Six Sentence Stories: Adam’s Imaginary Friend

Image from the illustrated book and record The Jungle Book. Walt Disney. 1983.

I’m linking up with Denise at Girlie On The Edge Blog, where she hosts Six Sentence Stories, and everyone is invited to write a story or poem constructed of six sentences, and six sentences only, based on a cue word given.

This week’s cue word is Question.


Adam’s Imaginary Friend

 

Adam decided to name his friend Bagheera, after the black panther in The Jungle Book. Inseparable, they spent hours playing in the basement: Dungeons & Dragons, Pac-Man, Star Wars, Hungry Hungry Hippos and G.I. Joe…  while Dad – upstairs in the study, agonized over family bills, and Mom – at the kitchen table, inserted pieces of paper into envelopes to earn extra money.

An only child, Adam embraced Bagheera as his best friend and confidant; secrets whispered, anxieties shared – the grave mood of Mom and Dad and the way they never seemed to have time anymore to give to Adam, and all their hopes, dreams, wishes… evaporating in inky mists made to disappear in the blink of tired eyes.

One evening, in the basement, Bagheera gave Adam a shoe box – inside it, tightly-wedged bundles of bank notes – twenty dollar bills – hundreds upon hundreds of them crammed together like paper sardines, the wild-haired and bushy-browed face of Andrew Jackson staring off into the distance.

With eyes the size of frisbees, Adam said, “But where did you get all this money?”

Said Bagheera, “Don’t ask questions… just hurry upstairs and put this box on the kitchen table, while your mom and dad are busy watching St. Elsewhere.”


Thanks for reading 🙂

500 vintage bonus points for the first person to state which year this story is set!

Six Sentence Stories: a viral poem

Britains toys. 1983. UK.

I’m linking up with Denise at Girlie On The Edge Blog, where she hosts Six Sentence Stories, and the cue word this week is Routine.


A viral poem:

The rime of the ancient healthcarer

 

07h: Colleagues arrive, smiles behind masks, Wuhan shakes all around, wash hands, clean-crisp uniforms, temperatures taken.

09h: Patients washed and fed, some ache, some throb, some sneeze, some cough, mask on, wash hands, gloves on, temperatures taken.

14h: Sanitize, sterilize, realize some don’t like their own company in isolation, oxygen, pills, hand gels and meals on wheels, change mask, wash hands, touch face – blast it, wash hands again.

16h: Mask on, mask off, wash hands, mask on, disinfect, tick boxes checked, temperatures taken.

20h: Wash hands, change clothes, mask off, go home, wash hands, change clothes, watch news with family, prepare sandwiches for tomorrow.

00h: A routine sleep brings bad scenes lathered in dystopian creams, because there’s not enough water to keep us clean in viral dreams it seems we all must share, day after day, day after day, they dropped down one by one; virus, virus, everywhere, and all the crowds were gone.


After The Rime of the Ancient Mariner by Samuel Taylor Coleridge.

#Coronavirus #WashHands

Six Sentence Stories: The Girl in the Coat

FAO Schwarz Fall / Winter catalogue logo. 1980. US.

Greetings, vintage mates. I’m linking up with Denise at Girlie On The Edge Blog, where she hosts Six Sentence Stories, and the cue word this time is Coat.


The Girl in the Coat

 

The harsh Winter was almost over, yet no less fierce with the promise of precious Spring about to come: that blissful, two, three weeks at best, tolerable weather event, before the incomprehensible heat of Summer broiled us in our skins.

The girl, she was shivering under blankets plundered from the last town we passed; the forsaken church we had taken shelter in, before the roof collapsed under the weight of snow as filthy and heavy as a Christmas scene postcard sent straight from hell.

The girl, feverish, with me as her guide, the endless walking, sleeping in abandoned trucks and barns, chicken coops long ago ransacked of fowl and eggs, the girl, the girl, the girl and me, hiding in trees from marauders and murderers, and those driven mad by Summer and Winter’s brutal empire… the girl, oh that poor girl, how she shivered.

The girl, in her fever, she called out to me: “Mommy…” and I wept for the girl, and for her mother too – and whichever cruel season had snatched her away.

And I wondered: should I give the girl my coat… if I did, she would surely survive until Spring, yes, but I would freeze, for certain, me… her weathered protector, her compass, her source of advice and well of resourcefulness, her hand to hold in countless blizzards and wind and rain and fog and storms, and heatwaves out to desiccate us.

The girl, I stared at her trembling bag of bones body, me… with no maternal feathers nor stripes to call my own, and she, the girl, the girl, no daughter of mine, just a girl I once found hiding under a bed; the girl who I take my coat off to and wrap around her frame, and fasten each button as her eyes at last brighten, and me, shivering now, the fingers of the wind entering my pores like frost-swords and ice-needles, my eyes glazing over as I give the girl up to the coming of Spring and all I had taught her.

 


#climate #change #care #love

The Girl in the Coat is inspired by The Road by Cormac McCarthy

Huge thanks to Denise for hosting Six Sentence Stories #inspiring

Six Sentence Stories: Sweet tooth / Meat tooth

 

Zapf dolls. Hamleys. 1983. UK. Image enhanced by TVTA.

Greetings, vintage mates. I’m linking up with Denise at Girlie On The Edge Blog, where she hosts Six Sentence Stories, and the cue word this time is Slice.


Sweet tooth / Meat tooth

She lived in a house made from gingerbread and candy, with marshmallow walls and marzipan doors, butterscotch tables and toffee chairs, and two plump beds made from Turkish Delight – for when the children stayed over.

A sweet tooth she had, but always craved something saltier; something hot and tender she could slice into succulent cubes, and watch the pink juices run loose.

She glanced through the window at the arrival of the boy and his sister.

She licked her lips and threw another crooked handful of salt into the cauldron.

She tipped back her head and cackled at the thought of such delicious stew to come, never knowing as she let them in – until it was too late – of the sharpened axes they were hiding behind their backs.


Thank you for eating candy with us 🙂

Office Cat Tales: the new furniture arrives!

TVTA’s brand new state of the art entertainment/conference suite rocks! Modern Homes and Office Style Rating: 10/10.

A TVTA short story special.

Wooof could hardly contain himself this morning when our new furniture arrived to freshen up the dusty, old TVTA offices. Of course, like most cats, he spent the first hour sitting inside one of the empty packaging cartons, while I was busy unpacking and assembling.

“Are you going to sit inside that cardboard box all day?” I said. “Or are you going to give me a hand building this furniture?”

“After I’ve finished playing with the polystyrene packing peanuts,” replied the cat, “I’ll give you a hand, so long as it doesn’t interfere with my mid-morning nap.”

“Look,” I said, “You should be pleased we have all this nice, new, modern 1980s and 1990s furniture to replace the 1940s set we inherited from Mrs Coldkettle’s grandmother who worked for MI5.”

TVTA’s old office furniture. The cold war had never been colder. Modern Homes and Office Style Rating: 2/10.

“Ah,” sighed the cat. “I shan’t be sorry to see that old typewriter go. And those razor sharp filing cabinet doors. And those brass drawer handles the size of Olympic hurdling fences… and always a hard-boiled sweet immortally stuck to the back leg of a chair. You’re right, I am pleased we have new furniture!”

“Glad to hear it. We have new kitchen appliances too!”

“Did you get me an ice cream maker?”

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Six Sentence Stories: The Ape that could Heal

Revell Endangered Animals. 1974. US.

Greetings, vintage mates. Today I’m linking up with Denise at Girlie On The Edge Blog, where she hosts Six Sentence Stories, and the cue word today is Claim.

The Ape That Could Heal

In the mirror you see the ape, black and white, a monochrome beast of healing, standing behind you and claiming your bathroom as his consulting room.

You prey he might help strip away your grief; the daily spooking performed by ghosts who arrive as regular as commuters, subway trains, and parcelled-up self-healing books from Amazon which you always finish with disappointment.

“Wash away your pain,” says the ape, his black-olive eyes primordial, sad, gentle, elemental and kind.

You wash and you scrub and you clean and erase the sticky pain which had set itself deep inside your pores, like shellac filling the grain of mahogany tables you have no desire to ever sit at, and where patina seals over all that mattered back then, when you were young and terrified, shivering below a desk in the biology lab, while all around you lay the bodies of classmates.

Says the ape, “Keep scrubbing, and peel back those layers until you see yourself grinning, just like me…”

And all at once, the ape arches his lips and gives the most exquisite and comical grin you have ever seen, and one that causes you to reciprocate; and only then do you find, in your reflection in the mirror, you are monochrome – black and white, just like he – the ape that claimed your bathroom as a consulting room, and helped heal you with ablutions and grinning teeth.


Thank you for healing with us 🙂

27 book covers.

Tobermory and other stories. Saki. 1998. Cover Diana Ong / SuperStock.

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Happy New Yeats! Party like it’s 1999, in 1962!

Prince Magazine Special. 1985. Australia.

Happy new year vintage mates! Sorry we’re late and sorry we got the wrong year, but Wooof and I just got back from time travelling in 1982 watching Prince recording 1999, then we got lost in 1962 and found a cool book of poetry from W.B. Yeats, and then we got tangled up in a vintage space war between aliens and robots disputing a 3 billion year old moon made of chedder cheese and denim!

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Lights in the sky – a special report

Seven falling lights formation seen on 10th December 2019 at 05.25.

December 10th. Tuesday. 2019. 05:25. Near the city of Toulon, Var, France.

Diary, I woke up at 05:05 ready to begin a 13 hour shift at work. At 05:25, I went out onto my terrace to fetch my bicycle, where I paused briefly to look up at the sky. It was dark, cold, with patches of stars visible against heavy rain clouds moving in from the north, and with a brisk, north-easterly wind snapping at my face, I steeled myself for what I suspected would be a daunting ride ahead.

Then something caught my attention: in the lower part of the south-eastern sky, I saw seven bright stars in a perfect vertical line aiming down at the horizon. At first I believed it was Orion’s Belt – but the constellation of Orion is not visible in this part of the sky at this hour in December, and normally appears around 22.00 in the evening, plus, there are only three stars that form Orion’s Belt, and I was witnessing seven.

What could they be? All at once, the seven stars began moving, descending, and I had to quickly reassess that what I was witnessing were not stars at all… they were moving lights in the sky!

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