My love for her echoes the unconditional love she has for me. She has watched me laugh and cry from the day I was born and made sure she raised me as a sensitive, loving person. There has always been respect for decisions I have made in life and she has corrected many mistakes I have made. Her guidance has made me a more rounded person. The commitment I have for her will always be there.
Continue reading“I mean,” she said, “clearly there’s something not quite right here, something’s missing.”
DI Jenkins sighed and bit down a sharp retort. Of course there was something missing. In fact, there were a few things – eyes, fingers, liver, lungs, kidneys, and, possibly most disturbingly, the victim’s trousers. His dentures had also been removed and were in the middle of a damp stain on the carpet.
He was just grateful that whoever had done this had stopped the mutilation there. After all, he already had one young constable throwing up in the back garden, and his sergeant was looking a bit queasy too.
Continue readingRose settled into her nest, another busy night, sighing as she turned to the others.
Lily poked her head up: ‘Hard night Rose. You wouldn’t believe it. I had to rummage under the bed to find the tooth, all those dust bunnies’ bits of food. It was disgusting’.
Marigold piped up: ‘Last time that happened to me there was a mouse there, eyeing me up.’ Gasps from the girls.
Lily shuddered: ‘What did you do?’
‘Chucked a bit of biscuit at it, grabbed the tooth and scarpered.’
Hyacinth joined in. ‘I had a fright not long ago when a dog came sniffing around sucked me halfway up his nostril. Thankfully it tickled his nose, he snorted and blew me across the room,’
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If you ask me, you can’t beat a good pilgrimage for a leisurely outing offering structure and purpose. It is a bit like the Ramblers but with fewer hills.
Maybe we can agree that what’s needed for a good pilgrimage is a common destination and plenty of people to talk to along the way. Yes, alright, a decent pair of shoes, maybe an umbrella, a level of hardship and precarious access to toilets and food all help with the authenticity. Shared purpose or religious intent are sometimes valuable in holding things together.
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Kelleher was struggling to remember. He’d been walking for ages. Days? There’d been a wide river, a bridge, cars strewn across it, some in flames. Or had he dreamt that? There’d been towns, wrecked, as if a colossal foot had stamped on them. Fields, miles of them, just cinders. And his brain had just kept saying: go west.
Was he in shock? He’d hunger pangs, felt as numb as a corpse, and his mouth was dry, aching for a drop of water. And now before him a road with a line of stationary lorries, some kind of building, and the sea. Was it a ferry port?
At the entrance was a gaggle of humanity: fearful eyes, pinched faces, everybody seemingly distracted. Was that how he looked?
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Sam wondered where Rosie, his home help was, she wasn’t usually late. He hoped she hadn’t had an accident. Slowly swinging his legs over to the side of the bed and with the aid of his crutches, he managed to get to the stair lift. He made some breakfast and wrote a list of food items that he needed, that Rosie could get later.
Through the window, he could see the palm tree waving in the strong wind. Quite a storm we had last night he thought, he was glad the tree had survived. It had always been a bit of a joke between his wife Maureen, and himself, a reminder of good times together in sunnier climes. It was only then he noticed that the garden bench wasn’t in it’s usual spot. It was bobbing up and down in water near the hedge. He looked towards the road hoping to see Rosie, but only saw a swift flowing muddy river that seemed to be surrounding his home.
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