that I enjoy.    Then there are the dogs, Daisy wants to go out.  Its cold so I shut the door.   4 minutes later she wants to come in – then Rosco decides that he must also go out and so it goes on.

An email chimes, a phones blips all these distractions and its time to walk the dogs.    9:30.  I’m back.  Coffee time and change and get ready for my day.   Coming back to my computer there is nothing on my page for my story.    

Yellow roses and ambulance made me think of Cuba in the 1960’s.   Where did that come from?   Now, how is that possible?.  Cuba? I’ve never been there.    Do I know where it is?  I check and yes of course, I knew all along.      and so I started to write ;   “1960 in Havana Cuba.    The plastic yellow roses bobbed up and down on the grubby dashboard of this bright pink ambulance as it heaved its way through the potholed streets of Havana”   It was a start so I did a little research and came up with this.  

To learn that Fidel Castro cancelled Christmas Day.

“Because Christmas in Cuba was outlawed by the atheist Castro regime for nearly 30 years (1969-1997), so that celebrations wouldn't get in the way of the sugar harvest (which was the reason given by the goverment ) Instead of the traditional Christmas tree,  palm trees with Chistmas lights wrapped around the slender trunks served to decorate the streets with strange, small, nearly round, glabrous, ribbed fruits on a sparsely flowered spike.

Santa, ruled Castro’s director of culture, Vicentina Antuña, is out because he is “a recent importation [from the U.S.] and foreign to our culture.” From now on Cuban children will expect presents from the Three Wise Men on January 6, the feast of the Epiphany. No cardboard Santas or reindeer will be permitted. “Decorations must be made of Cuban materials, with traditional Cuban scenes,” ruled Senora Antuña, “and Cuban Christmas cards must be used instead of imported ones.”

 

Cuba went without any officially permitted Christmas celebrations for decades. Christmas was banned by the Communist Regime in Cuba in 1969 and not again allowed until 1997.

 

 6^th of January, the Ephiphanie,  the people were dressed in their best clothes as it was the equivalent of a western Christmas.    Small ephermeral shops opened in the tiny streets in and around Havana and other small towns in Cuba. 

 Ladies dressed in tailored skirts, women wore stiletto heels,  suits with short boxy jackets, and oversized buttons.   They paraded up and down the boulevards with colourful full skirted frocks with low necklines and close fitting waists  The men, elegant in suits and bow ties, Oxford lace up shoes which shone reflecting the very moon above.

Today, celebrating Christmas has been allowed since 1997.   There is a huge Christmas Eve mass that takes place each year in Havana in Revolution Square. At the stroke of midnight, church bells ring out loudly and announce the Saviour’s birth. Also in the square are gigantic television screens, which display the mass performed by the Pope in Vatican City.

Most people spend several days decorating their homes, gathering the food for the Christmas feast, and getting ready for Christmas. For those who can afford it, it is a huge celebration each year.

So with just 5 words I have bored you with a story but perhaps learnt a lot about a country that I had never thought a lot of before.

___________________________________________

Sarah's story

Yellow roses, yellow roses!  Who can sufficiently extol the beauty of yellow roses?  Their glorious brilliance, diffusing the sunshine throughout  a room, warming the soul with their luminous colour!  And what beauty could be more ephemeral?  Pink roses keep their colour, even when they fade; so do red ones.  But the yellow ones, whose colour signifies optimism, energy and  friendship but also happiness and joy, though splendid at the moment of their full bloom, must be seized at once; their message must not be lost.  If left to shrivel to a sickly shade and then to brown, they must be got rid of immediately; they should never have been ignored, allowed to reach this stage and leave an altered memory of themselves.  Do not let the day escape your grasp, they seem to say.  

A single rose, held under the glabrous chin of an Austro-Hungarian Kavalier, may be pink, white, silver, but if it is yellow, cannot be given to Sophie—it is for the Marschallin, surely, and will not be given in vain.  

What an epiphany might have been hers if such had been the case: realizing that at thirty-five, she was not past love, she was only beginning, indeed, and the richest years were still before her!  And when the ambulance, with its creaking wooden wheels, carted her lover off the heroic field, his last words would not be, “Long live the Empress!” but the surprisingly intimate “Marie Thérèse, ma Marie-Thérèse!”