Saturday, 17 December 2016

The Plastic Cat


Image result for black plastic cat









                It comes down every Christmas.




Dad says it fell from Santa's sleigh during the great storm and I believed him, until that year Hissing Sid at the Black Bull told me he'd had won it in a game of Rummy.



I hate the plastic cat. I don't why why we still put it up. 








Dad says it reminds him of Mum because she fussed over it like it was a real cat. It sits on the mantelpiece and looks at me. He's never like me, because he knows what I did to Mum and why nobody ever found her body.





                                        


                                           (C) Ally Atherton 2016










Written for this week's 100 word challenge over at Thin Spiral Notebook. Hosted by Tara Roberts. Give it ago. It's a great way to meet other writers.












Writers' Soapbox. A Facebook group for all writers.




Tuesday, 13 December 2016

Justice




Image result for gum










I'm not going to find it rummaging through the top drawer in the kitchen, full of weeping batteries, silly string, short fuses and take away menus. Everybody has a drawer like that but it doesn't contain the thing I am looking for.

I'm not going to find it, either, in a convenience store and the postman isn't going come knocking on the door asking me to sign for it.




Only you can give it to me. But you're stuck inside my head. Like a small piece of chewing gum.






Stuck in Nineteen Eighty Four with your hands around my neck.







                                         (C) Ally Atherton 2016








Written for this week's prompt over at Thin Spiral Notebook, hosted by Tara.



Give it a go. It's fun and a great way to meet other writers.




Friday, 25 November 2016

Black Friday














                    Don't they look ridiculous?






All dressed up like a dog's dinner.



The language is terrible,

you should hear the words that they come out with.



All because they want something and they don't want
anybody else to have it. I'm sick



of the drama and the tantrums. 






The snot rolling down from their upturned noses. 




I'm happy when I can put them back where they belong.







Back into the cellar. Out of sight and out of mind. 

They've had their daily exercise and so have I. Nothing else to argue about except who will be the next to stop breathing.







                                          (C) Ally Atherton 2016







Written for this week's  100 word challenge, hosted by Tara 


over at 


Thin Spiral Notebook




Monday, 7 November 2016

Novel







Image result for ghost eyes








There's somebody writing the story of your life right now.



It's a thick book and it's getting thicker every second and every minute. He never stops. Even when you're sleeping he's measuring every inch of drool, every single thought and every tiny undetectable rapid eye movement. Each sigh, each gasp, as you stumble, pigeon toed and wade knee deep through the subterranean world of your dreams.




Close your eyes and you may hear him. 


Exert yourself. Spin around, somersault, throw out a well timed kick and you may successfully catch him in the balls. Because he's naked.



They all are.




     
                                                


                                           (C) Ally Atherton   2016







100 words written for this week's 100 word challenge, hosted by Tara over at Thin Spiral Notebook


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Sunday, 19 June 2016

Undercover










Being the first human being ever to be born with X Ray vision I would have made a wonderful brain surgeon.



My fame would have travelled far and wide. One day you would have found my eyes staring at you from the surface of a ten dollar bill. When I am dead and buried somebody no doubt would build a statue of me. Somewhere suitable. Times Square. Miami Beach. Or perhaps somewhere out of harms reach like Zocalo or next to a rusty well in the middle of the Yemen.



But brain surgery isn't for me. I prefer to keep my talents to myself. Why waste it when I can enjoy it?

You can't beat sitting on a warm beach with a good book, a cold beer and several hundred scantily clad women walking around totally oblivious to the fact that I can see everything. Some days I prefer a busy tube station. A hospital forecourt. Nothing gets in the way. No coat is too thick. No scarf too tightly stitched.





Who the hell wants to be a statue anyway? School girls giggling at your triple chin. Sea gulls forever shitting on your fat bald head.








                                                                         (C)  Ally Atherton 2016










Written for this week's Sunday Photo Fiction Challenge



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Saturday, 18 June 2016

Forever









                         'Who's a good boy?'





He was fed up of forever being dragged around by that bunch of muppets. After you've experienced one haunted castle too many, enough is enough.

He was getting old and weary. Thin and hungry. And all the weirdos ever fed him were those silly little snacks that wouldn't fill a house fly. The bastards.


Fed up of chasing grown men dressed up as werewolves it was time for Scooby to retire.


'Who's a good boy?'



Well this gullible idiot obviously. He jumped up. It was all over in a flash.



He went straight for Shaggy's neck.










                  (C) Ally Atherton 2016






100 words written for the the 100 word challenge hosted by Tara at



Thin Spiral Notebook




Why not give it a go and check out the rest of this week's entries?






Wednesday, 8 June 2016

Karaoke In The Forties








 

At Grandma's house you had to sing to let everybody know you were on the toilet.


I remember the outside loo with the cut up squares of newspaper hanging from a string on a nail that somebody long ago drilled into the cold damp walls. But most of all I remember Granddad's lifeless body lying on the floor after Grandma hit him with the coal shovel.


Is there anything worse than dying in the middle of a crap whilst you're singing The White Cliff's of Dover?



 

The war didn't kill him. Grandma did. Granddad loved Vera Lynn way to much.






                                                                               C) Ally Atherton 2016










100 Words written for this week's challenge over at Thin Spiral Notebook 

 




Check out the other entries and why not give it a go? It's a great way to discover new writers.