Last week Rajiv sent me a gripping story; it didn’t fit with last week’s challenge, but it got me thinking about making this week’s challenge a ‘Dark Tales’ one. So please send in your ghost, crime, thriller, horror etc. stories/poems/articles for this week’s challenge. I look forward to being scared!
Here are last week’s fantastic entries, using the words:
- Christmas
- Happy
- New
- Year
- Resolutions
Jason Moody kick-started the challenge with this great story:
“Happy New Year, Merry Christmas, what a load of old baloney.”
The old man stood next to me at the bar was never short of opinions. And he certainly wasn’t afraid to voice them. I just looked at him and smile, hoping he’d shut up so I could enjoy my after work pint.
“What’s your resolution? I’m going to lose weight, I’m going to fight for world peace,” the man snarled.
I was just about to take a sip. I put the glass back down and turned to him. He looked me up and down, as if inspecting merchandise.
“Mate.” He wasn’t, but it’s a traditional opening. “If you ain’t got anything good to say, could you…you know?”
His face immediately screwed up. His face had more lines than the rail network.
“Who the bloody hell do you think you are?” he said.
A hundred and one tasty reposts entered my head. Most of them unsavoury. Composure. Don’t rise.
“Listen. I just wanna enjoy my pint in peace. Ain’t there someone else around to enjoy your verbal diarrhoea?”
I was rather pleased with this response. Witty, sharp. Biting? Well, I thought so.
His face hadn’t had a chance to un-wrinkle from moments earlier.
“What’s there to be happy about? New Year, same old, same old. And I ain’t got no job.”
He certainly had a bee in his bonnet. I was curious now. Don’t do it. Leave it.
“Where did you work? What happened?” I asked. I wish I hadn’t.
“Shopping Centre Father Christmas,” he groaned.
I wanted to laugh. I really did.
“Why did they let you go?” I asked.
He laughed, ever so lightly. I was gonna like this.
“I can’t stand children,” he said.
With that, we both started laughing.
Keith Channing brings us a story, with a wonderful character in the form of ‘Mum’:
I phoned my Mum last Friday. I always phone her on Fridays. She’s come to expect it now and gets worried if I miss a call. I imagine she thinks something may have happened to me, something that would prevent me from calling her on Friday afternoon. It’s my own fault, really. It suited me to call regularly, to have a set time and day. I get so busy, that without a routine, I’d keep forgetting to call her, then when I do, she goes all Maureen Lipman on me. You remember those BT adverts she did: “Too busy to call your mother”, she’d say, when her son didn’t call for a couple of weeks. Mum’s just like that. I suppose it’s understandable; living on her own in that big house, rarely seeing a soul. It’s hardly what you’d call a happy life.
She gets very lonely and I know she’d love us to go to see her more often, but it’s nearly five hours each way by car, and that’s not something we can do too often. We so rarely have a day when the two of us and both kids are free together. I tried to get her to use a computer or even an iPad or something, so we could Skype her. I know she’d love to talk with the kids. I offered to buy her one for Christmas, but she wouldn’t hear of it. She said that she doesn’t like all these new-fangled gadgets.
She was okay with the television we bought her last year, though. When we put it in, I spent a whole day with her, explaining its various functions. It’s a large-screen smart TV that does so much more than just show television programmes. If she would let me, I could show her how she could use it for Skype, if she’d let me have broadband installed for her. She does use some of its smart functions, though. She is using its built-in recorder to save whole series that she can watch when it suits her, rather than when it fits the broadcaster’s schedule.
I asked her today if there was anything special she was watching.
“Not yet,” she said, “but I’m getting it to record some stuff for me. I’ll watch it when the series is finished. I hate waiting for a week for the next episode.”
“Sounds nice, Mum,” I replied, “What’s it about?”
“Its a hysterical serial about the Industrial Resolution.”
I knew what she meant…
Jasdeep Kaur‘s poem offers hope for the coming year:
Luring Resolutions
Merry Christmas is a wish
not merely to say or give
but to relish the cosiness
of the lingering reminiscences
from the year that’ll be history
in the life’s story.
The shining star will bring
a new hope for heart’s string
that looks for love and peace
in every notch or crease
and reassure with the kindness
of the merciful divine presence.
Let’s stand in unison
with the luring resolutions
to comfort the trodden,
make all happy, and strengthen
brotherhood, love and compassion
in the new-born year’s expansion.
My weekly challenge wouldn’t be the same without the usual corker from Geoff Le Pard:
On the twelfth day of Christmas…
George ‘Bad Ass’ Potts wanted to be a terrorist. He had weighed up the career options and decided this one suited the mix of his personality (prefers own company, likes fires) and technical skills (good at not being seen, always able to start a fire). At Christmas he had asked for a Kevlar vest, a strong magnifying glass and an easy to use lighter. He got slippers and a book token.
Frankly George had had enough. He took to his room and refused to come out for six days. On New’s Year Eve his mother banged on the door. “George, what are you doing?”
“Plotting the overthrow of the hegemonic tyranny you call a Government.”
Mrs Potts returned to the kitchen. “Well thank goodness.”
Mr Potts put down the tea cloth. “What’s he up to?”
“Making his New Year’s Revolutions.”
Mr Potts poured some tea. “If it makes him happy.”
Esther Chilton 
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