THE NEW NORMAL (PART 2)

This is a companion to another short piece – you can read part one here: THE NEW NORMAL


The sky had cleared since the morning. Albert wrapped up in a jacket and found a spot in the sunshine on their small balcony.

‘Just popping out in the boat to see mother,’ Elaine called from the house. ‘Lunch is in the kitchen for you.’

He heard the window close and the clatter of oars as she got into the rowing boat. As she rowed off the sound of water lapping against the house was all that broke the silence.

Finished with the weekly newspaper, Albert rose from his chair and picked up the small secateurs from the bucket.

Since the water had come, having a garden was the thing he missed the most. The few potted flowers that lined the balcony were a poor substitute. The yellow and red and orange colours broke the monotonous brown-blue water-filled landscape.

Next week was the annual village Flower Festival. He was convinced his Yellow Sar Dahlia would take first prize this year. After all, no one had seen one since the floods had claimed the land permanently.


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Copyright shivamt25

This is a companion piece to another story – read Part One here: THE NEW NORMAL

Written as part of Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers. The challenge is to write a flash fiction story in around 150 words, based on the weekly photo prompt. Thanks as always to the challenge host Priceless Joy. For more information visit HERE.

To read other stories based on this week’s prompt, visit HERE.

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THE NEW NORMAL

Elaine looked at the water lapping against the side of the house. She could see the small white line she had made yesterday.

‘Level is the same as yesterday,’ she said.

Albert nodded. That meant the dam had held. Another storm had passed and their town was secure. ‘Anything you need from the store?’

‘Just see if they have any gin. Supposed to be delivered this week.’

Albert stepped out the window onto the rowing boat that was tethered next to it. He began rowing down the street.

The neighbourhood was quiet. It always was these days, with no petrol left for the outboard motors.

He tied his boat at the town centre marina and walked along the floating gangway to the store. Picking up his weekly newspaper and milk, he saw the shelves looking empty.

‘Supply boat didn’t make it through?’ he asked Bob.

”Fraid not, waiting for a gap in the hurricanes. Likely be another month until the calm season starts,’ Bob said. ‘Heading to watch the big match this evening?’

‘You know I can’t stand water polo. Not a real sport.’

Albert rowed back to the house. Another quiet Sunday by the fire beckoned.

C’est la vie.


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Copyright A Mixed Bag

Written as part of Sunday Photo Fiction. Write a story of around 200 words based on the photo prompt given (above). Hosted by Al Forbes. For more details visit HERE.

To read more stories based on this week’s prompt, visit HERE.

DEFIANCE

They sat by the sea watching children play on the beach.

‘Alright?’ he put his arm around her shoulder.

The tears slowly running down her face gave him his answer.

It had taken her twenty years to return. Years of pain and guilt. She had been their teacher. They had trusted in her. She was supposed to protect them.

A school outing before the summer holiday began. A visit to the local museum for a bit of history and then a trip to the beach. It wasn’t her fault the terrorists had come that day.

The images still haunted her. They would never leave her. The panic, the terror, the fear in those young faces. The blood. The dead.

Governments fought aimless wars and encouraged segregation and hate. Religions tried to absolve themselves of blame. Terrorists continued to kill with no purpose, never furthering their cause.

She was beyond all this. She had only her memories and sorrow. She wouldn’t let them count her as their victim. She was here. She had not let them win.

This was her defiance.


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Copyright The Storyteller’s Abode

Written as part of Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers. The challenge is to write a flash fiction story in around 150 words, based on the weekly photo prompt. Thanks as always to the challenge host Priceless Joy. For more information visit HERE.

To read other stories based on this week’s prompt, visit HERE.

Influenced by events in Manchester this week, my thoughts are with all involved, especially those children and parents affected by this devastating and abhorrent act.

LOCKSLEY

The priest held the heavy wooden chest tightly as the carriage bumped along the path. The coachman whipped the horses, travelling at breakneck speed.

They emerged from the forest and the pace relaxed. Out from the cover of the trees, no-one would dare ambush them now. The wheels rattled as they ran over the cobbled stones onto the bridge that led into the fort.

Just as the priest began to relax there was a jolt, an anguished cry from the horses, and the coach slammed into the side of the bridge before coming to a halt. Still clinging to the chest, the priest looked up.

‘Good evening to you, Father.’ The man wearing a hood said. ‘I don’t think the congregation will be happy that their hard earned offerings are going straight into the Sheriff’s coffers, do you?’

The priest gulped. The man took the chest from him.

‘You can tell the Sheriff that it was his old friend, Locksley of the Hood.’

With that he was gone and there was only silence on the bridge.


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© Joy Pixley

Written as part of Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers. The challenge is to write a flash fiction story, in around 150 words based on the weekly photo prompt. For more information visit HERE.

To read other stories based on this week’s prompt, visit HERE.