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May showcase

Wendy Gregory

I am getting old now and rather creaky, but that’s not surprising really. I’ve seen a lot of action in the last forty years: insatiable young lust, conception, childbirth, energetic but demanding children jumping all over me, then the slowing down of fond familiarity which has its benefits. In the words of the late Margaret Thatcher, we seem to have swapped “the hurly burly of the chaise longue for the deep, deep peace of the double bed.” At least I get a bit of calm at night. But it all takes its toll and I am experiencing the angst which I know is common amongst the middle aged – can I keep the affection and attention of my nearest and dearest? When I was young and supple, it seemed like everything just sprang back into place. Have you heard of the crocodile test- where you pinch a piece of skin on the back of your hand? When you’re young it just pings back into place. As you mature (that great euphemism for growing old), it takes several seconds, in a rather repulsive way, to snake back into place. Depressingly,what used to just spring back into its previous shape now takes considerably longer. Put pressure on any part of me and it makes a clearly visible dent, sometimes lasting for several minutes. Bits of me are not just creaky but positively sagging. Quite often, there doesn’t seem any point in getting made up or smartly attired: who cares? On the rare occasions when I am involved in carnal relations, I find that my joints groanmore and more loudly every time. I’m convinced that it won’t be long now until I get dumped for a younger model. I guess it’s inevitable. Or maybe not? After all, Tracy Emin won a Turner prize for hers.

The Wendy House

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The Little Book of Retorts

https://www.thelittlebookofretorts.com

Writing tasks

January showcase

Every month we will be focusing on the work of one of our members.

For this month, we have a collection of our 100 word stories.

 

Ray by Phil Appleton

As a tiny hole in a black sheet of paper, a pinprick of light shines, dim but steady. Then the faintest twinkle, a flash and a movement of energy, seen by no-one. The photons multiply, faster than space, gathering speed and momentum, dazzling bright.

The earth sits, quiet and dark, its slow rotation signalling presence, unlike its sterile moon. The ray approaches, bursting with power and blinding whiteness, wider than an ocean until its cataclysmic collision with rock and sea. The planet shakes in hot defiance, holding firm in the cooling fireball, as the first of life prepares to form.

 

Ray by Amanda Buchan

I belong to the Royal Association of Yodellers. I had to audition but I reckon I got in because the lads loved my big boobs and my wicked sense of humour, it’s a killing combo!

The RAY visited the German Yodelling Centre this year. It was so hot and sweaty, I poured a load of talc down my cleavage. This Hun was staring at my breasts so I pushed his face right down my front and he came up all covered in powder. Did we laugh!

Well, he didn’t, but Huns don’t have a sense of humour, do they?

 

Shirt by June Kerr

So I bought this shirt you see

Cause it was pink and sparkly and very ‘me.’

It was covered in flowers and sequined creatures

And was low enough cut to show off my best features

 

But she ripped it off my back that night

In what could only be described as a nasty cat fight

When she pulled my hair and tore the sleeve

After discovering I’d had it off with Steve

 

It wasn’t really my fault all that hurt

Over a pink and sparkly shirt

I know I shouldn’t have slept with Steve but

I blame the shirt for being too low cut

 

Ray by Rosa Carr

 “Dawn is not long off,” he says, urging me on. Yawns stifle my grumpy response. 

“I promise you won’t regret it.” He’s dragging me out the door. 

It’s far too early to be this happy, I think, too tired to actually vocalise. 

I’m trying to shoot a death stare at him as I’m half lifted into the car. It probably looks more like I’m going back to sleep rather than the death rays I’m hoping for. 

He hops in the car and speeds off. Screeching to a halt across the lake in time to see the sun’s rays break the horizon. 

 

Ray by Robyn Kayes

I sit by the window enjoying the rays of bright sunshine, reading the story of Marie Curie and her wonderful work with X-rays. I would dearly love to follow in her footsteps.  As clouds cover the sun, and the room darkens, I shiver in the absence of warmth.  Suddenly the door to the library bangs open, and in walks Mother with her hand resting on the arm of a strange man. “There you are child, why are you sitting in the dark? I have some wonderful news for you. This is your new step-father, his name is Ray.

BLADE OF GRASS

By Kulwant

 

You know in dreams – when you feel outnumbered, on the run; being chased by faceless assassins?

 

You stumble onto The Long Walk full of petty tourists. Well, there’s a Chinaman there photographing the grass – stroking it as if it’s some long-lost lover.

 

He sees you and looks alarmed. He plucks one to show you.

 

“Blade of glass!” he shouts.

 

“No … You mean blade of grass.” you say.

 

“No.” he says. “BLADE OF GLASS!”

 

A shadow falls as I turn and her diamond stiletto plunges straight into my cheating heart. A rush of blood that jolts me awake.

*********** THE END ***********

© Kanthé 2018

Uncategorized

A year in review

A year ago we celebrated the launch of our anthology of short stories about or set in Windsor, Windsor Tales. It was a great achievement for us.

Since then we’ve welcomed some new members who have been great additions to the group and brought a new fresh outlook into the group.

We’ve found a new venue which is perfect. The Hope Pub, on Alma Road, has a big room called the library which is perfect for us writers and book lovers.

We’ve had a few guest speakers, Essie Fox, Tessa Harris, and David Bullock. All local author who we’ve enjoyed learning from and hearing their stories.

Now we look to future meetings and are always welcoming new members.