Flash Fiction Photo Prompt – The Calm Before the Storm – J’Sharn’s World Part 9

If you want to join in this week’s Flash Fiction Picture Prompt, pop on over to  World of my Imagination Wednesday Blog Hop

My post begins after the picture prompt.

Andrea pulled the thick blanket around her and hooked it under her feet. It was deliciously comforting.

There were so many things about J’Sharn that were strange – even crazy – like this blanket with its long woolen fibres that gave off a warmth of their own and seemed to blend into her t-shirt.

She’d ceased worrying about the weirdness of being in the presence of…of what…an alien? An angel perhaps? One who was able to zip in and out at any time. Whatever…whoever J’Sharn was, he had her back; and Simon’s too. He was one of the good guys; unlike the black ops team who had her parents tucked away somewhere. The same black ops team who were now after Simon. But why? That was the burning question. How she wished she were back home helping her Mom bake cookies or swimming in the stream that cut through the far paddock on their farm.

Pulling the blanket closer, she padded over to the window and looked out into the night. The lights from the traffic moving up and down the streets seemed dwarfed against the bright neon lights adorning some of the buildings. She sighed. None of what was happening made sense; none of it!

J’Sharn came in from the other room carrying a small table and placed it next to the window. “Come Andrea, eat.” J’Sharn’s soft voice and unusual accent seemed to fill the room.

The thought of eating something J’Sharn had prepared was far too enticing and she looked down at the plate eagerly, only to burst into an uncontrollable fit of giggling.

J’Sharn looked confused. “Is there something wrong?”

Andrea shook her head trying to stop the giggles. She looked at the plate again and giggled some more. “No, nothing’s wrong. It’s just that the buns and the bread roll look like a cartoon character with big eyes and a handlebar mustache.

“It does indeed.” J’Sharn agreed, laughing along with her. J’Sharn had taken a liking to cartoons and in the last week, Andrea had introduced him to some classics.

“Do you think Simon is okay?”

J’Sharn tilted his head to one side as though he were listening to something. “Yes,” he said with a nod. “He is…fine.”

“Don’t suppose you have any…” Andrea wriggled her fingers in the air, “feelings about my parents.”

“I regret not, Andrea.” J’Sharn said sadly. “It seems they are shielded in some way that my…my feelings are unable to discern.”

“I was kinda hoping that – ”

“Unless…” J’Sharn’s head snapped up. “The pyramid effect.”

“What?”

“I must go.” J’Sharn pulled on his cloak. “I must go to the space station.”

The bell-like chimes began to sound as J’Sharn’s circle of light grew around him. “Do not open the door to anyone – especially if they claim to be Simon. It will not be him.”

And then he was gone.

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For those interested, the previous instalments of the adventure can be found here…

Mint Juleps and Little Green Men – J’Sharn’s World – Part 1
Seventieth Generation – J’Sharn’s World – Part 2
Target – J’Sharn’s World – Part 3
The Aftermath – J’Sharn’s World – Part 4
The Nightmare Continues – J’Sharn’s World – Part 5
Rescue Package – J’Sharn’s World – Part 6
Training for Freedom – J’Sharn’s World Part 7
Pillar to Post – J’Sharn’s World Part 8

Daily Prompt: Bittersweet Memories – I’ll See You in the Morning

Daily Prompt: Bittersweet Memories: http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2013/05/21/daily-prompt-bittersweet/                                                

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copyright Photowitch/dreamtime

For as long as I can remember, I’ve wanted a brother. But by the time I reached the age of ten I realized that was never going to happen. My parents were old; I mean really, really old. When I was born, my mother was forty and my father had just had his sixtieth birthday.

But there was something deep within me that yearned for a brother. I wanted that more than anything else. It kept me awake at night. I had nightmares that someone had kidnapped my brother. I’d wake in the middle of the night crying… calling out, “bring him back, bring him back.” When that happened, my mother would get mad at me. The dreams became less and less as I reached junior high, but inexplicably, when I reached grade nine, they started again and I even dreamt that one of my teachers had kidnapped him.

About ten years ago, I decided to work on our family tree. I thought it would be nice for my children and grandchildren to have a sense of history. I remember it as though it was yesterday…

Where has the morning gone? I looked up from my laptop and stretched; pleased with the progress I’d been making on my latest assignment. Now that my children had well and truly grown up and I had recently retired, I decided my life as a writer could go from ‘maybe sometimes’ to ‘I’m going to write every day.’ Writing was something I had loved since I was old enough to hold a pencil and string words together.

The sound of a motorbike sent me hurrying down the front steps as I saw the postman drop several envelopes in my mailbox.

“I don’t know why I’m in such a hurry,” I said to my next-door-neighbour as we reached our mailboxes together, “it’s only ever bills.” I rolled my eyes and waved one of the envelopes in the air in a sort of weird triumph. “Oh goody, look, the telephone bill.”

Joan laughed, “Come over for a coffee, it will ease the pain.”

As we sat at her sunny kitchen table, she asked how my assignment was going and when was I going to publish my first book. That’s one of the things I loved about Joan…her sense of humour.

While we were enjoying the sun, the coffee and her utterly delicious chocolate brownies, one of the envelopes the postman had delivered caught Joan’s eye. “You’d better check that one, it looks official.”

“Oh, good.” I slit the envelope open. “I’m doing our family history, these will be the documents I requested.”

Joan laughed, “It would take a small truck to deliver documents about our family.”

I had to agree; Joan and her husband had eight children and came from families of thirteen and fifteen children respectively. Theirs was a family full of love, laughter, noise and ready participators in the annual street water fight; usually started when one of Joan’s boys saw me watering my garden.

I read through the first one and almost choked on my coffee. “Oh my goodness!” I looked up, unable to stop a ridiculous grin spreading across my face. “My grandmother was a felon!”

“No! You’re kidding me.” Joan’s grin matched my own.

“It’s true, listen to this… ‘ June 8, 1895 Louisa Lauren and Emma Jacobs (her sister), charged with stealing in the dwelling house of Oscar Arkman, at North Sydney, a pair of opera glasses, an electro-plated preserve bowl, cream jug, revolver, and sundries (all recovered) total value £7, by Sergeant Brennan and Constable Wearin, North Sydney Police. Prisoner tried and sentenced to 3 months jail.

When we finally stopped laughing, I leafed through the other pages until I came to my mother’s death certificate and began to read…

“Lyn, Lyn!”

I opened my eyes to find myself on Joan’s kitchen floor with her kneeling anxiously beside me. “Are you okay? What happened?” she asked helping me to my feet.

“I… I’m not sure.” Then I remembered the document from the Registrar General’s office and held it out to her.

I’d started to shiver and Joan put a blanket and her arm around me as she read.

Catherine Murphy, born 26 May 1908
Died 15 July 1983
Marital Status at time of death: Widow
Husband: Walter – deceased
Children: Female – born 8 January 1948
Male – born 8 January 1948 deceased.

“I have a brother.” I remember my feelings going from confusion, to joy, to despair and back to confusion.

“And you knew nothing about him? Your parents never told you?”

“No, nothing – they never said a word to me.” I told her about my recurring nightmare.

It was months and months before I could think about my brother without crying, and it took several years to reach the point where I forgave my parents for never telling me about him.

That piece of paper was a definitely a bittersweet gift; but one that becomes sweeter as the years go by, because I have a hope, both sure and steadfast, that one day I will see him.

Sunday Morning Sunshine

Sunday morning I woke with a headache. You know the sort…the ones that insist on bashing their drum behind your eyes while hanging onto your eyelids like grim death and makes your mouth taste like the bottom of a bird cage? No, I didn’t have a hangover – my drinking habits consist of a glass of wine every other Friday night while having dinner with friends – but I did have a very late night and hadn’t drunk enough water during the day – not nearly enough water. So it’s a good bet that the headache was due partly due to dehydration.

Three glasses of water later, I felt human enough to switch on my computer and check the overnight emails. One of the disadvantages of living in the southern hemisphere is the time difference. Most of my blogging friends live in the northern hemisphere and are either eight or nine hours behind, or eight or nine hours ahead. So as a result, there were 78 emails (groan).

I have a system by which I read my emails and that is to sort them into “subject.” That way I can read through all the emails with the same topic and not get confused (getting confused is very easy for me ) So, first up: Comments, second on the list: New posts according to type – Friday Fictioneer story posts, Today’s Author fiction posts etc.  Last and by no means least, are ones that fall into categories of their own.

Comments read – check

Posts read and commented on – check

Sundry one-off posts – and that’s when I found it – the ray of sunshine that brightened my morning. Debb Stanton of The Sunshine Factor has nominated my blog for the Super Sweet Blogger Award. Can you think of anything nice first thing in the morning? Well, apart from French Toast and cake in bed of course   As with any nomination, you have to accept or decline (who would want to decline such an honour?).  Then you answer a few questions posed by your nominator.
Display the award to your blog.
Nominate fellow bloggers to receive the award and  notify them.  Of course all nominees are free to adjust the rules as they see fit.

So, here we go…

The 5 Super Sweet Questions:

1.    Cookies or cakes?  Both. Cookies with morning tea and cake with afternoon tea
2.   Chocolate or vanilla? Are you kidding me? Chocolate of course
3.   Favourite sweet treat: Chocolate Mousse
4.   When do you crave sweet things the most?  After dinner
5.   Sweet Nickname? From my son-in-law: “My little fruit bat”

And here are my nominees:

Alysia: http://literarylandofalysia.wordpress.com/

Firn: http://clothedwiththunder.wordpress.com/

Coco: http://courtingmadness.wordpress.com/

Penny: http://thewhyaboutthis.com/

Cynthia: http://lesplaisirssimplesdelavie.wordpress.com/

Donna: http://donnaweidner.com/

Emma: http://emmzcatz.wordpress.com/

WryGirl http://lifeonwry.com/

Shreyank: http://shreyank2012.wordpress.com/

Eleenie: http://penkissespaper.wordpress.com/

Catherine: http://chroniclesofmyimagination.wordpress.com/

You Are Loved

Reblogged from Clothed With Thunder:

There is no feeling so precious to me in the entire world. Nothing can raise my shameful head, lift my sinking heart, or quench my thirsting and weary soul better than this feeling.

Having this feeling and knowing this truth leaves me walking on sunshine and climbing rainbows. Not only do I reciprocate this feeling, not only can I say these three words back, but when someone else decides to give me this wonderful feeling, I feel empowered.

Read more… 790 more words

A post well worth reblogging. This brought me to tears.

Friday Fictioneers 17th May, 2013 – Pillar from Post

Friday Fictioneers is a group of bloggers from around the world who create a story in 100 words from a photo prompt posted by our host, Rochelle Wissoff-Fields each Wednesday.
When you’ve uploaded your story, add the link to the little blue froggy on Rochelle’s page.

My post can be found below the photo prompt, as always comments are most welcome.

Jake and Theo watched as the stone pillars returned to their normal position behind the white fence.

“Clever. Who’d think of looking for an entrance to the caverns there?”

“The machinery to build them would have been huge and very noisy. Why didn’t anyone notice anything?” Theo raised his head slightly. “This wasn’t built overnight.”

“Somehow I don’t think J’Sharn’s people used conventional machinery.” Jake’s grin flashed white in the darkness.

“And you think that’s where Simon’s parents are being held?”

Jake clamped his hand over Theo’s mouth and pulled him deeper into the bushes as the pillars began to move further apart again…..

Write Now Prompt 10th May 2013: Training for Freedom

Write Now Prompt for May 10, 2013 –  “He leaned against the lamppost and tried to remember what city he was in.”  If you’d like to join in, check out Today’s Author for details.
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He leaned against the lamppost and tried to remember what city he was in. He’d been on the run for five weeks now and the days were beginning to blur into one another. Even though he knew Andrea was safe with J’Sharn, he worried about her. He didn’t dare try to contact her; he had to concentrate on staying free – staying one step ahead of the government agents. The afternoon shadows were lengthening as he entered the underground station. He purchased a maxi day rover, and because it was after 5:00pm, the ticket was valid for the next three days.

A train pulled in on the opposite platform and he felt his pulse quicken as the telltale itch began at the base of his skull. There were agents on that train. His mind probed gently. There was more than one, but less than four. Relax; don’t look towards it. He checked the indicator board for incoming trains using the glass surface to watch reflections.

The public address system crackled. Train arriving on platform 18 goes to… the rest of the announcement was lost as the train arrived; it’s wheels screeching noisily on the tracks.

Simon leapt on board as the doors began to close. There was no increase in intensity of the itch at the base of his skull — only vague feelings of frustration coming from the other platform. Deliberately choosing an almost-empty carriage, he stood in the entry area rather than taking a seat. He had no desire to engage in idle chitchat with fellow passengers. That would divide his attention and he needed to stay alert.

His coat was two sizes too small with sleeves that only reached halfway down his forearms. The zipper no longer worked, and afforded no real protection from the cold and the rain. The felt hat perched on top of his head, so stiff with age that he couldn’t pull it on properly. But disguise worked. No one gave him a second glance. In fact, they avoided looking at him at all.

The carriage he had chosen had the usual graffiti on the walls. “KEL” one word said. Who was Kel? He wondered without really caring.

Another reason for choosing the entryway was that it smelt far less than the seated area of the carriage where you were almost overpowered by the odour of stale wine, urine and other things he preferred not to think about.

The train lurched and he flung his hand out to stop himself falling. The carriage wall felt greasy and left a residue on his hand, which he tried to rub off on his shirt.

The only sound he could hear was the creaking of the carriage and the thrumming of the train wheels and the occasional clanging of warning bells as they went through a level crossing.

The drab walls mirrored how he felt, and a strange melancholy overtook him as he thought of the last conversation he’d had with his father.

Daily Prompt: Evasive Action – RUNAWAY

Daily Prompt: Evasive Action  What’s the most significant secret you’ve ever kept? Did the truth ever come out?  http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2013/05/06/daily-prompt-secrets/

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“Have you heard about Georgina?”

I frowned at Michelle as she threw herself on the grass next to me. “Heard what?”

“She’s has run away from home.”

I pretended to search for something in my backpack. “Oh, how do you know?” I already knew all about it, but wasn’t about to divulge that piece of information.

“Her Mum came around to our place late last night. She’s frantic. Georgie’s brother tried to beat her up again.”

I could feel my anger rising. “Why don’t her parents do something about it?”

Michelle shrugged, “You know how her parents are about precious Jake.”

The bell to start classes rang and we both headed for our seventh grade home-room. The usual chatter suddenly stopped and we stood hurriedly to our feet as the principal came into the classroom. “Good morning Miss Smith.”  

This was the sixties, and an all girls’ school. The principal, Miss Johnson, would not have been out-of-place in a military academy. She may have only been five feet tall, but she was a dragon.

“Young ladies, I’ve just had a very worrying visit from the parents of one of your classmates.”  She looked around the classroom searching for the slightest twitch, eye flicker or licking of lips. Keep cool, look her in the eye and don’t blink. “Mr and Mrs Baker are extremely worried about Georgina. She had a slight argument with her brother during the afternoon, and when they checked her room later in the evening, Georgina was missing. If anyone has any information I’d like you to come and see me in my office.” Smithy hadn’t mentioned the fact that Georgie’s brother had broken her arm two months ago. After her eagle eye scanned us again, she left the room.

I let my breath out. There was no way I was going to say anything. Georgie’s older brother had bullied her for years and her parents hadn’t done anything to stop it. Jake was the golden-haired boy, spoilt rotten and a complete mongrel. Georgie had been taking karate classes with my uncle every day for six months and last night, after her brother started bashing her again, she beat the crap out of him before coming to see me to tell me what she was planning to do.

Georgie hid out in an off-season scout cabin that had plenty of canned food. She came home a week later and her brother never touched her again. Her parents knew why she ran away, but they never asked where she’d been. I never saw Georgie again after she moved to a new school the following semester. In the fifty-two years that have passed since then, I have often wondered what happened to Georgina.  

* This is a true story. Only the names have been changed to protect the innocent.