ooooooooooo

Bergerac

'David prepare yourself for some rather strong language because I think your father is going to hit his fingers any time now.'

'That's okay Mummy. Do you want me to stick my fingers in my ears and hum the theme to Bergerac again?'

'Yes Dear but please do it quietly this time.'


It was no joke. Last Christmas little David got the theme to Bergerac well and truly stuck in his head and it ruined everything and was always getting things stuck in his head. Any small suggestion would end up lodged in the far recesses of his brain and only the act of thinking up an imaginary person could remove it. Then he had to go to all the trouble of getting rid of the imaginary person.



'Ouch!'

'Oh see Daddies behaving himself.'

'Feck!'


'Okay you know what to do.'



He put his fingers in his ears and the music started. That's all he needed. Now he would would end up with another imaginary friend alongside the imaginary girl that was making her way down towards the beach.


But she would be difficult to get rid of because of why he had to think her up.







(C) Ally Atherton 2017

The Plastic Cat

                It comes down every Christmas.




Dad says it fell from Santa's sleigh during the great storm and I believed him, until that year Hissing Sid at the Black Bull told me he'd had won it in a game of Rummy.



I hate the plastic cat. I don't why why we still put it up. 








Dad says it reminds him of Mum because she fussed over it like it was a real cat. It sits on the mantelpiece and looks at me. He's never like me, because he knows what I did to Mum and why nobody ever found her body.





                                        


                                           (C) Ally Atherton 2016










Written for this week's 100 word challenge over at Thin Spiral Notebook. Hosted by Tara Roberts. Give it ago. It's a great way to meet other writers.












Writers' Soapbox. A Facebook group for all writers.

Justice

I'm not going to find it rummaging through the top drawer in the kitchen, full of weeping batteries, silly string, short fuses and take away menus. Everybody has a drawer like that but it doesn't contain the thing I am looking for.

I'm not going to find it, either, in a convenience store and the postman isn't going come knocking on the door asking me to sign for it.




Only you can give it to me. But you're stuck inside my head. Like a small piece of chewing gum.






Stuck in Nineteen Eighty Four with your hands around my neck.







                                         (C) Ally Atherton 2016








Written for this week's prompt over at Thin Spiral Notebook, hosted by Tara.



Give it a go. It's fun and a great way to meet other writers.

Black Friday

                    Don't they look ridiculous?






All dressed up like a dog's dinner.



The language is terrible,

you should hear the words that they come out with.



All because they want something and they don't want
anybody else to have it. I'm sick



of the drama and the tantrums. 






The snot rolling down from their upturned noses. 




I'm happy when I can put them back where they belong.







Back into the cellar. Out of sight and out of mind. 

They've had their daily exercise and so have I. Nothing else to argue about except who will be the next to stop breathing.







                                          (C) Ally Atherton 2016







Written for this week's  100 word challenge, hosted by Tara 


over at 


Thin Spiral Notebook

Novel

There's somebody writing the story of your life right now.



It's a thick book and it's getting thicker every second and every minute. He never stops. Even when you're sleeping he's measuring every inch of drool, every single thought and every tiny undetectable rapid eye movement. Each sigh, each gasp, as you stumble, pigeon toed and wade knee deep through the subterranean world of your dreams.



Close your eyes and you may hear him. 


Exert yourself. Spin around, somersault, throw out a well timed kick and you may successfully catch him in the balls. Because he's naked.



They all are.




     
                                                


                                           (C) Ally Atherton   2016







100 words written for this week's 100 word challenge, hosted by Tara over at Thin Spiral Notebook


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Undercover

Being the first human being ever to be born with X Ray vision I would have made a wonderful brain surgeon.



My fame would have travelled far and wide. One day you would have found my eyes staring at you from the surface of a ten dollar bill. When I am dead and buried somebody no doubt would build a statue of me. Somewhere suitable. Times Square. Miami Beach. Or perhaps somewhere out of harms reach like Zocalo or next to a rusty well in the middle of the Yemen.



But brain surgery isn't for me. I prefer to keep my talents to myself. Why waste it when I can enjoy it?

You can't beat sitting on a warm beach with a good book, a cold beer and several hundred scantily clad women walking around totally oblivious to the fact that I can see everything. Some days I prefer a busy tube station. A hospital forecourt. Nothing gets in the way. No coat is too thick. No scarf too tightly stitched.





Who the hell wants to be a statue anyway? School girls giggling at your triple chin. Sea gulls forever shitting on your fat bald head.








                                                                         (C)  Ally Atherton 2016










Written for this week's Sunday Photo Fiction Challenge



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