Haiku ~ The Wedding

Haiku ~ The Wedding

Today another Royal couple were created for the House of Windsor (or rather, Saxe-Coburg and Gotha, until the political change) and also for the paparazzi. After months of build up we will see further weeks of pictures of the wedding followed by the usual “is she pregnant yet?” speculation  for months on end up until the point at least two royal sproglets are dutifully produced to (Royal) Order.

Unsurprisingly, I didn’t watch the wedding, but instead decided to use the opportunity to celebrate the day by restarting my blog (yet again – I’ve been very busy) with the following haiku.

Enjoy, or not, the choice is yours!):

 

Worldwide coverage.

Amid pomp and vanity,

Privileged couple wed

160214_LoveIsAllYouNeed

Having said all this, I obviously wish them all the best for a long and happy future together.

~Richard

A Game of Perspectives

The King

170827_Chess1

He looked across his Kingdom to see his opponent in the distance, protected by his foot soldier. I have this covered, he thought to himself smugly. But the carefully planned trap was sprung, and to his horror the Knight bounded across to his left and hemmed him in the Rook’s grasp. It was all over. Checkmate. He slumped and fell to his knees.

~

The Queen

170827_Chess2

She stood to the edge of the court and observed her husband’s opponent. He had a smug look on his face, but she would soon end that. How dare he attack their city? She stood tall, clear in the knowledge that she was the most powerful player here. She didn’t even have to move this time. A barely perceptible nod to her Knight and their pre-planned trap was sprung. The color drained from their enemy’s face and he crumpled to his knees, defeated…

~

The Bishop

170827_Chess3

To be honest, this was the part of his role he disliked most. He had never really felt comfortable being brought into the battle. It seemed to go against his credo. Then again, the Kingdom had to be defended otherwise all his Good Work could not be continued. This had been a particularly hard fight. Looking at his fallen comrades and his bloodied broadsword he prepared for the next onslaught. Then he saw the Knight gallop towards the enemy in a bold move and suddenly it was over. He had lived to fight another day! But only after he had ministered to the wounded…

~Richard

 

Barriers

It was a choice she never wanted to make. In fact, choice wasn’t really the word for it. She had to do it. No-one in their right mind would give up a family, home, lifetime of work, a successful career as an engineer and a middle class job.  Unless they had no choice.

She thought back to the ones she had left behind, lost forever to the incessant bombardment. For what? A few square feet of a town that had been raised from the desert over a period of two thousand years, and now razed to rubble and would soon become sand again. That was why she had left. She had no-one left to save but herself.

How ironic that she was now standing on sand again, although this time with the sea foaming between her toes.

She looked up at the fence. So this was what salvation looked like?

170719_Barriers

~Richard

A Story – Reflectors

She couldn’t remember when she had first noticed the totem pole. She had just looked up from her dark lonely thoughts one day while walking down the street and seen it. Every day for the next month she had noticed that more items had been added. She didn’t know who was doing this, or when, as she had never seen anyone attaching anything to the lamp post, or even taking much notice of it. It was almost as if she was the only person to see it.

Today was her day, though. She had planned it for a week and finally plucked up courage.
As she twisted the blue beads into the wire she held her breath guiltily.

“Hello,” said a soft voice from behind her, ” I wondered when you were going to add something of your own…”

170607_Reflectors

~Richard

 

 

A Story – Keyhole Figures

It was only a brief vision, but it left him stone cold nonetheless. They had said that early in the morning, when the place was quiet that strange things happened near that door. He had been doing his regular rounds but was a little delayed when he passed the space. Maybe only ten minutes but it made all the difference. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up and and a deadening silence as he passed. Glancing over his left shoulder as he walked down the incline he saw the figures quite clearly. A young woman in a shawl and a small boy. They just stared at him as if they were expecting him to be someone else. Their gazes bored into him with longing. He blinked and they were gone, but he shivered and quickened his pace. He made up the ten minutes by the time he reached the end of his rounds. He would definitely not be late again…

170422_KeyholeDoorStory

~Richard

A Story – Taken

They’d left him only for a few minutes. He said he was tired so he sat on the old dentist’s chair to have a rest. They continued to search nearby but had spread out either side of the corridor so no-one could get him. Then there was the scream. They rushed back to find the chair empty and torn and piles of dust and plaster ripped from the walls. It had taken all of 10 seconds at the most and there was no sign of him whatsoever. Now they were only four of them left. Would they ever get out of this place and back to the sunlight?

170401_Taken.jpg

~Richard

A short story?

I wrote this originally as a six sentence story in March, 2016. Perhaps I was having a Nostrodamus moment…

It had started off as a boast, born from a late-night party with his friends, and had somehow mutated into an unstoppable train. At some point he was bound to be derailed; at least that’s what the pundits had opined month after month. But now he had arrived; admittedly by the skin of his teeth, but a win was a win nonetheless. His offensive rhetoric and inconsistent fomenting had made no difference, or had it? He had played a dangerous game and was quite surprised by how far he had been able to rally people’s rage to achieve his aim.

He felt exhilarated as the director called one last time, “We’re ready for your address, Mr. President,” tears welling in her eyes.

160303_Donald

~Richard

Santa Claus Story

The old man sat very still on the park bench, just as he had been requested. Although it was cold with the snow falling he wasn’t too bothered. After all the well spoken gentlemen had said he could keep the coat and the hat as long as they could capture his likeness on their photographic equipment. To be honest, he was grateful for a little attention too, although it was the clothing and the dime they had given him that was sure to help get through the next day or two.

They had seen him sitting there shivering and remarked about his beard and his blue eyes. He thought they were a little odd but then he wasn’t sure how the younger generation really acted any more. It had all been so different when he was their age.

160116_PDimage2

He remained in his position for about 20 minutes while the young men fiddled about with their contraption, moving large plates of glass in wooden frames back and forth in a serious manner. His stomach was rumbling now, but he sat like a statue, as he had promised. There was no way he was going to jeopardize this offer. Finally, they thanked him and he slowly rose, stamped his feet and headed through the snow to where he knew he could get a warm meal and a hot drink on this cold day.

© Richard Reeve, 2015

Short Story – Shattered View

Shattered View

It’s been over 6 months since I shared a photo related to the 52 week photography challenge but I didn’t share the short story I wrote to accompany the photo on my website. As it has been a while since I have shared a story on this blog I thought I would post it now in its entirety:

160429_Urban2

He looked out at the tops of the houses through the shattered window. The town was quiet now that it was daylight, although even the sun seemed to begrudge showing itself this morning. The battle had been unexpected, extremely violent but thankfully localized. Oh, and weird, to say the least. When the biker gang had ridden into town like some cowboy gangsters they hadn’t expected much resistance. They’d been before and got what they wanted without much trouble from the townsfolk. They hadn’t figured on the resentment that had been building up all year in anticipation of this day and so were totally taken by surprise when the doors of the convent burst open. The looks on their stunned faces were priceless, especially from their evil tattooed leader. He thought he was tough, but when faced with shotgun-wielding nuns screaming obscenities he, like the rest, was momentarily paralyzed with confusion. That’s all that was needed, as Mother Superior had predicted. The invaders had only managed one reflexive shot in response and it went high and broke the window up in the tower. And this gray morning the gravedigger was busy digging twelve holes…

© Richard Reeve, 2016

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