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Post 1614. Thursday January 11

Six Sentence Stories

As the faithful few conclude their random rendition of All Things Bright and Beautiful, Miss Pargiter mops her brow after enduring another battle with the wheezing church organ.

Standing in his pulpit, the Reverend Caruthers silently surveys the congregation which braces itself in nervous anticipation. "Beware the temptations of the flesh" he suddenly hisses, then as the veins in his forehead bulge, he explodes, spitting like a venomous snake. “Fornication, drunkenness; let not Satan determine your destiny for the wages of sin are certain death”

Farmer Fred visibly shrinks whilst three rows back, Postmistress Poppy's cheeks glow crimson.

After ten minutes of pointing, thumping, and ranting, the sermon is over and Miss Pargiter valiantly attempts to accompany the final rousing hymn, Peace, perfect peace, in this dark world of sin.

The cue word at this week's Six Sentence Stories is Wage.

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Post 1601. Thursday January 4

Six Sentence Stories

I came across this piece when I was reading back through my blog this morning. I wrote it eleven years ago. My, how time flies!

Exactly one year ago I set up this blog which was odd because to me folk who used computers as a hobby rather than for work were anoraks, nerds!

It started when I decided not to send holiday postcards but instead, keep a diary and once home, type them out, add some snaps and distribute them.

They went down well, and someone suggested I publish them on one of those bloggy things, then one thing led to another and before long I found myself making stories up.

Now like bloggers the world over, I think in prose and every situation in which I find myself becomes an essay in my mind, carrying me away into a world of words, sentences and paragraphs; I’ve become a nerd!

My first tales were pretty poor and all my efforts during the first couple of months have long since been deleted, but one year on, I am still tapping away on my keyboard at every opportunity and my sleeping hours get shorter and shorter.

So what will the next year bring, will I still be blogging in January 2007; who knows?

This week's cue at Six Sentence Stories is Start

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Post 1659. Thursday December 28

Six Sentence Stories

She sat in silent stillness reading her book, bathed in light from a lamp at her side. It was quiet, so so quiet and with every turn of the page, the story of suspense and terror gripped her more and more.

She shuddered and tugged her comfort blanket tight around herself and tighter still, so absorbed was she that she didn’t hear the door click open, and was completely unaware of someone watching her from the gloom of the hallway.

He began to creep closer to her, closer and closer, then without a sound reached across and flicked the switch plunging the room into sudden total darkness. She gasped as her book fell to the floor.

He touched her arm; she could feel the warmth of his breath on her ear, then he yelled…

...BOO!

This week's cue word is 'suspend'. I have taken the liberty of altering it slightly to 'suspense'. Am I forgiven?

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Post 1651. Thursday December 14

Six Sentence Stories

“So, here we are at your first classical concert and we have the best seats right in the middle, now remember, no singing along, no cheering, no waving your arms, ok?“

“Don’t think much of this tune” says he.

“It’s not the tune, they are tuning their instruments, they'll start playing soon” say I.

“Why are they still tuning their instruments?” asks he.

“They are not, this is the tune, I give up, we are going” I say.

“Excuse me, sir, excuse me madam, whoops your toes, pardon me please, oh dear, your sweeties, excuse me sir, sorry madam……....”

This week's cue at Six Sentence Stories is Tune

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Post 1647. Thursday December 7

Six Sentence Stories

It’s going to snow the weatherman said.

So I polished the bottom of a tea tray and put a tea cosy on my head.

I stuck my hands in some oven gloves and borrowed two of granddad's walking sticks.

I strapped tennis rackets to my feet and climbed to the top of the mountain hill.

Then I waited....and waited....and waited.

It rained.

This week's cue at Six Sentence Stories is Stick

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Post 1637. Thursday November 16

Six Sentence Stories

I quite enjoy being a statue, it’s great being able to watch people without them asking what I’m staring at.

Oh-oh, here come another lot, time to put on my stony-faced expression again...pardon the pun!

It was funny the other day, a bloke said to his wife ‘I wish you had a pair like that’ and he got a slap around the face!

Here come twenty old folk with the tour guide; “How interesting, goodness me, I say, well I never, that’s fascinating, isn’t she beautiful Doris?"

Wow, just look at him... try stroking my marble young man ...oooh, you cheeky boy!

Oh good, the lights are going out and it’s time to join One Tit Tina and Noseless Nick for our nightly chat, and Headless Harry too – no doubt he’ll be talking out of his ass as usual.

This week's cue word at Six Sentence Stories is Marble.

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Post 1633. Thursday November 9

Six Sentence Stories

For the uninitiated, The Great British Bake Off is a baking competition and one of the most viewed programmes on UK television!

On day one I baked a fruit cake which tasted horrid, but the judge thought it was fantastic, so that was OK.

On day two I baked a pie but I couldn’t find twenty-four blackbirds so I made do with a dead pigeon that I found by the roadside.

Day three I made scones like cannonballs, day four I knocked up a loaf of bread that needed a chainsaw to cut it and on day five I made half a dozen buns thinking it was day six.

Day six I tried making meringues, and I did that thing where you check if its thick enough by holding the mixing bowl upside-down over your head, but I ended up looking like a human snowman.

On day seven I had a day off and on day eight I made my showstopper, a cake that should have looked like a bunch of roses but ended up more like a pile of doggy-doo.

On day eight I was declared the winner, which was unsurprising since I was the only contestant and also the judging panel, but I’m really proud of my achievement.

The cue at Six Sentence Stories is Baked.

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Post 1630. Friday November 3

Six Sentence Stories

‘Another invention?’

‘Yep, what do you think?’

‘I don’t know, what is it?’

‘A parachute with a submarine attached so soldiers can jump out of a plane and head for the enemy shores unseen’

‘What’s it called?’

‘A subsichute’

For Six Sentence Stories where the cue this week is Substitute.

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Post 1625. Thursday October 26

Six Sentence Stories

Readers of an American persuasion may be offended by the following, and for this the author sincerely apologises...sorry, apologizes!

Hey ma'am, houza about me ‘n you head'n downtown for som‘a that southern fried chicken?

Bertram, for the last time, will you please stop putting on that accent, you are watching far too

many American television shows but if you promise to behave I’ll take you to McDonald's for a burger, but there's to be no more talking like a cowboy.

Hey woman, it’s is just the way I is, though on second thoughts Patricia, I think  I’d prefer fish and chips and a glass of Sauvignon Blanc.

Don’t you mean fish and fries and a soda?

Yea-ha, now you’ze at it too honey child!

I sometimes wonder why I married you Bertram, come on.

This weeks cue is Menu and I have taken the liberty of de-constructing it whilst still sticking to a foody story!

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Post 1620. Thursday October 19

Six Sentence Stories

Reginald Fletcher, Retch to the locals, always took part in the annual Yard of Ale contest at the Runt in Tun public-house,  every time coming last; the contest just wouldn't be the same if he came anywhere else!

He’s passed on to the great pub in the sky now but they still talk about the last time he took part.

Picture the scene; Retch hoisted the lengthy vessel to his mouth and with a slow gulp gulp gulp began to drink it’s frothing contents.

Sixty-eight seconds later he finished, and he let out a massive ‘huff’ the force of which sent his false teeth barreling down the glass tube, becoming jammed partway down.

Despite the best efforts of his friends, Retch’s gnashers refused to budge and they remain there to this day.

This evening before this year's contest takes place, they will be raising their glasses to the yard of ale horn complete with Retch’s teeth on the shelf above the bar.

This week's cue at Six Sentence Stories is Yard.

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Post 1615. Thursday October 12

Six Sentence Stories.

She lives alone in a little wooden shack nestled deep in the middle of the forest, isolated from the frenzied existence of townsfolk and at one with nature and the creatures of the undergrowth.

In this place, everything she needs and all she desires surrounds her, and she covets the silence; no need to speak for there's no one to hear.

One misty moist morn she stands in her doorway, entranced by droplets of dew sparkling on slender blades of grass and dancing upon quivering cobwebs.  

Her eyes are drawn to a hazy apparition rippling midst the aged oaks; a spirit perhaps for spirits are said to dwell among these trees.

Mesmerised, she drifts outside, barefoot, head held high, arms outstretched then glances over her shoulder before fading away into the hoary miasma.

The end, a new beginning, who knows?

This week's cue at Six Sentence Stories is Spirit

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Post 1612. Thursday October 5

Six Sentence Stories

‘It gone mistaire, it gone’ he shouted so I asked him what had gone and he said ‘Carrot... fluid.’

I asked if he’d lost his carrot juice and he said ‘No mistaire. Cadge it open, carrot fluid away’.

My befuddled expression told him he was failing to communicate so he had a go at role play by flapping his arms and squawking ‘bastante polly, bastante polly!’

My limited knowledge of Italian told me that bastante meant pretty, and polly meant..well, polly - pretty polly, so his carrot was a parrot, the cadge was a cage and the bird fluid… I mean flew away!

He suddenly pointed skyward so I diverted my gaze in the direction of his digit to see a parrot rapidly descending but unfortunately, it chose that moment to excrete some poop which splattered on my cheek.

‘Bastante Polly’ it shrieked; bastante wasn’t the B word I was thinking!

The cue at this week's Six Sentence Stories is Fluid

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Post 1610 . Thursday September 28

Six Sentence Stories

Just ten steps more, nine, eight, seven, six... then he tripped and quickly grabbed the handrail to avoid falling back down into the stairwell with his cherished cargo. He felt his arms were giving way, but he would not give up, not now, he was so close.

Reaching the top of the stairs, he knelt resting the priceless load on his knee as he fumbled for his keys then juggled them in his free hand until he found the one which would let him into the apartment. With all his strength he rose to his feet, pushed the key in the lock and with a twist of the knob the door flew open slamming against the wall.  

A triumphant smile illuminated his sweat-drenched face as he carried his precious bundle over the threshold, lowered it to the floor and lay down alongside, exhausted but elated. “Thank you so much,” he said, “for becoming my wife today, but that’s the last time I carry you anywhere!”

The cue at this week's Six Sentence Stories is Up

*Ancients believed that evil spirits, in a last-ditch effort to curse the couple, hovered at the threshold of their new home, so the bride had to be lifted to ensure that the spirits couldn't enter her body through the soles of her feet. These days, it's just fun!

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