Sunday Stories..."Eight"

I call these "Sunday Stories"...but those who read them will know that they are prompted on Thursdays and often written whenever I can squeeze them into the day!

This one is from one of my prompts.
The Number Eight.

I googled this and was amazed at just how much information there was about "eight"...worldwide...I knew about the Chinese importance...but not any of the others. The stories the others wrote were just amazing...I love this group!!

So here goes.....

Eight

    Flossie was in her usual seat next to Millie on the tables in the back row of the old cinema, now used for the town's bingo sessions.
    Her legs were hurting again. They had been getting steadily worse all that summer and now they were so swollen she could hardly wiggle her feet. Puddings she thought and sighed, sponge puddings, and she carefully pulled her tights over them.
    That morning her normal bus had been jammed as it sailed past her, and the driver deliberately not looking her way as she tried to flag him down. There was nothing for it but for her to take to the road into town, and walk the mile and a half as quickly as possible.
    She was thinking, "If I had a bit more money, I'd take a taxi", but her pension just about stretched the week as it was. A taxi might mean that she would have to draw some out of the Post Office Account and doing that was enough to make her very fearful. A lifetime of staying out of debt was like an iron rod firmly holding her backbone in place.
     Millie, her bingo companion, was an old school friend. They knew one another's ways and habits and fitted together like a hand in a glove. But Millie had something that Flossie had never had... luck in bucketfuls! Whether at school, in work, in marriage...yes even at the bingo...Millie's luck regularly turned up trumps. Flossie mulled this thought over as she made her way into town hoping against hope that the dark clouds she noticed gathering in the west, didn't drop their load of rain on her before she reached the cinema.
    Have you  noticed how one thought can lead to another? Like a butterfly flitting from flower to flower looking for the one with the most sweetness? It may lead to a positive thought or could take you down some dark path of sadness and despair. Though never one to dwell on the past, yet that day she found herself remembering the loss of a baby, the shortage of money and Fred dying so young leaving her  alone with no family and a life of scrimping. But she was nearly there at the bingo hall and the rain had held off...so...reasons to be happy!
    There in the front of the queue, yohoing her over, was Millie. "I've kept your place.What happened? What a nuisance!...Just ignore the looks of  those women." said good friend Millie.
    Today was to be the big win. Once a month a special was held with a thousand pound win and today was that day. However the most that Flossie had ever won was a fiver and maybe once ten quid. Millie's luck on the other hand was a different kettle of fish. She often walked out with a couple of hundred. Not that she was mean...no, on those occasions she treated them both to a slap up lunch somewhere in the town for as she said she probably wouldn't have started going to the bingo if Flossie hadn't invited her along. That had been after Fred's death, when she had  tried every day to be away from the memories of their life together and find something to fill the hurt and emptiness inside.
    Eight games played . Those were the rules on a Tuesday morning at  the bingo hall. Four games, a break for tea, coffee and a biscuit and finish up with another four. Then "See you next week," and everyone made their way out and home.
    Kevin, the master of the balls, shouted for quiet. A roomful of women and men chattering and gossiping meant that he had to call more than once. But once the numbers were rolling out, the proverbial pin sounded like a gong.!! All ears alert, all eyes down and a shout of victory somewhere in the room. The games progressed, and one by one the shouts went up. Millie won fifty quid with her final seven on a card and smiled, "That's lunch for you and me today chuck",
    Tea and coffee over, crumbs swept on to the floor, the caller began again. Silent players praying for success. Bills to pay, holidays to plan, family to help. Who knows what hopes and dreams were depending on success that morning in the old cinema. Game seven came and went and still Flossie sat, dobber in hand unsuccessful again. How many tenners had she paid out over the years? "I'm giving it up, not coming again, the whole thing is a waste of money and I'm stupid!"
    Game eight and the people in their seats were restless. This was the big one. She looked at her card. Her eyes blurred from unfallen tears. Concentrate you fool she said to herself. Dob, dob, dob. She had one square left. Then someone shouted , "Full House!".....Flossie sighed and was about to tear up the card when the person realised they had made a mistake.
    Then Kevin called out, " Lucky Chinese...number eight."    In a dream she shouted, "I've got it!" And turning to Millie said...."The lunch is on me I think", as tears rolled down her face.

 
 

Sunday's Short Story...Dan's Breakfast

Out he marched.

Out of the stuffy house and

Away out into his garden.

Off he went with his belly full.

Off with a lightness of step.

It was a good feeling to take into the new day.

Now Dan was no spring chicken.

Well to tell the truth, he was closer to ninety than eighty.

But a wee bit of a creak in the joints would surely only be improved with a jaunt out into the fresh air. 

Out into his beloved veggie patch.

And there he would stand, arms crossed over his chest and lovingly survey his domain 

with the pride of a king,

 an emperor, 

a ruler of nations.

O.k....that might be a bit over the top that last thought.

But nevertheless his pride in his garden abounded.

Mags, in the home, was a great cook.

There were no two ways about it.

She could take a few wee ingredients, throw them in a pot, add a spot of water and a smidgen of a stock cube and produce a soup to knock your socks off!

And when it came to breakfasts, well there was noone, not man nor beast could beat her breakfasts.

So on this morning she had truly excelled herself.... and Dan's expectations... and had presented him with the breakfast to beat all breakfasts.

Here's a taste of what lay glistening on his plate.

Two slices of best back bacon, crisped on the edges where a spot of fat lingered smelling of heaven.

Two fried eggs winking at him from eggy paradise with whites firm and yolks soft and runny enough to dip a toasty soldier in and bring it up to his mouth with the delicious chance that a golden drop might roll gently down his chin ...to be savoured at a later time.

A plump red tomato, halved and left sizzling in the pan 'til the edges browned with the crustiness left in the bottom of the frying pan from the cooked bacon.

And succulent sliced mushrooms sauted in butter and placed gleaming on the side of the plate.

But....creme de la creme, there on his plate a fat slice of his favourite black pudding, peppery and salted.

That was surely to replace the iron in his system.....just call me "Ironman", he thought.

So with a belly content with a full Irish breakfast and a pot of strong tea heavily laced with a spoonful...make that two or three spoonfuls...of sugar....

Out he marched.

Out into the sharpness of the January air.

Frost had left the grass with a grey green hue.

It reminded him of the colour of the classroom walls in the old school where he had been caretaker for fifty years.

It made him stop and consider how lucky he had been in life.

Well ...except for the times the school toilets had blocked, or that time the lab had been set on fire by the mad scientist of a teacher or....

Ah, that's what he would do this fine morning.

He would take all the dead wood and the autumn gatherings of dried bean stalks, dead asparagus grass and the sweetcorn stooks and have a fire.

A really big, glorious, joyous bonfire.

He would take two of the old wooden garden chairs and set them together upwind away from the smoke.

He would pop back down to the kitchen and bring Mags up and together they would sit and watch the sparks make their way up into the grey January sky.

He gathered the thinnings of autumn.. 

Stuffed paper into the empty spaces, laid the wood in a pattern as he had learnt as a boy from his dad, and who had in turn learnt from his dad.

So history progresses.

So skills are passed on.

So he took his lighter, the redundant lighter since he had given up smoking, and lit the paper.

Watched with anticipation as the dried vegetation caught fire and listened as it talked to him of times gone by, as it crackled and popped .

Mags looked out of

the kitchen window and sighed.

Another bloody bonfire!

So no washing hanging on the line again today!

Thursday Writers Group

Bold Street Writers

Today Margaret was the prompt giver and she laid out a number of strips of paper each with an opening sentence from which we had to write a dialogue.

This was mine!

So just about fifty minutes later and a lot of scribbling...well you can see that from the pic!...this was the script I came up with.......

(...Belfast voice...)

Dad:- "What have you done with my pills? I need them! I know you've moved them mother, you're a bloomin' nuisance with your tidying up all the time. Land's sake let the dust lie, It'll be there when we're dead and gone. And I'll be dead and gone if I can't find my pills.

 I can feel myself comin' over all faint already. I'm gonna sit down a wee while and collect my thoughts, pull myself together.

Mum:-  "Sorry"

Dad:-   "And what the heck has happened to that cushion? You know I have to have yon there cushion at my back otherwise I will end up with one of my agonizing backs again, and I'll be laid up in bed for a fortnight and then you'll know all about it.When you're traipsing up and down those stairs! I can't be sitting in that chair with that cushion there...even if it does match the chair better that mine. 

I know how your mind works, I really do."

Mum:-  "Sorry".

Dad:-  "Has the paper arrived? I haven't seen it anywhere. Don't tell me that paper boy has given up again.

 I can't stand lazy people like him, no get up and go and no loyalty to his customers. 

Well mum you'll just have to pop across to the newsagent and get it, and while you're at it tear a strip of  that woman over there for not making sure her best customers get their Dailies on time. 

What's the point at getting the paper at ten in the morning? Sure it's old news by then. I'd go myself but I'm feeling a bit woosey,  I need to get those wee red pills. 

What have you done with them you auld fool?"

Mum:-  "Sorry".

Dad:-  While you're over at the shop get me some ciggies. I'd give you the money but sure my wallet's up the stairs in the other jacket pocket and I couldn't make it up there at the moment. Sure I can pay you later after I get over this wee bout of dizziness.A cup of tea before you go would see me through 'til you're back, and make sure you put the three sugars in, last time I'll swear there was none, and the tea was flipping bitter.

 I'll just have a wee bit of shuteye 'til you're back."

Mum:-  "Sorry".

Dad:-  "Have you gone yet? 

Mother do you hear me? 

You're deaf you auld biddy!

 Deaf as a doorpost.

 I could be dying here and you'd not give two hoots!

 Do you hear me?

 I'm not going to shout! Sure I don't have the energy.

 I would have the energy if I could get hold of those bloody pills.

Are they down the side of the couch where you sit? Why would you move them?

 I said why would you move them?

 I may as well talk to the wall for all you care.

 Is that cup of tea coming? Three sugars mind. And the paper would be grand before lunch for crying out loud.

If that's you by the front door I'll do without the tea, if you're on your way across. 

Ciggies, remember ciggies.

 Mind like a sieve mother, mind like a sieve.

God I feel lousy. Where the heck are those wee red devils? If I were a fit man I'd be up looking for them. I would. I know I would. That's the kind of man that I am. That's the kind of fellow, feeelooow, fellooo.....".( falls to the ground).

Mum:-  "Sorry!!"  (Slams the front door and gets into a taxi with a suitcase )

We are often a gruesome lot of writers at the group...we women!!!

Sunday's Short Story...by The Shanaghy

Sunday's Short Story by The Shanaghy

It's the thought that counts

said

The Count that thinks.

He knew that the country was not in the forefront of the world's thoughts. The usual reaction was..."where?".. when he mentioned his homeland.....Veralia.

To be honest the borders were not vast, in fact not so much as a spit apart as some said.

But being the Count of Veralia he stood tall and motioned with his finger to the dot on the map which he called his homeland. It was in between the two big powers left and right. And closed in at top and bottom by two lesser ones though just as pugnacious in their dealings with him.

He knew that they all wanted to swallow up his beautiful land and add it to their already vast empires.

His homeland was a place of hills and valleys, rivers and streams and gentle slow living villages and towns, where the centuries of care had meant that generations of families stayed put and built up the kindly infrastructure which his father and family before him had maintained.

So it was no wonder those powerful ones lusted after those few acres of earth, for that is what powerful people do. Always wanting what they can't have. Always wanting more.

Many fables and proverbs have been retold in front of the  fires of winter, by families with their children huddled on knees , telling about the weak and the strong, the large and small, the fast and  slow. Stories of the lion and the mouse, fox and crow. Why even the hare and the tortoise.

So the Count knew that it was not always the biggest, noisiest, strongest who succeeded in battle. No, it was the thought that counts.

And he must be aware of the dangers and keep thinking.

Count Honore, for that was his name, was no slouch when it came to brains. An academic training and lessons in military strategy, together with the wisdom passed down through the stories of the common people, gave him a head start in his fight. For fight it was.

He considered the tortoise who kept plodding on to win the race and put a motto above his desk. "Never give up".

He remembered the mouse who befriended the lion and removed the thorn from the lion's paw and up went another motto..."Be kind to strangers".

And he never forgot the advice given by his old nanny...."Do ye next thynge". and up went another on the wall.

They never did get his land.

It was as if Veralia was invisible. Perhaps they were all too busy in their powerful meetings. Talking to their powerful friends...kept close to make sure they knew what each other was doing, as none of them trusted the other. Perhaps they thought it was something to see to once they had the next round of important international talks under the belt. Once they had decided the future of millions of folk, who didn't really give a hoot anyway!

Whatever the reason, the Count who thought, knew that it's the the thought that counts.

And it's the type of thought in particular....and he was that type of Count.

Sunday's Short Story.

I know it's Monday...but we left the house on the Bay...Sunday evening, and scudded down the old M6 to catch The Durrell's on the box...so no time to post as we cope very nicely without WiFi in the Bay house.

(...an aside...
...the bay sunset, which is renowned anyway, was especially beautiful on Saturday because of the stormy weather....I just had to run out and catch the end of it before the sun went down.)

Prompt

The prompt from Pat F.on Thursday at The Writer's Workshop was a challenge. Not that it isn't always a challenge for me...but this one stumped me for a while. But the only thing to do in that situation is to go with the first idea that comes .. and run with it. We only have a bit over an hour to write before we read the results to each other....so here it is...

Albert was not yet ready to share his age with Ivy. She had been told that his birthday was coming up, But as his secretary she needed to be careful about broadcasting it around the office. After all Albert was the boss.The company had been good to her. Life was difficult enough since Syd died. She was still coming to terms with an empty house every evening.Ivy felt angry about it all although she knew that his family had a history of heart attacks. Nevertheless, being who she was, one who copes, it was just a few weeks after Syd's funeral that she determined to get herself a job, and get back into a daily routine.To have Albert as her boss was more that she had dared to hope for.She did have a lot of experience noted down on her c.v. But with so many people applying for so few positions, she realised that in this she had fallen on her feet.....or to be more precise...on the office chair!

Her office wall abutted Albert's office wall. And regularly she would either be in his room taking notes or receiving lists of jobs to be achieved, Or Albert would breeze into her office. No knock of course, just striding in and sitting on the edge of her desk with a file or USB to peruse But recently often it had often been with a mug of coffee at the start of the business day. That was quite a thing! In her last job she had always been expected to be both office worker and tea girl for the whole  floor. 

He was no Adonis, Albert P. Shingle. Sometimes when she thought about it she had a giggle over the name...Shingle! Was it an illness or a beach? She preferred to think it was a beach.And what did the P stand for if anything? Some people put a middle letter into their signature to make it more memorable. Of course it might just be Peter or Paul or maybe Phillip. But she liked to think it was exotic...maybe Peregrine to counteract the blandness of Albert.! Oh dear as the months had gone by that she was thinking more and more about his life outside of the office, And today she knew that he would celebrate his fiftieth. Surely it couldn't pass by unmentioned?

Someone elsewhere in the company must be planning a surprise. No word of this forthcoming...at least none that she had heard of. Her job was precious. She loved the work. She was good at it she discovered. Better than she ever imagined she would be She would let the day pass by.

Every day Ivy made sure that all she did and even what she wore was as professional and efficient as she could make it. She was taking much more thought over her appearance than she had done for many years. Was that her being professional, or did she feel at forty three she still had a lot of living ahead of her? With no children from her marriage to care for life was starting anew .So there would be no way she was going to throw a spanner in the works and step forward now to plan something for Albert's birthday.

But there were little things she could do without making an issue of it. She put a bunch of spring flowers in a pretty jug on the side of the desk - not too ostentatious just enough to sweeten the often stale office air. She bought a packet of triple chocolate biscuits to offer when he arrived  with her coffee. She wore a new blouse she had bought at the weekend. Still a crisp white cotton but with a little pie crust collar on it. And in these small ways she hoped her boss would know that she recognized both the day and also the position she held in the company.

At nine fifteen as usual Albert stepped into her office. Coffee in hand, he smiled. She offered him a cookie. He took one and hesitated. 

"It's my birthday Ivy. I was wondering if you would join me this evening for dinner? I've taken a chance that you might say yes and booked a table at a local restaurant...what do you say?"

The flowers bloomed and shared their perfume in the room, out through the door and into the rest of the building!

Oh dear...cheesy end...but what to do when Pat says.."Five more minutes and then we shall read!"

Well you bring it all to conclusion...and who doesn't love a happy ending anyway!!

By the way you could see more of my pics on my Instagram site...if you were of such a mind!!

geraldinesnape...documenting the mundane