As you may recall (but probably not) I shared a very short story (100 words precisely, in fact) that was entered in a NYC Midnight competition about a couple of teenagers kissing on a train.

If you missed it (and who could blame you?) here it is again

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Love On The Way Home From School

I remember the world thundering by. Our destination almost upon us.

The rattle and rumble of the tracks like gunfire above which we hear only each other’s thoughts. She takes my hand in hers.

School bags at our feet. For these were simple times. Or seemed so.

A shock of air through the carriage as we hurtle into the black cocoon of the tunnel. She leans forward to kiss me.

Then suddenly into the blinding light of the station. She is on her feet. Smiling. Suppressing a giggle. And then gone. Until tomorrow.

For as long as tomorrows might last.

 

****

Surprisingly, the judges had an off day and awarded it a 3rd placing and thus ushered me into the 2nd round where they required a drama about injuring a knee and including the word ‘line’. Likewise a maximum of 100 words

This is what I wrote,

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Leaving Home

She glanced back only briefly towards the cottage where she had left the note for him to later read in habitual drunken rage.

A line of trees, planted with her naïve optimism of twenty years previous, marked a boundary obstructing her view to the road and beyond. Stepping through it, in the fading light, she stumbled over a fallen branch and felt the wood piercing her skin, but it was only in the taxi that she noticed the little stream of blood trickling from her knee.

“Does it hurt?” the driver asked.

“No,” she whispered, “I can’t feel anything, anymore.”

****

Confirmation has been received that the cute little furry animal that had the temerity to wrestle with the cat and disturb Meg’s sleep has left this world for a better one. One hopes that somewhere in the afterlife there is a place where he may better fit in.

And having slid beneath the wheels of a passing vehicle he fits into all sorts of places that he didn’t fit before.

The family thanks you, KBG, for your flowers and kind thoughts, but asks for privacy during this difficult time.

****

And that is all. No curtain call

A mouse has had his day

They peeled him off the concrete

And sent him on his way

His tiny paws upon your floors

Shall be no longer heard

He shall no longer steal your sleep

There’ll be no final word

The cat upon the mat can sleep

And claim victory of a sort

Though the mouse arose triumphant

From a mighty battle fought

Being careless on the roadway

Was his only mortal sin

For he never saw the motor car

That squashed him paper thin

****

As you may recall (perhaps not many of you), I reported the apparent assassination of an innocent rodent in Meg’s house yesterday.

In developing news, it seems that (as King Ben’s Grandma puts it) the mouse was, in fact, playing possum, and found an opportunity to flee the premises. I was asked for comment and offered the following

*****

I’ve heard that the mouse that invaded the house

Is breathing. He lives on. He survives!

He’ll outlive the cat, ‘cause he’s better than that

And he claims to have more than nine lives

 

*****

Unfortunately, further news arrived today that a mouse had been discovered in a state of post mortem, on the road outside Meg’s abode, the victim of an apparent hit and run. Whilst we still await positive identification (dental records and the like) the news is unlikely to be good. So I was forced to write a second obituary.

*****

Such is our fate

Death has a date

For us all, including your mouse

We cannot pretend

It won’t come in the end

For one day we must all leave the house

Your mouse had his dances

Your mouse took his chances

He emerged from a fight with your cat

On the road heard a motor

A battered Toyota

He is now irreparably flat.

*****

That, I think, is the end. There will be no further updates other than funeral arrangement details for those wishing to attend.

Here’s another inspiration from Cheryl , though I’m not sure if her mind was going in quite the same direction. Perhaps I should put the inspirations aside and shut up for another few months ….

Oh! Such bliss there is in food

Made to elevate the mood

When the world seems most defeating

What sanctuary I find in eating

When with a sense selfless of luvvin’

I see you bent over the oven

Forgive me for incessant staring

Beyond the apron you are wearing

You see my legs begin to tremble

As I watch the meal assemble

Awaiting nervously the hour

When your creation I’ll devour

You’re doing fine, please pour the wine

Please sit beside me as we dine

Raise a toast! A glass of red

Darling, shall we eat in bed?