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COVID-19 Stories

Pixelated Pilates Professionals
By Vivien Eden

Pixelated Pilates professionals,
YouTube strangers teaching my household PE,
Graduating from Couch to 5k.
I will not become a lard-ass because of this.

Hunting and gathering essentials
Despite clearly having the plague;
I’m having an anthropological field day,
Oi Hannibal Lecter, aren’t you my window cleaner?

Urgently required: flower seeds and tomato plants
A garden lounge set and gas barbecue
Dartboards, boules and a swing.
No, you can’t have a sodding trampoline.

A healthy body needs an educated mind,
Jigsaws, audiobooks and online theatre.
Baking is basically mathematics children;
Oh just give him the X-Box and pass me a gin.

Life in Lockdown
By Shirley De Vivo

An explosion across the world
Dragging death and disarray.
Novel coronavirus
Now called COVID-19.
Social distancing and lockdown
The new normal!
Stay at home, work from home,
Talk to people on video chats.
How long can we endure this?
Why has it happened?
Is it the earth crying out for help?
See how life can be without 
Millions of cars on the roads
Or thousands of planes in the sky!
Crystal clear air, with
No pollution killing the world!
How can we go back to what we had?
Will they do something about 
Keeping these improvements?
No, probably not!

Social Dodge
By Jonathan Posner

As I walked down Peascod Street, I imagined a two-metre circle around me, like those glows used by rugby pundits on TV to show you where the winger should really have run.
The man came towards me and caught my eye. I gave him the ‘let’s social distance’ half-smile, but he gave me a fixed glare, then walked straight into my two-metre circle.
I dodged left, then right, but he followed and came right up to me.
Then he coughed. I felt the cold spray on my face and in my eyes.
“Enjoy,” he muttered, then walked quickly away.

Catatonia
By June Kerr

My world has got smaller and smaller. My circle of friends lost and forgotten. My life changed and empty. I sit and stare at the wall noticing for the first time that the wallpaper is fading. I don’t care, nothing matters in this catatonic state, not make-up or friendships, clothes or gossip, nothing. Why would they when I no longer care to wash, dress or even try and make contact with the outside world. I sit and I stare and I wonder if it will ever be over and I worry that when it is, I won’t have stopped rocking.

Daily Reality
By Rosa Carr

Our new reality is the never-ending loop of reliving the same day, but we, as the protagonists, can’t escape. Our mission is survival. Keeping the panic at bay while watching the numbers tick upwards. Separated from things that bring us joy. Trapped inside with people we wouldn’t want to spend 24/7 with. Some are finding new passions. Relationship are tested, but new ways of communication and social interactions are developing. 
There is only silver-lining to this nightmare: nature is healing and thriving as humankind diminishes. 
Once we survive this horror, will we change? Will we change the world? Ourselves?

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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

Facebook: https://tinyurl.com/y2uy8abb

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

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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.