The story was an absolute killer.
As he read the opening line the hook sank deep into his nose, puncturing gristle and cartilage and slicing completely through to the other side.
He was drawn kicking and screaming into the plot as the storyline developed.
As he reached the end of the final paragraph, his face split, bones fractured, snot and blood geysered, iron-hard knuckles repeatedly slammed into him as he was beaten to death by the punch line.
©2012 Stephen. J. Green.
Friday, 29 June 2012
Friday, 22 June 2012
The file on Alicia Fieldstone
I had only been working at the Ministry of Information for a few days, and was still finding my feet, so to speak. As the newbie I was given the trivial jobs to do, the drudgery, the crap that the more important guys couldn't be bothered with.
My task for today was debugging the Fs, trawling through the F files searching out typos and such, I skim read as fast as I could, not absorbing any of the data that was scrolling past my eyes, assessing the threat level of any individual was someone else's job, I wasn't qualified to process any of it anyway.
Then there she was, right there on my screen... FIELDSTONE. ALICIA.
I sat there a little shocked, Alicia lived only three doors away from me, a very pretty woman, twenty four years old according to the file, and single. I had seen her several times, we exchanged occasional smiles on the street, truth be known I was more than a little interested in asking her to go on a date with me.
And here she was, on file in the M of I.
I began reading the file, hungry to know what kind of super-terrorist or criminal had been living in the same street as me for the last two years.
The file proceeded to lay her life bare across the screen.
Every school she had attended, and links to the files of every pupil and teacher there. Her work history, friends, family, acquaintances. And again links to every one of these, and their acquaintances, and so on, like an ever widening spider web.
The file delved deeper and deeper into her life.
Her taste in clothes, make up, art, books, food, television.
Even the minutest details were not overlooked.
How thickly she spread the butter on her toast, which direction she stirred her coffee.
And into the very intimate side of her life.
Her preferred sexual positions. When she experienced her first orgasm, and who with. The links were there to every man she had dated, or slept with, and their acquaintances etc.
It even listed the brand of sanitary towels she used.
There was not one single shred of her life that the file didn't cover, even down to how many times she visited the toilet each day.
When the M of I targeted the bad guys, they certainly did a thorough job of it.
Jeez, I'm just glad that I never got up the courage to ask her out.
I kept reading, looking for the bombshell, for the list of criminal activities either past, present, or suspected for the future, but found nothing, not even a late library return.
To all intents and purposes Alicia was as clean and pure as the driven snow.
I must be missing something.
I leaned backwards in my chair and called over my shoulder.
“Hey Bill, this file I'm looking at, there's nothing incriminating in here that I can see, but she's some kind of terrorist or criminal, right?”
Bill leant across and glanced at my screen.
“Oh hell no, that's just a basic info file, we have those files on absolutely everyone.”
The cold tendrils of fear began creeping along my spine as my mind wandered to the skeletons in my own closet.
©2012 Stephen. J. Green.
My task for today was debugging the Fs, trawling through the F files searching out typos and such, I skim read as fast as I could, not absorbing any of the data that was scrolling past my eyes, assessing the threat level of any individual was someone else's job, I wasn't qualified to process any of it anyway.
Then there she was, right there on my screen... FIELDSTONE. ALICIA.
I sat there a little shocked, Alicia lived only three doors away from me, a very pretty woman, twenty four years old according to the file, and single. I had seen her several times, we exchanged occasional smiles on the street, truth be known I was more than a little interested in asking her to go on a date with me.
And here she was, on file in the M of I.
I began reading the file, hungry to know what kind of super-terrorist or criminal had been living in the same street as me for the last two years.
The file proceeded to lay her life bare across the screen.
Every school she had attended, and links to the files of every pupil and teacher there. Her work history, friends, family, acquaintances. And again links to every one of these, and their acquaintances, and so on, like an ever widening spider web.
The file delved deeper and deeper into her life.
Her taste in clothes, make up, art, books, food, television.
Even the minutest details were not overlooked.
How thickly she spread the butter on her toast, which direction she stirred her coffee.
And into the very intimate side of her life.
Her preferred sexual positions. When she experienced her first orgasm, and who with. The links were there to every man she had dated, or slept with, and their acquaintances etc.
It even listed the brand of sanitary towels she used.
There was not one single shred of her life that the file didn't cover, even down to how many times she visited the toilet each day.
When the M of I targeted the bad guys, they certainly did a thorough job of it.
Jeez, I'm just glad that I never got up the courage to ask her out.
I kept reading, looking for the bombshell, for the list of criminal activities either past, present, or suspected for the future, but found nothing, not even a late library return.
To all intents and purposes Alicia was as clean and pure as the driven snow.
I must be missing something.
I leaned backwards in my chair and called over my shoulder.
“Hey Bill, this file I'm looking at, there's nothing incriminating in here that I can see, but she's some kind of terrorist or criminal, right?”
Bill leant across and glanced at my screen.
“Oh hell no, that's just a basic info file, we have those files on absolutely everyone.”
The cold tendrils of fear began creeping along my spine as my mind wandered to the skeletons in my own closet.
©2012 Stephen. J. Green.
Friday, 15 June 2012
Positively negative
“I am such a negative person.”
“Are you sure?”
“Huh?”
“I asked you if you were sure, about being negative that is.”
“Oh yeah, absolutely positive.”
“You just said you were negative.”
“Yeah, I am.”
“But you said you were absolutely positive.”
“Huh?”
“So, are you positive, or not?”
“Oh yeah, yeah I am.”
“About being negative?”
“Uh. Yeah.. I think so. Look, you're confusing me now.”
“Okay, let's try a different tack. Do you generally see the dark side of things?”
“Oh sure, yeah, sure I do.”
“And from most scenarios you see the worst case happening?”
“Yeah, yeah, I guess I do.”
“And does it?”
“Does what?”
“Does the worst case usually happen?”
“Yeah, mostly it does happen, yeah it does.”
“And how does that make you feel?”
“Well, it make me feel right of course. I expect the worst to happen, and it usually does.”
“So that makes you feel right?”
“Yeah! What are you, stupid or something?”
“And being right is a positive experience, is it not?”
“Huh?”
“If your negative assumption proves to be correct, then it has positive consequences, yes?”
“What? Uh, yeah, I guess so.”
“Then you are more of a positive person than you thought you were, right?”
“No, no not really.”
“Why?”
“Cos I'm such a negative person, that's why.”
©2012 Stephen. J. Green.
“Are you sure?”
“Huh?”
“I asked you if you were sure, about being negative that is.”
“Oh yeah, absolutely positive.”
“You just said you were negative.”
“Yeah, I am.”
“But you said you were absolutely positive.”
“Huh?”
“So, are you positive, or not?”
“Oh yeah, yeah I am.”
“About being negative?”
“Uh. Yeah.. I think so. Look, you're confusing me now.”
“Okay, let's try a different tack. Do you generally see the dark side of things?”
“Oh sure, yeah, sure I do.”
“And from most scenarios you see the worst case happening?”
“Yeah, yeah, I guess I do.”
“And does it?”
“Does what?”
“Does the worst case usually happen?”
“Yeah, mostly it does happen, yeah it does.”
“And how does that make you feel?”
“Well, it make me feel right of course. I expect the worst to happen, and it usually does.”
“So that makes you feel right?”
“Yeah! What are you, stupid or something?”
“And being right is a positive experience, is it not?”
“Huh?”
“If your negative assumption proves to be correct, then it has positive consequences, yes?”
“What? Uh, yeah, I guess so.”
“Then you are more of a positive person than you thought you were, right?”
“No, no not really.”
“Why?”
“Cos I'm such a negative person, that's why.”
©2012 Stephen. J. Green.
Saturday, 9 June 2012
The Kreativ Blogger Award
The lovely, and very talented lady Helen Howell who resides at HelenScribbles, has very kindly awarded me the KREATIV BLOGGER AWARD, thank you so much Helen, I am absolutely delighted to receive it.
Now, the conditions of accepting the award are that I must tell you 10 things about myself, and also I must pass the award on to other bloggers who's works I read and like.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Okay here goes..
1. I met my wife when I was 17, and we were married 5 years later, we recently celebrated our 37th wedding anniversary. My mum says our relationship is like a Mills and Boon novel.
2. In 1975 I began learning to play the guitar. Around 1977-ish, I played several times alongside a student named Justin Sullivan (with a couple of other guys, in the cellar of their rented house.)
Shortly after, Justin went on to become the front man for the band “New Model Army” which became very successful, and I believe they are still together now.
3. Although I passed my driving test at the age of 17, I didn't buy my first car until I was 34 years old.
4. When I was a teenager, a friend and I decided to hitch-hike to Blackpool for the weekend...
We ended up walking approximately 50 miles of the 75 miles back home. (Well, it seemed like a good idea at the time.)
5. For the last 4 years at school, I achieved first place in my class at French, and metalwork.
In my first year of taking French I played the lead, main speaking role in a French spoken play that we performed in front of the whole school. (My French has long since gone into disuse, although I can still count very rapidly in the language.)
6. Although the films I am really into are such as the Alien quadrilogy, Resident evils, Predators, and the like, I absolutely love the film Shirley Valentine, and have watched it dozens of times.
7. Although I am pretty useless at cooking, I am quite capable of feeding myself should the need arise. But one time when my wife went on holiday for a week, to my shame (coupled with a love of fish and chips) I called to the fish and chip shop every single evening on my way home from work.
8. I was a very heavy smoker, and after what was probably thousands of failed attempts spread over about thirty years, I finally quit smoking on September 1st 2005, after reading the book by Allen Carr, “The easy way to stop smoking” which was a present that my wife bought for me.
9. I like ice cream... Very much.
10. Once I was the one to open our packet of Jaffa cakes, now there are usually 12 in a pack, 6 each. So I took my 6 out, and ate them while watching telly, later on my wife went for her Jaffa cakes only to discover that there was only 5 left, I do solemnly swear that I only took six out, we must have picked up the only packet in the universe that only contained 11 Jaffa cakes to begin with.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Choosing writers to pass the award on to is very difficult, there are so many talented writers on #fridayflash, and it is not easy to choose one over another, so I decided to pass the award on to the two ladies who were instrumental in my joining #fridayflash in the first place.
Rebecca Emin of Ramblings of a Rusty Writer.
And
Maria Protopapadaki-Smith of Mazzz in Leeds.
Way back in September 2010, both of these ladies encouraged me to post my stories on #fridayflash, their positive comments on my work gave me the confidence to submit my first one “A Zombie's Tale” which I posted on September 17th 2010, and I have enjoyed taking part each week ever since.
So I would like to say a big THANK YOU to Rebecca and Maria for introducing me to the wonderful community of the #fridayflash writers.
Friday, 8 June 2012
Sensory deprivation
There is nothing to touch in here, and it blisters my fingertips.
There is nothing to hear, and its shriek is deafening.
There is nothing to see, and it's image is burned deep into my retinae.
There is nothing to smell, and the stench of it clogs my nostrils.
There is nothing to taste, and it sits vile upon my tongue.
There is nothing in here.
Wherever here is.
Won't somebody help me …..?
Please …..?
©2012 Stephen. J. Green.
There is nothing to hear, and its shriek is deafening.
There is nothing to see, and it's image is burned deep into my retinae.
There is nothing to smell, and the stench of it clogs my nostrils.
There is nothing to taste, and it sits vile upon my tongue.
There is nothing in here.
Wherever here is.
Won't somebody help me …..?
Please …..?
©2012 Stephen. J. Green.
Friday, 1 June 2012
On the rocks
I lay across the rocks at the bottom of the cliff, broken and smashed, and although there was no pain, I was acutely aware that physically all was not good with me.
“Did you fall, or were you pushed?”
The Genie's face swam above me, looking perplexed, and not a little amused.
“Actually, neither, I jumped.”
I had so many broken bones I would be willing to bet that I couldn't count them on my fingers and toes, and most of those were in more than one piece now, so that in itself would up the numbers a bit.
“Why did you jump?
“Why? What a stupid question, to kill myself of course.”
“But you are immortal, you can't die, so don't you think it was a bit of a daft thing to do? You were the one that asked for immortality in the first place, so I don't really understand where you are coming from.”
“Yeah, well... if I'd known how boring immortality was gonna be I would have asked for riches or fame instead. So, if it's all the same to you, I'd like you to cancel the wish, and give me my life... err, or death back.”
“Sorry buddy, one wish per lamp-rubber, that's the rules.”
“I thought you guys were supposed to grant three wishes, where's my other two?”
“Well, yeah, we used to, but haven't you heard? There's a recession on just now, cutbacks have to be made.”
“Well, okay then, in that case how long will it take for my body to heal?”
“Oh, never. Well, the bones WILL repair themselves, but only in the shape they're in now, unless you get medical treatment anyway, splints and such, and since you chose such an isolated spot I think that's pretty unlikely. You just didn't think this through, did you?”
I took a good look at the shape I was in, all unfamiliar angles and new, multiple joints, all of it draped over the rock formation, following the contours as though it had been poured there.
“Yeah I guess it was pretty dumb, so, what happens now?”
“I suppose you've heard the phrase 'Decide in haste, repent at leisure'?”
“Yeah, sure, who hasn't?”
“Well my stupid friend, you're gonna have lots of leisure time to repent in, forever in fact. Now if you'll excuse me I have other lamp-rubbers to attend to. Ciao baby.
©2012 Stephen. J. Green.
“Did you fall, or were you pushed?”
The Genie's face swam above me, looking perplexed, and not a little amused.
“Actually, neither, I jumped.”
I had so many broken bones I would be willing to bet that I couldn't count them on my fingers and toes, and most of those were in more than one piece now, so that in itself would up the numbers a bit.
“Why did you jump?
“Why? What a stupid question, to kill myself of course.”
“But you are immortal, you can't die, so don't you think it was a bit of a daft thing to do? You were the one that asked for immortality in the first place, so I don't really understand where you are coming from.”
“Yeah, well... if I'd known how boring immortality was gonna be I would have asked for riches or fame instead. So, if it's all the same to you, I'd like you to cancel the wish, and give me my life... err, or death back.”
“Sorry buddy, one wish per lamp-rubber, that's the rules.”
“I thought you guys were supposed to grant three wishes, where's my other two?”
“Well, yeah, we used to, but haven't you heard? There's a recession on just now, cutbacks have to be made.”
“Well, okay then, in that case how long will it take for my body to heal?”
“Oh, never. Well, the bones WILL repair themselves, but only in the shape they're in now, unless you get medical treatment anyway, splints and such, and since you chose such an isolated spot I think that's pretty unlikely. You just didn't think this through, did you?”
I took a good look at the shape I was in, all unfamiliar angles and new, multiple joints, all of it draped over the rock formation, following the contours as though it had been poured there.
“Yeah I guess it was pretty dumb, so, what happens now?”
“I suppose you've heard the phrase 'Decide in haste, repent at leisure'?”
“Yeah, sure, who hasn't?”
“Well my stupid friend, you're gonna have lots of leisure time to repent in, forever in fact. Now if you'll excuse me I have other lamp-rubbers to attend to. Ciao baby.
©2012 Stephen. J. Green.
Friday, 25 May 2012
A diamond for Beverley
She would have her diamond ring, to propose without one was unthinkable.
I scrubbed hard at the old brass curtain ring, spat on my threadbare shirt cuff and scrubbed some more. The metal began to un-dull, the gleam deepened, the shine began to shimmy.
Poor man's gold, but gold still the same, to me anyway.
A piece of glass, bright enough to catch the eye, to snatch the light, to capture a heart.
A smidgen of gum from the wad.
I had my offering.
* * * * * * * * * *
Beverley was beautiful, and I loved her. The princess of cardboard city, the dirt-encrusted duchess of the homeless.
This was our palace. I no longer saw the peeling wallpaper or the skeletal wall laths, the piles of rubbish and rubble meant nothing to me.
A squat is a squat is a squat.
But I saw Beverley, and loved her.
I sank to one knee and stretched my hand out towards her, hope sparkling between my thumb and forefinger.
I daren't speak for fear my voice would crack.
She looked at the ring, then into my eyes.
Gossamer wings fluttered my heart as I awaited her answer.
©2012 Stephen. J. Green.
I scrubbed hard at the old brass curtain ring, spat on my threadbare shirt cuff and scrubbed some more. The metal began to un-dull, the gleam deepened, the shine began to shimmy.
Poor man's gold, but gold still the same, to me anyway.
A piece of glass, bright enough to catch the eye, to snatch the light, to capture a heart.
A smidgen of gum from the wad.
I had my offering.
* * * * * * * * * *
Beverley was beautiful, and I loved her. The princess of cardboard city, the dirt-encrusted duchess of the homeless.
This was our palace. I no longer saw the peeling wallpaper or the skeletal wall laths, the piles of rubbish and rubble meant nothing to me.
A squat is a squat is a squat.
But I saw Beverley, and loved her.
I sank to one knee and stretched my hand out towards her, hope sparkling between my thumb and forefinger.
I daren't speak for fear my voice would crack.
She looked at the ring, then into my eyes.
Gossamer wings fluttered my heart as I awaited her answer.
©2012 Stephen. J. Green.
Tuesday, 8 May 2012
42 The meaning of life
I wrote this very short piece for the competition that Alison Wells hosted to celebrate the launch of her novel:- Housewife with a Half-Life.
The challenge was to write a story of exactly 42 words, prompted by - “The meaning of Life, The Universe, and Everything.” - from Douglas Adams' - The Hitch-hiker's guide to the galaxy.
The competition received a very good response of fifty submissions, and you can check out all of the entries, and the competition results here:-
Competition entries:-
Competition results:-
* * * * * * * * * *
42 The meaning of life.
In my prison, life has no meaning.
Forty two goddamn centuries they gave me.
You've heard the story of the man who sold the world?
An amateur.
I stole the meaning of life, the universe, and everything.
Trouble is, I got caught.
©2012 Stephen. J. Green.
The challenge was to write a story of exactly 42 words, prompted by - “The meaning of Life, The Universe, and Everything.” - from Douglas Adams' - The Hitch-hiker's guide to the galaxy.
The competition received a very good response of fifty submissions, and you can check out all of the entries, and the competition results here:-
Competition entries:-
Competition results:-
* * * * * * * * * *
42 The meaning of life.
In my prison, life has no meaning.
Forty two goddamn centuries they gave me.
You've heard the story of the man who sold the world?
An amateur.
I stole the meaning of life, the universe, and everything.
Trouble is, I got caught.
©2012 Stephen. J. Green.
Friday, 4 May 2012
Slice of life
It's been long time since I opened this tiny shop, over forty years now, and I wouldn't have swapped a single day of it, even if I could.
I provide a service you see, to the local community, keep them provided with things, so to speak. Things that no-one else can provide.
It took a while for the locals to accept me, and my wares, but once word got around I became the most successful shop in the village, and a jealously guarded secret from any outsiders, which was fine by me. I wasn't in it for the money you see, I was sent here as a kind of experiment, from them up there.
Today has been much of a typical one. Mrs Furlong popped in just after I flipped the sign to OPEN, her twin daughters in tow. “Half a pound of Interest please, Mister Godfrey. I'm feeling a bit lack-lustre today.”
Mister Godfrey, that's me, not my real name, but then again, what's in a name?
We chatted amiably as I weighed out the Interest, wrapped it, and took her money.
“You use that as soon as you can, dear.” I told her as she was leaving, she did look as though she needed it.
And so the day went on, and the sales were regular and frequent. A jar of happiness, a tin of self esteem, two sticks of determination, an ounce of kindness, a bottle of love, a sprig of sympathy, a packet of inspiration. The usual stuff.
Sometimes a small queue grew whilst I served some unfortunate with a long list, and occasionally I had time for a breather when the shop was empty for a few minutes.
The doorbell jangled, and in walked Martha Blessingham. Now Martha had been one of my very first customers, she had been a pensioner when I first came here and was well over a hundred years old now.
“Hiya Martha, lovely to see you my dear, your smile always brings the sunshine to my day. Will it be the usual?”
“Yes please Mister Godfrey, a slice of life please.” Her eyes twinkled and her mouth smiled its natural smile, she was a truly lovely, and lovable person.
“I've got a nice new piece, fresh in today.” I told her, as I reached under the counter and hefted the heavy slab of life up onto the cutting board. I placed the carving knife an inch or so along the slab, then glanced at Martha flirtatiously, twitching my eyebrows rapidly, smiling broadly.
“Oh, you are such a tease, Mister Godfrey.” She chuckled, as she waggled her finger, indicating that I should move the knife up a bit.
“A thicker slice than usual today then Martha? You must be ravenous.”
“Oh I am, Mister Godfrey, I am indeed, I just can't seem to get enough of it”
“There you go Martha.” I said, handing her the wrapped slice of life. “You'll enjoy that, it's prime quality, nothing but the best for you my dear.”
“Why thank you kindly Mister Godfrey, must dash now, I have all sorts of things to do today. See you again tomorrow.”
“Bye dear.” I called after her. Lovely lady.
I love the life that they have given me, and like I said, I wouldn't swap a single day of it, even if I could.
I'm hoping that this experiment is a success, and that them up there decide to expand it to a global level, I think it could be a real winner.
©2012 Stephen. J. Green.
I provide a service you see, to the local community, keep them provided with things, so to speak. Things that no-one else can provide.
It took a while for the locals to accept me, and my wares, but once word got around I became the most successful shop in the village, and a jealously guarded secret from any outsiders, which was fine by me. I wasn't in it for the money you see, I was sent here as a kind of experiment, from them up there.
Today has been much of a typical one. Mrs Furlong popped in just after I flipped the sign to OPEN, her twin daughters in tow. “Half a pound of Interest please, Mister Godfrey. I'm feeling a bit lack-lustre today.”
Mister Godfrey, that's me, not my real name, but then again, what's in a name?
We chatted amiably as I weighed out the Interest, wrapped it, and took her money.
“You use that as soon as you can, dear.” I told her as she was leaving, she did look as though she needed it.
And so the day went on, and the sales were regular and frequent. A jar of happiness, a tin of self esteem, two sticks of determination, an ounce of kindness, a bottle of love, a sprig of sympathy, a packet of inspiration. The usual stuff.
Sometimes a small queue grew whilst I served some unfortunate with a long list, and occasionally I had time for a breather when the shop was empty for a few minutes.
The doorbell jangled, and in walked Martha Blessingham. Now Martha had been one of my very first customers, she had been a pensioner when I first came here and was well over a hundred years old now.
“Hiya Martha, lovely to see you my dear, your smile always brings the sunshine to my day. Will it be the usual?”
“Yes please Mister Godfrey, a slice of life please.” Her eyes twinkled and her mouth smiled its natural smile, she was a truly lovely, and lovable person.
“I've got a nice new piece, fresh in today.” I told her, as I reached under the counter and hefted the heavy slab of life up onto the cutting board. I placed the carving knife an inch or so along the slab, then glanced at Martha flirtatiously, twitching my eyebrows rapidly, smiling broadly.
“Oh, you are such a tease, Mister Godfrey.” She chuckled, as she waggled her finger, indicating that I should move the knife up a bit.
“A thicker slice than usual today then Martha? You must be ravenous.”
“Oh I am, Mister Godfrey, I am indeed, I just can't seem to get enough of it”
“There you go Martha.” I said, handing her the wrapped slice of life. “You'll enjoy that, it's prime quality, nothing but the best for you my dear.”
“Why thank you kindly Mister Godfrey, must dash now, I have all sorts of things to do today. See you again tomorrow.”
“Bye dear.” I called after her. Lovely lady.
I love the life that they have given me, and like I said, I wouldn't swap a single day of it, even if I could.
I'm hoping that this experiment is a success, and that them up there decide to expand it to a global level, I think it could be a real winner.
©2012 Stephen. J. Green.
Thursday, 26 April 2012
Killing fields
Last week I came across the #SatSun Tails on Rebecca Clare Smith's Journal, a weekly competition of 150 words, including a photo prompt and a written prompt. On impulse, and just for the fun of the involvement I wrote this short piece and posted it.
Accompanied by this photo was the written prompt :-
“Forget what they plant in the killing fields.”
I didn't manage to earn a place, but did qualify for a constructive critique, which is always appreciated, and I did enjoy taking part in the competition too.
The overall winner this week was Jeffrey Hollar at “The Latinum Vault”. His entry was a beautifully written piece entitled “Her absent lover.”
You can find Jeffrey's story and all the other entries here:-
10th #SatSun Tails. Competition entries.
10th #SatSun Tails. Competition results.
* * * * * * * * * *
KILLING FIELDS.
“Forget what they plant in the killing fields.” An order, not a request.
Forget indeed!
I hefted the heavy axe high above my head, then brought it down as hard as I could, burying it deep into his skull.
“How the hell can I forget when they come to visit me every full moon?” I shrieked at the falling form.
I dragged him outside and buried him alongside the others, fashioning a wreath of fern over his grave, adding the willow branch fetish.
“I'll be seeing you again, at the next rising, let's see what advice you can give me then, huh?
Looking over my shoulder at the house, I noticed a flicker of shadow pass the upstairs window.
I walked back inside, grabbing the axe before setting off up the stairs.
“Now we will see who gets to do the planting in future.” I whispered to myself.
©2012 Stephen. J. Green.
Author's note:- After reading the critique I decided to edit the ending slightly from the original story, hopefully it reads a little better now. :-)
Steve.
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