I created this page with the idea of enjoying a certain degree of anonymity but I have become alarmed at the number of personal details that seemed to have escaped somehow from it. Evidence of this comes via heartfelt emails I receive regularly offering to solve the everyday issues of old age that I had, up until now, been suffering stoically in ignorance. Most mornings I open outlook to be greeted by several concerned individuals who specialise in conditions that I didn’t realise I had. These range from to the ringing in my ears to the toe fungus which must be obvious to everyone else but has, until now, skipped my attention. The correspondence relating to my erectile disjunction is dwindling and I can only conclude that it has been given up as a lost cause. Likewise the offers of marriage (and much, much more!) from attractive Russian ladies one third my age seem to have dried up. I can’t remember the last time I was contacted by the Nigerian Royal Family, either. I hope they are OK.

This morning I was lucky enough to receive advise on recharging used batteries. In view of the context of previous epistles I am wondering if I should be taking that literally or euphemistically.

Is it just me? Am I special?

But here’s the good news. I checked between my toes this morning (not as easy as it sounds) and found no sign of the fungus.

And that’s before the product has even been delivered!

For #LoIsInDaBl

 

I looked up at her from my bed as she was sitting there beside me. The screen above my head reported to the world, via a series of numbers and a moving graph, that I was still alive. Though we both knew that I wouldn’t be so for long.

It was easy, lying there useless, to compress all of those times when we had laughed, made love, argued, cried, got drunk, lied to each other or fallen asleep in each other’s arms into a single moment. And wonder what it meant. Two ordinary people within two ordinary lives.

She had no expression on her face. Or not one that I could interpret. So I asked, “Do you still love me?”

She looked at me carefully for what seemed a long time and sighed. “Oh,” she said eventually, “I think it’s much worse than that. I’m devoted to you.”

This for Nortina’s #1MinFiction

 

 

That’s me. In the photograph. On my mother’s knee all those years ago. Staring unknowingly into the future. So that the future, all these years later, might stare back. And wonder. What was going on?

They took her away, they said, because there was something wrong with her. Or because there was something wrong with me. I don’t remember. What would be the difference?

So I don’t know what was going on, either. I think, probably, that somebody was scared of something they didn’t understand.

That is at the heart of most things.

 

Michael

 

I seem, of late, to be developing a disturbing (and probably unhealthy) obsession with nuns.

But came across this #99word #flashfiction Challenge (99 words – no more – no less, to feature something black and white) this morning here and couldn’t resist……

 

Rowing away from the island he looked back and saw the disorganised black and white line marching towards the water’s edge. As the penguins plunged into the icy waters and suddenly achieved grace he was reminded of nuns and, in particular, the confused old women of his youth who, he imagined, may have achieved a surprising grace as they stepped from life and into the abyss.
And he wondered too, if they might be waiting there to judge him.
But the penguins and his memories were out of sight as he eased his wife’s body silently over the side.