Moved!!

MULLEDVINE.COM

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New Blog

Just to let you know that it will go a bit quiet on the blogging front as I am moving all my blogs to mulledvine.com. Feel free to have a preview but it is a bit rough still, particularly the logo (since I have very few artistic skills!)

Love

She lay in the hospital bed, a little thing in a sea of white, golden hair bedazzling her plain pillow, and I could see the concern in her eyes; it was not surprising as this was her first time in hospital.
She turned to me, “Daddy, will I make Timmy better?”
I smiled, “Yes, love, your bone marrow will make Timmy much, much better.”
She returned a brave little smile and continued, “I'm glad …”
I could sense she had something on her mind so I asked, “What is it, love?”
“Will it hurt … I mean … when I die?”


(Fictional Six Sentence)

Fetch!

“Fetch the ball, Tess!” I shouted, hurling the ball with the all my might; I have a bright yellow ball thrower that is perfect for the job, able to throw the ball well over a hundred yards. Tess shot off, tail between her legs, leaving a trail of dust as she bounded off after the ball. My aim was a little off, or perhaps it was the wind, but the ball curled left and plunged into the bushes. Tess dived in and was not seen for a good few minutes, eventually returning not with the ball but a hand in her mouth! In horror I called her over and inspected the hand – it was a woman's hand with a wedding ring, a familiar ring in fact, and I was surprised because I thought it would have decayed more by now.



(Fictional Six Sentence)

Slaves

'In war,' answered the weaver, 'the strong make slaves of the weak, and in peace the rich make slaves of the poor.

- Oscar Wilde's "The Young King"

The Otter Woman

I lay on my back in the water, floating serenely underneath the cotton wooled blue sky. On my stomach lay the remnants of a delicious fresh water crab I had had just crushed with a stone and eaten on the spot. I considered brushing it off but really couldn’t be bothered – the moment was too perfect.

A harsh cry broke the stillness, “Heeeeenry!!!”

It was her, the otter woman, the woman I’d left my faithful wife for, the one I’d eloped with, the one I’d married, and now the one I was enslaved to.

“Heeeeeenry, why the hell haven’t you taken out the garbage again??”




(Fictional Six Sentence)

Lola

This was the place: derelict building, at the end of the alley, last door on the left, the guy had said. Mind you, he had been very drunk and took two full unsteady minutes to examine the photo I showed him before answering, “That's Lola for sure, not that you'd recognise her; you her father or summat?” I nodded and gave him all my available cash before moving on; this was the end of my search, many months of wandering the streets at night, peddling the picture of my little girl, trying to avoid trouble. I pushed the door open and climbed the stairs, covering my mouth because of the putrid stench of urine-washed vomit, finally arriving at what was her room. I hesitated before pushing the door open, dreading what I might find. She lay there, my angel, pride of my heart, cold and immobile, gone.



(Fictional Six Sentence)