By Ulla
The day started as any other. My husband came down for breakfast. While I prepared our morning fare, he made his tea in silence, as he always did. He didn't say much, but then again, he never did.
I finished what I was doing and brought our breakfast out to the terrace. He'd poured me a glass of orange juice, which surprised me. He never usually did. I was puzzled, but didn't say anything. I'd never been much of a talker in the mornings either.
"I want a divorce," I heard him say, and I almost choked on my coffee.
| Author Notes |
Exactly 100 words.
Thanks to steveANH for the use of the artwork. |
By Ulla
Who has ever laid eyes on a pink dragon like me? I can spend hours just admiring myself in the mirror. I know, dragons don't normally believe in the pink variety, but the minute they see me, I've got their attention. I just flutter my eyelashes, and I have them in my claws.
But one day, disaster struck.
He was so handsome, a real hunk of a male dragon, and I flashed him my usual eye work, which usually has such a great effect.
He gave me a once over:
"Whoever painted you in that ridiculous colour!"
By Ulla
a cacophony
of yellow cabs' honking horns
mild chaos ensues
By Ulla
A few years back, George and I found our dream house in Southern California. San Diego was not far away yet the house was set on the lower slopes of the hills overlooking the sea, and beautifully remote. The property was surrounded by rhododendrons sloping down the hills, and the house itself was gorgeous.
It had a distinct Spanish/ Mexican feel to it, and most importantly was within our budget. As the estate agent took us through the French doors into the huge garden, he pointed out a bell hanging beside the door. It was made of solid brass and when I looked at it more closely I saw it depicted a Mexican man, his big hat quite obvious.
"It's very old." The estate agent said. "It's been there since the house was built back in 1845 and nobody has ever removed it."
I turned to George. "I love all of it, let's put in an offer. Please, it's the perfect place to get back to after our honeymoon. Please, please do say yes."
George looked at me. "Yeah, Alice, you're right. It is very beautiful and close enough for work, and all amenities. Let's go for it."
A month later we signed and took possession of the house and the deeds.
Now, two years later, I found myself in our beautiful kitchen standing at the marble sink cleaning up after breakfast and preparing Claire's bottle for when she needed her next feed. The French doors were open. It was a mild spring day, the sweet scent of new growth wafting in through the open doors, and life was good. I knew George would phone from work in a couple of hours. He always did. I smiled to myself and was about to turn away when I saw the man. He just stood there and looked in on me.
My first inclination was to scream, but there was something about him that kept me frozen in place. To my surprise, I didn't feel threatened. His gaze never left me, but he still didn't make a move. It would have been easy enough to enter as the doors were wide open, but he never made any attempt.
I eyed my cell phone and started to edge towards it, and yet the man was frozen in the same spot. All he did was watch me. It was eerie.
I reached out for the phone, but he didn't seem to react. The whole thing was weird. I punched in 911 all the same but didn't connect. I had it on the ready, though.
An irrational thought entered my head of how handsome he was with his jet-black hair and deep-set dark eyes set off by a stong jawed face. A man in his prime.
He suddenly turned his head looking straight at the heavy bell hanging next to the door, and I saw what I hadn't noticed before. The clothes. The clothes he was wearing gave me the clue. I realised they were not from this century nor from the last. I knew I was looking into history, and as if to confirm it, he gave me a slight nod, and then ... then he was gone. Just like that.
How I got back to the sofa I will never know, but when I sat down the tears rolled down my cheeks. What I'd just seen was a ghost. A ghost who was checking on his property, or maybe on the new owners. Christ, how could I ever tell anybody about this, let alone George? I would be certified for sure. I didn't believe in ghosts anyway. Did I?
Four hours later I heard George come in. "Hi Honey, Where are my two princesses this afternoon, and why didn't you answer my call earlier on? You had me worried." He stopped short when he saw me slumped on the sofa with a sleeping Claire in my arms.
"What's wrong, Alice? You look as if you've seen a ghost."
I burst into tears. "George, that's exactly it. What am I to do? You won't believe me and nobody else will."
"Shh, Alice," George said. "Tell me all about it."
And so I did. When I'd finished my tale, all George did was to stroke my hair and gaze lovingly at our sleeping daughter.
"So you've had a visit from him as well?"
I looked at him sharply. "What do you mean by that, George?"
"Alice, I've seen him a couple of times."
"Why ever didn't you tell me?"
"I didn't want to frighten you, and all I think he's doing is looking after his old property. He's a handsome chap, dont you think?"
| Author Notes | Thanks to avmurray for the use of the artwork. |
By Ulla
We were travelling in my parents' car somewhere in the heart of France when it happened. What I do know is that we were well south of Paris. We'd just spent two to three days there, but other than that, I will never be able to say where it took place.
We were on our way to Spain and I was excited, because this time it'd been decided to go not only to Madrid, but well beyond and down to Andalucia.
I was nine years old and a very happy girl, who loved to travel. I was adopted into a family who pursued adventurous holidays all the time, always planning where to go next. It was to shape my life, but at the time, I couldn't and didn't know that the travel bug was also in my genes. Something I was to learn much later in life.
Anyway, there we were driving through the lush landscape of the heart of France, which in my innocent eyes became more and more exotic. Palm trees there was not, but somehow it had a distinct Mediterranean feel about it. Cyprus trees appeared and eucalyptus trees started to show as well. The enormous Hibiscus bushes were in full flower showing off their vivid colours. That alone told me we were well into the south.
And that's when it happened. I was sitting in the back seat leaning forward taking great interest in the surroundings. My father drove and my mother, of course, was sitting in the passenger seat next to him. Next to me in the back seat sat my grandmother. She was always with us during our travels.
We always shared a room, my grandmother and I, and the best way I can ever describe her was how great a pal she was. So full of joy and always there for me. I loved her to bits. I can still hear her laughter. It peeled off like pearls on a string. What is more, she was also very beautiful. Tall, black hair and the straightest back I've ever seen. Her husband, my grandfather, whom I never knew, died in 1946, and she never remarried.
I adored her. She was my friend.
Well, but back to the story. We were driving along. I sat poised looking out of the front window when I half shouted.
"I've been here before. I know what is beyond the bend farther down the road!"
My mum turned her head. "Don't be so silly. You've never been here before, and neither have we. So how would you know what's beyond the bend?"
"But, I do know. There will be this big square stone house, appearing yellow in colour and surrounded by some huge trees. All lush and beautiful. It will have towers, no wait, what do you call it?. Yes, I got it now. Turrets, isn't it? There's also a very long driveway lined with very tall trees, their trunks in an off white and brown colour."
Oh, I was so excited.
And then ... then we reached the bend in the road, and there it was, just as I'd described it. How could I've possibly known?
Well, that will forever be a mystery.
What I do know, and what I will always remember, is that nobody spoke for the longest time. We drove on in silence, until it was time to stop for lunch. The incident was never ever mentioned again.
Is this the only time, it happened to me? No, it is not. Throughout my life it's occurred to me a few times.
| Author Notes | Thanks to supergold for the use of the artwork. It comes very close to what it really looked like. Uncanny! |
By Ulla
It was an October day in 1943, and life was not good.
It was also a day Elise would never forget.
She worked for the Goldman's looking after their two small children, Eric, who was four, and baby Marianne, who was not yet a year old. The Goldman's were also Jews.
Mr Goldman worked for a bank and Mrs Goldman went to various committee meetings which could take several hours. She was usually home in the mornings, and that was the time Elise did the shopping.
Mrs Goldman had just left, and Elise was busy peeling potatoes at the kitchen sink. The children's laughter could be heard from the living room, and as she glanced out of the window, the memory of the morning's happenings came back to her. She'd been shopping trying to get whatever food she could find with 'the ration card'. Just thinking of it made her shudder.
It was a typical October morning, dull and cold, and it had been hectic. Everybody wanted to take advantage of the short day, before the daylight started to fade. By then, the black curtains were drawn and the city would resemble a bleak ghost town shrouded in black. The only sounds being heavy boots on asphalt from the German soldiers. An odd shot and an explosion now and again could be heard in the distance. It was the resistance groups who blew up vital targets such as train rails to disrupt the German's advance as best they could.
She knew, because she was part of one of the groups, and tonight she was going to a meeting with them. She just hoped there would be no air raid before leaving. It was bad enough to move about without being detected by the enemy, it was also a dangerous game of cat and mouse at times.
Denmark was occupied by the Germans for the third year running, and things were going from bad to worse. Once again Elise shivered when she thought of the morning's event. It'd been a close call. She'd been at the market and almost finished the shopping when a piece of paper had been thrust into her left hand, the one not carrying any bags of food.
That, in itself, was not scary and she'd half expected to be handed instructions for tonight's raid. As always, she was also quite excited about it, because it meant she would meet Paul. They didn't get many opportunities to see each other of late. It was getting increasingly risky and more dangerous all the time.
No, it was what happened on the way home on the tram that shook her. After reading the instructions, she'd shoved the small piece of paper into her pocket. She would burn it the minute she came back to The Goldman's home.
Elise sat on the tram when two SS soldiers approached and made to enter.
"Achtung! Attention!" they shouted as one. "Identity Papers." They shouted again as one.
What to do? She had to be quick. They couldn't be allowed to find the piece of paper. Apart from her own demise, they must not get to know about the meeting. If one of the passenger's paperwork was not in order, or worse, was found to be a Jew, they would all risk a body search. Her fingers in her pocket crumpled the paper into a small ball. She lifted her hand to her mouth, and while she pretended to cough, she put it in her mouth. She swallowed once ... and then again, and it was gone.
Her hands trembled, as she fumbled in her bag for the identity papers. It was difficult to get hold of it. But by the time the SS man reached her she'd calmed somewhat. He studied the card, then her face, and then back at the card again. Finally, he handed it back to her and turned to the next passenger.
Soon after they'd left the tram empty-handed. All papers had been found in order.
She was relieved when she'd finally let herself into the house. "Oh, hello, Elise, did everything go to plan?" Mrs Goldman watched Elise with genuine concern. "Yes, Madam, everything went just fine." The last thing Elise wanted was to upset her employer.
"That's great. See you later this afternoon then." And with that, Mrs Goldman left.
Now, the potatoes finished, Elise was about to turn to the stove, when she heard a car coming to a screeching halt out on the street. She immediately knew that it was the SS. Potatoes forgotten, she ran into the living room. She grabbed the baby in no gentle manner which must have surprised Marianne so much, she didn't even start to cry. She'd sensed something was very wrong. Elise quickly said to Eric. "SS, quick, upstairs, wardrobe!"
She had often played the game with him to see how fast he could run up the stairs and hide in his parents' big wardrobe. And now, Eric ran as if his life depended on it ... which it did. He'd realised the mortal danger he was in.
Elise ran back to the kitchen. Baby in her arms. The two black uniforms, the trademark of the SS, walked up the driveway. What to do with Marianne? There was no time to think. Elise opened the double doors under the sink and shoved the baby unceremoniously behind the big rubbish bin and Marianne disappeared out of sight.
"Shush, don't utter a word and no crying, do you hear!" She had no idea whether the toddler had understood. After closing the doors she grabbed the potatoes and returned them to the sink, so it looked as if she was working on them.
And the SS men were at the door. Two loud bangs followed. "SS here. Open up," one of them shouted.
Elise swallowed hard for the second time that day, but was otherwise strangely calm. It flashed through her mind how thankful she was for her blonde hair and blue eyes.
She turned to the door, and was just about to open it, when two more loud knocks hit the door.
On opening it, the two men pushed her aside and walked in.
"What do you want?" Her calmness even surprised herself. "I'm all alone. The family is away for the day and won't come back before tonight." Whether they understood her, she had no idea.
They didn't give her an answer. One disappeared up the stairs, and the other went through the rooms at ground level. Elise stood rooted to the spot in front of the sink. She could hear things being moved about upstairs and expected to hear Eric's screams any minute.
Nothing.
Soon after both SS men were back in the kitchen, looking not too happy. They did the Nazi salute. "We'll be back." And with that, they left.
Their car pulled away, and she let out a breath of pent up air realising she'd hardly breathed while they were there. She still didn't move, the SS being renowned for coming back, when the occupants thought themselves safe. Not knowing for how long she'd been waiting she bent down to retrieve Marianne. The baby was sound asleep, bless her, and she left her where she was. More time passed by, and she finally decided it was safe to wake up Marianne and go fetch Eric. When Elise opened the door to the wardrobe she couldn't see him.
"Eric? Eric are you there?" Still no answer. She bent down and lifted the blanket at the bottom of the wardrobe, and ... and there was Eric looking up at her with wide open eyes, paralysed by fear. He took her outstreched hand, and they made their way down to the kitchen.
Once there, Elise fetched Marianne and they sat down on the big bench, Elise's arm around Eric and Marianne cradled in her other arm. They all cried silent tears.
And that was how the Goldman's found them a couple of hours later.
The very same night, the family was brought to Sweden and to safety in a small fishing boat.
They left everything behind.
Elise never saw them again.
| Author Notes |
Ca 1441 words
The story is based on true events. Elise was my mother. On October 1,1943, Adolf Hitler ordered Danish Jews to be arrested and deported. Despite great personal risk, the Danish resistance movement, with the help of many ordinary Danes managed to evacuate 7,220 of Denmark's 7,800 Jews plus 686 non-Jewish spouses, by sea to nearby neutral Sweden. They were sailed in fishing boats and in many cases rowed to Sweden in the shelter of the night. 99% of Denmark's Jewish population survived the Holocaust. |
By Ulla
It had been a long day, and Jeanette was very tired. At eighty-five, she was not as strong as she used to be, but she couldn't complain either. She had all her faculties and was reasonably fit. Of course, she walked at a very sedate pace now, but that was to be expected.
A lot of her contemporaries had either died or sat wilting in some nursing home. At least she was blessed with her own home and surroundings, which she had enjoyed for the last fifty years or so.
As she gazed out at the garden, she thought about her visit to the solicitor earlier in the day. They had drawn up her will, or rather, an amendment of the existing one. A long process, but one that couldn't be avoided. She chuckled, when she thought about the lawyer's expression.
"Are you sure this is what you want, Mrs Hamilton?"
"Oh, yes, I'm quite sure. I've thought it over long and hard, and this is how it's going to be. You may say, what does it matter? But, to me it does matter. I know ... I'll be six foot under, but I've not achieved this much, and then to see it be squandered away by my careless children. I want to divide everything between my grandchildren. My children are not getting a penny. Please, don't look at me like that. I can assure you, I wouldn't be able to die in peace, if I didn't do this."
Old Mr Samuelson's lips curled in what resembled the beginning of a smile and nodded.
Her children only ever visited if there was something they wanted from her, and, to be honest, she was dead sick and tired of it. But, she was not going to let her grandchildren down. They were innocent in the grander scheme of things.
And now, as she sat at her desk, she looked at herself in the mirror and smiled while she reflected on her life. It had been great and a happy one.
Would she like to be young again? Oh, yes, that she would like to be, and do everything all over again, without a change to be made. How wonderful it would be to live through her life once again. It had been such a rich one with a lot of ups, and with its fair share of downs. The ups far outweighed the downsides. However, she'd always said, a life without downs would be a hollow one. It was from adversity you learned to appreciate the positive.
So, there wasn't a great deal she would have done differently. Well, the divorce from her first husband could have been less messy. On the other hand, it had all turned out alright in the end. Divorcing him would still be what she would have done today. There was no denying it.
She'd fallen out of love, and spent two years fighting the urge to leave. And only because of their daughters. You just don't walk away when there are children involved. That's what she'd always thought and still did. But, it had become complicated in the end.
Jeanette still remembered when David walked into the paddock where she tended to her horse. They'd been on a great ride out, and she was hosing him down. She could see from her husband's grim face something was not right.
"Jeanette, please, stop what you are doing. We need to talk."
"Okay, I'll be right there. Just give me a minute. JR only needs two minutes more before I let him loose."
Yeah, what a stupid name to give a horse, but the former owner had been too much of a fan of the Dallas television series. She didn't change his name either, as her beautiful stallion was indeed a rascal, but a likeable one.
"Okay, David," she said as she left the paddock. "What's up?"
She knew very well what was up, and what was to come.
"Jeanette, I want a divorce. I've had enough, and you know as well as I do that our marriage doesn't work any more."
He was right of course, so she didn't argue too much, and to be honest she'd been quite relieved it had finally come to a head.
They'd gone their separate ways, and a year later they'd been legally divorced. Their daughters had lived with her, but visited and stayed with their father as often as they wanted. The sharing of their daughters, at least, had never been an issue.
Some years later they'd both remarried and made a success of it.
And now, as Jeanette looked into the mirror, an old woman's face with some remarkable sparkling eyes looked back on her. Yet, behind all the folds and wrinkles, she could still make out the face of her youth.
Did she have a message to her younger self? No, not really. No, she could honestly say she wouldn't have lived her life differently. It'd been rich and full of adventure. She'd written her memoirs already for her family to read when she was no more. It was a colourful write, including her adventurous travels all over the world.
And once again she asked herself whether she would like to be young again. And for the second time the answer was a definite, yes. That ultimate illusion was alluring.
Jeanette stood up with a small sigh, not a sad one, but a sigh nonetheless. There was one thing, though. She missed Peter so much. Peter, her second husband. He'd left her far too early. She shrugged. It had been a long day, and now the bed called. Tomorrow was yet another day. Or so she hoped. At her age, you never knew.
| Author Notes | Please keep in mind that English is not my first language. I'm not asking for favours, but genuine help to improve my craft. |
By Ulla
I sit in my old, beloved chair by the window and I notice it is in tatters from being used nigh on forty years. The view through the tall wood framed window is still the same, and I suspect it will continue to be that way for many years to come.
Only the changing seasons alter the picture I see. Right now the trees are turning green and some forlorn flowers are opening their fragile petals which means that spring has arrived. Not many flowers to be sure, but they are there. This is what is left since you've gone ... yet to me it all feels the same.
I turn my eyes further down the driveway and in the distance, I make out the shape of the letterbox. It sits high on its pole watching for the postman who makes his rounds at the same time every day. He's not there yet, so I let my eyes wander up the way and with a start I notice the birds who are busy building nests in the trees framed by the bluest of skies. They twitter away without a care in the world and I sigh. I feel an irrational envy and the tears that fill my eyes run freely down my weather-beaten cheeks leaving the lovely scene in a blur.
Every day since you passed, I sit in my old chair and wait for the letter from you, the letter I know will never arrive. I am old and I am tired, but then, I close my eyes and the world turns back its clock and all I see is you and I remember.
The green dress swept around your lithe body, as you ran towards me, a bright smile on your face. Your twinkling eyes mesmerised me leaving me out of breath and I think I fell in love with you at that very moment. Your laughter, so enticing, begged me to follow and how could I not? I've followed you and I've loved you ever since.
We married, and made the promise before God that we would love and cherish each other. We were lucky and soon we were blessed with our first child. She was beautiful, but when we loved her most, disaster struck. Three weeks and she was gone. Our little baby perished. How could that be?
You turned to me and I remember your anguished voice.
"Why, please tell me why?" And I had no answer. All I could do was to hold you to transfer some of my strength, but I don't think I succeeded much.
After that, three more arrived. Two boys and another little girl. They were strong and they gave us an abundance of joy. We never forgot our little baby girl though. She stayed with us, buried somewhere deep within.
We experienced more adversity and always you stood by my side. There came the time when my business folded and we went bankrupt. Everything lost, house gone and we had to start all over again, but you, you were always there. It was hard, for you and the children and for me as well, but what I will never know is if you resented me. You never let on.
And so, we built up our life again and this time it turned out okay. Our children grew up and eventually left, leaving you and me behind, and our life returned almost to what it had once been. Until the final disaster descended.
The illness, the fatal disease presented itself, but in a gradual manner. I don't know and I never will, but maybe you kept it away from me. What I do know is that I never realised how ill you were until it was too late.
You were in the hospital and you lay listless in the bed watching me with a weary look. I took hold of your hand and brought it up to my tear stained face and between sobs I murmured, "I will always love you, remember my Darling, I will always love you." And then ... then you were gone.
So here I am in my old, familiar chair and look at the mailbox attached to its pole. I wait for the postman to pass by and I hope against hope that he will deliver that letter of yours.
I am waiting.
| Author Notes |
755 words.
Inspiration: Peter Hoegh, Miss Smilla's Feeling For Snow. Page 99, second paragraph 'From the chair where I'm sitting I can see the letterbox.' |
By Ulla
A snowstorm raged outside.
Hailstones, combined with strong winds, hit the fuselage causing the plane to lurch.
It was on approach for landing, and things were tricky, to say the least.
That's when all hell broke loose.
Everything tilted, overhead luggage fell everywhere.
I screamed!
And then ... there was darkness.
| Author Notes |
Thanks to booklotto for the use of the artwork.
50 words exactly. I was on that plane in 1975 as a cabin attendant, but have chosen to post it as fiction. I had many bad dreams for a very long time. Thanks to a quick reaction of the Captain the plane was saved. One day, I may tell the full story. |
By Ulla
How
could you
break my heart
so callously.
Go!
| Author Notes | Thank you to Linda Bickston for the use of the art work. |
By Ulla
I relived the row, and shuddered. The worst we'd ever had, and I knew I had to make it right.
It would be hard, and I didn't like it.
I rang the bell, and there ... there he was.
"Jason!"
"Have you made a decision?"
"Yes. I have. I'm having our baby!"
And then I was in his arms. I was home.
| Author Notes |
Thanks to photos4u2c for the use of the artwork
60 words exactly |
By Ulla
This is a very short notice to all my readers to let you know that we picked the last cherries this morning. We also proceeded to sell them all yet again, so that was a great end to the season..
The last three weeks have been hectic and some very long days as well. Up at six in the morning, and off picking at seven o'clock. I pick until half past ten to eleven, and then I start making up the boxes. Alan picks for another half an hour or so. We then have a quick coffee and after that a quick wash. We change into some clean clothes, and we're off delivering and selling.
We're normally back home just before two o'clock when we sit down with a well deserved drink. We live the Spanish way so we never eat until two thirty at the earliest. Three to three thirty is quite the norm. It's also our main meal of the day. After that we are bone tired. I go on FS and do some reviewing, and I also try to write a paragraph or two of my own writing, and then it's time for bed.
Oh I forgot to say, we also have to walk our dog. He has a run to roam around in, but he still deserves his walk.
The big catch up starts tomorrow. It's not only FS, which has suffered. We are so behind with everything else. The land needs turning over and our home needs a caring hand as well.
When there's cherries, everything else stops. It's a short season but all consuming.
I'm looking forward to get back to normal.
| Author Notes | Pedro, our friend, is picking cherries. We still need to get some photos of ourselves picking cherries. |
By Ulla
We zoomed down the motorway, as we drove through Germany. The year was 1956 and the zooming took place in an old, but respectful Ford, which managed an amazing 60 kilometres an hour if as much. We were en route to Italy, our final destination being Venice.
Truth to be told, I don't remember much of this racing down the autobahn. I was four years of age. One and half years after I'd been adopted by the couple who sat in the front seat while I shared the back-seat with my adoptive grandmother, who was to become my beloved grandmother. I think I already loved her to pieces by then. We were buddies, and were destined to stay that way for the rest of her life. A life that would last another thirty years,
Young as I was, though, I do remember when we entered Switzerland, the mountains bearing down on us. Coming from Denmark, I had never seen a mountain in my entire life of four short years, and nothing could have prepared me for the Alps. I just gawked.
As we climbed up the slopes, my parents explained we were heading towards the St.Gotthard tunnel. There we would be brought on to a train, car and all, which would take us through the tunnel and deliver us in Italy at the other end. Well, so far so good. But here was something else that nothing could have prepared me for. Something that would stay with me for the rest of my life.
The train looked like a cattle carrier. But come to think about it, that couldn't be right either. There was a locomotive in front, and behind it were flat carriages with poles sticking up from their floors. I could see the poles were there to prevent the cars from falling off. Some cars had already been loaded and soon, it was our turn.
Not long after, we started to roll into a big hole in the mountain side. Everything went pitch black. I could see nothing at all, not even my grandmother at my side. And then ... then I screamed. The next thing, I knew, was that I started to thrash about. I was terrified beyond belief.
"Shhh, Ulla," came the soothing voice of my grandmother. "Come here, girl, and put your head in my lap. I'll hold you all the way. Just close your eyes and I'll tell you a wee story."
I closed my eyes and concentrated on listening to her gentle voice. I could sense the train climbing, and after what felt like an eternity, it started on its descent, which proved to be another eternity. And then ... then finally, we entered daylight again. What a relief.
I was later to learn that the whole journey took a little more than an hour. I've never trusted tunnels ever since. A good thing, I didn't know I was to do that particular journey many more times.
And then, I don't remember much until we reached Venice. In reality, I don't even remember that. What I do remember, was that I'd been promised I could select any doll if I behaved through our journey. What a delight, and what a treat that would be. I was a little worried about the tunnel thing, though. Had I spoiled my chances?
The next thing that springs to mind, is the Italian family we met and had somehow befriended.
I still have this picture in front of my eyes of a wee rotund man with a mane of white hair. He was accompanied by his three beautiful daughters, and for some reason they'd all taken a shine to us. I suspect, I was the reason with my light reddish blond hair. A very uncommon sight in Southern Europe in those days. What I also remember is that they kept stroking my hair and never stopped exclaiming: Qui bella bambina, mi cara, or something to that effect.
Another thing, I will never forget either is the youngest daughter. Her name was Gabriella, and she was beautiful. Her jet black hair caressed her sweet face. She looked like a Madonna. Not that I actually knew what a Madonna would look like, let alone knowing one, but she paid me much attention and fed me sweets all the time. I adored her. I can still hear her laughter that made me think of white pearls on a string.
And then came the big day when I could have my doll.
We all entered this wee square shop, my parents and I, and my grandmother not to forget. It smelled of mothballs and behind the counter was another rotund man, but instead of his hair being all white it was black with some white streaks in it. However, what I most remember is that there were dolls from floor to ceiling on all four walls. I was mesmerised.
I turned to my parents. "Can I really choose anyone I like?"
"Yes, Ulla, "came the answer. "That you can."
I'd landed in paradise, and I couldn't believe my luck. My eyes soon fell on a light chocolate skinned doll with black long hair. It was beautiful. The owner of the shop beamed at me, and said something in rapid succession of which I didn't understand a word while he handed me the doll.
It turned out the hair was real hair. I just couldn't fathom my luck, and I named it Gabriella there and then.
It was to follow me all through my childhood, forever reminding me of its real namesake.
| Author Notes | Thanks to cleo85 for the use of the artwork |
By Ulla
"Did you hear that?" Mary abruptly looked up from the book she'd been reading, a startled frown creasing her brow.
"Hmm, what was that, Dear?" Harry asked. Absentminded as always, his face was buried in his beloved Sunday papers. Like every Sunday, he'd hardly moved all day. All he ever did was to walk round the garden after breakfast, and then settle himself in his favourite chair surrounded by all his papers.
Later on, he'd reluctantly amble over to the dining table to eat the light lunch Mary had prepared for both of them. Much to her annoyance, he'd never cease to send loving glances towards his abandoned newspapers. It almost drove her to distraction.
Now, after they'd eaten the re-heated leftovers from the night before, Mary finally sat down in the chair opposite him. After drawing the curtains, she settled in with a new novel she'd just started to read. And that's when she heard the sound.
"Harry, there's somebody outside."
"What do you mean there's somebody outside?" Harry finally looked up from whatever he was reading.
"I've just told you. Somebody tapped on the French doors in the other room, and I don't like it."
"Ah, Mary, don't worry. It's just a branch scraping one of the window panels in the wind."
"Don't be so silly," She almost snorted. "First, there's no tree anywhere near the door, and besides, there's no wind either. Will you please go and have a look."
"Well, it could've been an animal or something." But she now had Harry's full attention, and he couldn't hide the slightly worried expression on his face.
Just then came the sound of fingers rapping on the door.
"My God, Harry, what was that?"
"I've no idea, but I better go have a look who it might be." Harry didn't look as if he had the slightest desire to see who it could be, though.
"I ... I'll call the police right away. Oh Harry, plea ... please do be careful. Whatever you do, just don't open the doors." And with that, Mary went straight to the phone and dialled 112.
Meanwhile, Harry entered the room with the French doors. To his relief the room was in complete darkness, which gave him a slight advantage. He stopped to let his eyes adjust to the darkened room, when he heard the tap tap on the window frame again.
He peered out into the dark, but couldn't make out a thing. A shiver ran down his spine, and with a jolt, he admitted he actually felt fear. For goodness sake, he was a man. He shouldn't feel any fear, but right now, he acknowledged, he wasn't cut out for this.
And that's when he heard it again.
For a moment he almost forgot to breathe, and then it occurred to him. The rapping on the door was almost down at floor level. Unless whoever was out there was lying on the ground, then it had to be something else causing the noise.
Feeling a bit braver, Harry approached the door, straining his eyes to see what could be outside. At first, he didn't see anything, but then, suddenly, he saw a rounded stick tapping the lower window frame. He took a step back in fright, but kept peering out onto the dark. And he saw it again.
Now, wait a minute, that was not a stick. He could have sworn it looked like a paw. Harry took a couple of brave steps towards the door, and realised what he was seeing was a wee puppy with a paw braced for hitting the window frame yet again.
"Mary," he called as he opened the door to let the little dog in. "Call the police off. No need for any dramatics. Just come and have a look at this little fellow. I have a feeling we've got a new family member"
<><><><>
From that day on, the Sunday papers ceased to have the power over Harry, and Mary's long- suffering had come to a happy end.
| Author Notes | Thanks to cleo85 for the use of the artwork. |
By Ulla
He opened his eyes and gazed into a nothingness, which was so profound it gave him the shivers. He lay absolutely still. Only his eyes were moving, and all they registered was total darkness. A sense of panic started to creep in on him. Not a ray of light could be seen. His eyes darted about in the futile hope of discovering any kind of crack that would let some light to filter through. There was none. He was surrounded by a darkness that was not only black, but unforgiving. Was this how it was to be dead, he wondered?
He tried to move his arms. At least they were not restrained. He moved them and they hit a wall. He then tried the same with his legs, and the same happened. They hit a wall. That's when the truth hit him in all its horror.
He'd been buried alive.
| Author Notes | 150 words exactly. |
By Ulla
Angela sat bolt upright. Something had woken her, and it was not her baby.
She glanced at the cot next to her, and her little Sandra was peacefully asleep. A dim light was on in the bedroom to make it easier to orientate herself when Sandra woke for her nightly feed. But she'd already fed her and didn't normally get disturbed again before eight in the morning. Her baby was a good sleeper, bless her.
The clock showed half past five in the morning, so what had woken her? And that's when she heard a rustle outside the front door. She'd always doubted the expression that your hair could stand on end, but she could have sworn that's what it felt like.
She reached out for the pair of scissors on the night stand next to her, when she heard the sound again followed by a thump. She fumbled for the mobile. Where the heck was it? Her heart thumbed in her chest as the panic crept up on her. What to do?
A quick decision was needed. She had to confront the intruder.
She crept towards the front door, and that's when she saw the Sunday paper lying on the floor.
By Ulla
It was going to be a very long day.
I'd just checked into the dispatch at Copenhagen Airport, and was told to proceed to room 3 where the crew briefing would take place.
When I entered the room, all my colleagues were already there, and we greeted each other. The atmosphere was upbeat, because we'd flown together many times before. It was a good crowd, and a lively chatter went on until the meeting was called.
I was delighted when I learned I was going to work in first class. We all loved to work in first class on the Boeing 747. There was so much more room, and the galley was really big.
Our flight was almost full, but on that day there were only six passengers in first class. Experience, though, told me we would be busy all the same.
I went to my station and started to check the emergency equipment I was responsible for when the four pilots arrived, and after they'd greeted all the cabin crew, they disappeared upstairs to the cockpit.
Before I knew it, the time for the passengers to board had arrived, and I was serving champagne to our first five passengers when the last guest arrived to travel with us that day.
I did a double take when I first saw him. I'd heard about him, and I knew he was a regular with our company. Never the less, to see him in person was a shock. If you could imagine somebody coming straight out of the gutter, then that would describe him pretty well. Only thing missing was the smell to go with it, so I imagined he somehow washed. I looked down at his feet, and right enough, instead of socks he was wearing newspaper in his shoes.
I welcomed him aboard and showed him to his seat, which he gratefully accepted. I asked whether he would like a glass of champagne, but all he wanted was a glass of water.
"He's something else isn't he?" I said to my colleague in passing. All she gave me was a huge smile by way of answering. I shook my head in amazement. I didn't know what I'd expected, but this took my breath away. I'd had my fair share of strange passengers, but nothing had ever prepared me for this. How on earth was I going to deal with him?
Well, I suppose I'd just treat him like any other passenger. My personal feelings apart, I had to be professional, and in the end, that's what I decided to do.
The flight from Copenhagen to Los Angeles normally takes about ten hours, and that day was no exception. We kept asking our eccentric passenger whether he would like to have a taste of the delicious food we served to the other passengers. However, we asked to no avail. All he wanted was his glass to be filled up with water.
An hour out of Los Angeles I asked him one last time whether I could tempt him with any food short of filling up his glass with water.
To my astonishment, he looked me straight in the face and went on in his calm voice.
"Yeah, as a matter of fact, I do believe you could get me one thing. A Coup Danmark would go down very well."
I swallowed my surprise, and answered with a straight face. "Sir, I'll see what we can do."
As I entered the galley I confronted our steward, who also happened to be a proper trained chef.
"Daniel, you're never going to believe this. Our 'special' guest has just asked for a Coup Danmark! Can we manage that, somehow?"
"Ah, so he wants ice cold vanilla ice cream with hot chocolate sauce. Okay, if that's what he wants, that's what he'll be getting."
"Yeah, but Daniel, how are you going to do that?"
"Easy, my Dear. We've got plenty left of the Baked Alaska we served earlier. All I'll do is to take the Alaska away and that leaves me with the vanilla ice cream. Now, you bring me one of those big beautiful boxes of chocolate we sell to the passengers, and I melt it all into the warmest and sweetest chocolate sauce."
"Oh, Daniel, You are a star!" I giggled. "That'll show our special guest."
Five minutes later, Daniel had produced the most delicious dessert I'd ever seen. He handed it to me, but I shook my head, and gave it back to him. "No, Daniel, this is your show, so in you go ... I can't wait to see this, though." With that, he put on his white chef's hat matching the white jacket and entered the cabin.
<><><><>
I will never forget the expression of astonishment when Daniel presented his masterpiece.
| Author Notes |
Thanks to Neilnap773 for the use ofthe artwork.
In those days most stewards in Scandinavian Airlines were fully trained restaurant chefs, |
By Ulla
A wave
of white petals
sway gently in the breeze
whispering hapless words of our
sweet love.
| Author Notes | Thanks to awmurray for the beautiful artwork |
By Ulla
"You were put in my arms, and I was just so tired, yet, I looked down at you in wonder, thinking you were the best that had ever happened to me. I stroked your brown hair, and you watched me with your dark sleepy eyes as if to say: 'I know you'.
"Well, little one, I know you as well. After nine months in my womb, how could I not? You've bashed and kicked around in there, and in return you've heard me laugh and scold and sometimes cry. Yeah, the hormones played havoc with me at times. But now you're here.
"So, our introduction is over, and we will get to know each other a whole lot better during the coming months. I've just handed you over to a very handsome dark-haired guy, who is holding you as if you could break in two. He doesn't yet know you're made of much stronger stuff. He is your father. I notice you are looking at him with a quivering mouth, not yet knowing whether to give in to panic. I almost reached out for you but resisted the urge, and I'm glad I did, for a few moments later you settled into his arms and looked up at him with your beautiful deep pools of eyes in wonder. You'd both recognised each other, and the bonding had begun.
"But your time of revelation is not over yet, so I better prepare you. Granny and Papa will soon be here. They are my parents, and your grandparents on my side. They have been waiting for you with great expectation, and they can't wait to spend time with you. They would want you to stay with them as much as you could, but we'll have to tell them you need us first, your mum and dad, before we can leave you with them for any length of time.
"And then, of course, there's your grandparents on your paternal side. What they would like you to call them I'm not quite sure. Their names are Mary and Peter, but I'm certain they will tell you soon enough. I was never really good enough for your dad, but, hush, little one, that's not something I'm prepared to say out loud. At least not for a long while.
"This is enough for now. You don't have any siblings. You're the first born, and the rest of the family you won't see for a little while longer. So no need to reveal any more for now.
"Oh, look, they're all arriving. It's time for introductions."
| Author Notes | Thanks to avmurray for the use of the artwork |
By Ulla
She walked the gravel path with great care. Wet leaves from the looming oak trees littered the path making it slippery. The last thing she wanted was to fall and strain an ankle--or worse--break a leg.
Tears streaked down her wrinkled and weathered cheeks matching the sentiment of the wet morning. All she wanted was to reach his grave, and leave the white callas she'd cut from her favourite border at sunrise.
He'd been the perfect husband everybody had said, so that bit had to be true. Didn't it?
When they'd first met and started courting, all her friends had wondered how she could've landed such a prize.
Yeah, how indeed?
At first, it'd been bliss. The honeymoon a dream she could never have imagined, and she'd prayed she'd fallen pregnant with their first child.
The homecoming had been a brutal awakening. At first, when they moved into their humble home they'd been so happy and so proud of what they had. She'd cleaned the house and cooked his favourite meals to enjoy after a long day at work.
And that's when it started. Nothing was ever good enough. The first time, it'd been a slap. And she'd forgiven him when he'd shown such remorse. But gradually it got worse. He'd always hit her on the body, never in her face, and once he broke her wrist.
There was nobody to turn to; nowhere to go. She was trapped.
With no education, and her parents living so far away, she'd felt there was nothing she could do. What a fool she'd been. The only solace was that they'd never had children.
As she walked towards his grave, she thought about how she'd always been able to hide the physical scars he'd left behind. She'd made sure of that. There'd been days she could hardly move, but she'd never let on.
She'd loved him so much, hadn't she?
Until one day, she'd found the rat poison in one of the barns. She'd looked at it and without thinking brought it back to the house. And gradually it disappeared into the stew she'd made for dinner.
She'd faked a tummy ache, so he ate most of it. Later he complained of not feeling well and said he would have an early night.
When she woke the next morning he'd been all cold and so very stiff, and she'd immediately called the doctor.
A heart attack was the verdict, and a few days' later he was buried in the family grave.
Now, as she arrived at his grave, she bent down and placed the callas beside the headstone. She stood, lingered for a moment, and turned away, a smile on her face.
| Author Notes |
468 words.
Thanks to Paul Featherstone for the use of the artwork. |
By Ulla
It was a busy morning as usual. Tommy, my husband, was already away to the naval station where he worked, and I was off to New York. My work as an air hostess sometimes came at a price. First, I had to get our-seven-year-old daughter ready for school, and myself prepared for the flight ahead.
Amelie, our daughter, was used to it all, so she took it in her stride. She ate her breakfast in silence, while she watched her mum transform from being the familiar person in jeans and a T-shirt into a sophisticated person in an elegant blue uniform.
"Mum, where are you off to this time?"
"New York. I'll be home the day after tomorrow, and yes, before you ask, I will bring back a classic coke."
My daughter looked pleased at that, because at the time classic coke was the coolest thing in Denmark.
"Okay, Honey, time to go to school."
Fifteen minutes later, I let her off at the school gates.
"See you the day after tomorrow, Honey, Love you."
"Love you too, Mum," and off she went.
I carried on to the airport, parked the car and checked in at the crew check-in. I still had half an hour before the briefing with the rest of my colleagues, so I proceeded to catch up with my mail, and for some reason I decided to phone my husband. A few minutes later, I wished I never had.
What he told me floored me.
"Ulla, I'm away on a navy exercise in half an hour, and I don't know when I will be back."
I looked at the phone. To say I was baffled would have been an understatement. "What did you just say? You're going on a mission in less than thirty minutes? In two hours, I will be well over the Atlantic. What the hell are you talking about. What about our daughter? And who's going to pick her up after school? Why on earth didn't you tell me!? I could have changed my flights or called in sick for God's sake!" By now, I was not only shouting, but crying as well.
I hung up and immediately phoned my parents- in- law, but they were not answering. Then I tried friends, but none were available, away doing whatever they had to do. I tried my parents- in- law once more and finally got an answer. It turned out they were at the other end of Denmark at a wedding and the earliest they could be back was 10pm at night.
This was turning into a nightmare.
I phoned my husband again, and told him what I've found out. "Okay," he said, "I'll sort it out."
"Yeah, but how. How the hell are you going to sort this out? Why didn't you tell me? There's no way I can call in sick at this stage. I'll lose my job." I sobbed, while he kept on saying he would find a solution, somehow.
I'd never felt so frustrated in my life. It was also the worst flight I've ever experienced. I was a mix of emotions -- the worry about my daughter and the urge to strangle my husband.
After an agonising flight, we finally arrived in New York, and two hours later, I was in my hotel room. It was almost eleven o'clock at night in Denmark when I phoned home. To my relief my mother-in-law picked up on the first ring.
"Ulla, everything is alright. Amelie is here with us. Please, don't worry, she's okay and not worse for wear."
"What do you mean, 'not worse for wear'?"
"Well, in the end, when nobody was able to pick her up at school, Tommy ordered the Military Police to get her. It impressed the school no end, when three hunks clad in white uniforms showed up to pick up your daughter. I think she's had the time of her life. When we turned up at the navy base, they were busy playing cards. She hardly had time to greet us."
I didn't know whether to cry or laugh. All I knew was that my daughter was alright. Whether my husband would be was a totally different matter.
By Ulla
Jane felt the spectators closing in on her as they turned their attention from the Medieval Market Place--something dark and ominous was about to happen.
She was a witch, or so they said; hot, salty tears rolled down her flushed cheeks as she realised her last stop ever would be the huge pyre looming in front of her.
| Author Notes | Thanks to cleo85 for the beautiful artwork. |
By Ulla
Now, I feel the need to write this wee note to tell all my fans and reviewers that I'm really struggling to keep up. Right now, we're innundated with cherries, and we have so many orders that we're working from morning to early evening to keep up with them.
Of course, it's an ideal situation to be in. It's such a short season, about three weeks or so. We're at the end of that run, but what is unusual this year is that we have more cherries now than at the start of the season.
Please bear with me for another week, and I'll catch up.
I know, you'll be wondering how I can post my own stories then. But I like to write an hour or so in the evening. I really relax doing that.
Well, thanks for reading, and for your patience. I'm off to reviewing a bit more and then on to writing. After that I'm swiftly off to bed.
| Author Notes | Photo is of Lola picking cherries. Lola and Pedro are good friends of ours. We look pretty much the same when we're picking our cherries. Only, nobody has ever taken a picture when we're picking. I'll have to sort that out. |
By Ulla
Whoa, stop right there. What did you just say?
What! You always do that.
What do I always do? I just asked you a question.
Yeah, but it stops my train of thought. Sometimes I think you do it deliberately.
Oh, don't be so ridiculous.
Me, ridiculous? Where did you get that from?
Ah, what's the point. Whatever I say, you turn it around.
Me turning it around? Just this once, couldn't you calm down and listen to what I'm saying.
Yeah, I will, but that brings us right back to the start, doesn't it? What was it you were saying?
Christ, we're going round in circles!
Looks like it.
By Ulla
I woke with a start as the alarm went off. Four thirty in the morning! I rolled on my side, letting my heavy hand find the alarm before it woke the whole household. Oh how I hated it. However, I didn't hate my job. Only at times like this, I almost did. I looked at my husband with envy as he turned on the other side mumbling 'have a nice flight' and he was away in dreamland again. Fortunately our little daughter hadn't woken up either. By now, they were both used to my unsociable timetable. Fortunately it didn't happen that often, but when it did, they took it in their stride.
With a sigh, I swung my legs out of the bed and was grateful that I'd had a shower prior to going to bed. I quickly washed, made up my face and hair, and put on my uniform. I grabbed my bags and entered the kitchen, where I made myself a light breakfast. The groggyness weighed me down, though. I was still half asleep. It was as if my limbs refused to do what I demaneded of them. A cup of scalding hot coffee later and I almost felt human again. I was ready to leave.
My first flight of the day was from Copenhagen to Stockholm. An hour's flight doesn't sound like much, but when you had to serve a full breakfast to both Business Class and Tourist Class it would be busy and very busy at that. Hundred and fifty passengers to feed and five crew members to serve them in forty minutes subtracting the take off and approaching to land, was not a mean feat. We were used to it, though, and it would be fine as long there was no hiccups.
I knew all the crew. We were old hands at this, and we would make a great team. Only one person stood out. The captain. Nobody liked him. He was a great pilot, we all knew, but it didn't make him more likeable. His pompous manners didn't sit well with any of us.
Anyway, no time to reflect on that. I was to work in the front galley, just off the cockpit with a steward I had great respect for. He was efficient and had a great sense of humour. Both were needed in a full Business Class at seven o'clock in the morning.
Everything went smoothly, and our take-off was on time.The food was already heating in the oven, and as soon as the seat-belt sign was off we went in to action. The trolley was loaded with hot food and on top we had assorted juices, water, milk, champagne and white wine. We were well prepared for all eventualities.
What we hadn't prepared for was when the call from cockpit came. The steward looked at me in exasperation. "Well, I better answer it. I bet you it's the captain wanting a coffee."
I shook my head. "It can't be. They know how busy we are." But I was wrong. The captain wanted black coffee with two sugars.
The steward quickly poured a cup and emptied two sugars into it. He brought it into the cockpit, but had forgotten to bring a spoon. I watch him retrieving the pen from his breast pocket and stirred the coffee. I giggled, but we were in such a hurry after all.
However, the captain wouldn't have any of it. He handed the cup back to the steward. "I'm not drinking that. Please bring me back another cup but stirred with a spoon this time."
We both rolled our eyes. This was beyond belief. I turned to my colleague. "Do you know what, I start this trolley while you make the coffee. We need to get this show on the road before we land."
As promised, I had started on serving breakfast when the steward joined me. We'd just finished, and we had five minutes to spare before retrieving all the trays, and prepare for landing, when the door to the cockpit flew open. It was the co-pilot, a grin splitting his face in two. He had a cup in his hand, which he handed to my colleague. "Well done to you, that really shut the captain up."
I was puzzled, but when I took the cup out of his hand to stow it away, I saw the writing at the bottom of it: 'I did it again!"
I laughed out loud.
As I glanced back at the co-pilot, I saw him mouthing. "Serves him right!"
| Author Notes | Thanks to Cleo85 for the use of the artwork |
By Ulla
The last few metres, before she reached the sand, were a struggle. She was getting old, and the huge shell weighed her down. Deep within her gnarled soul she knew this was the last time she would have the strength to reach the beach to bury her eggs in the sand.
Then she saw him. The man who would steal her eggs for his own profit. She sighed wanting to turn around, but the call of nature was too strong.
To her joy, a woman suddenly appeared with a shotgun ... and then ... then she knew her last brood would be safe.
| Author Notes |
Thanks to helvi2for the use of the artwork
This is dedicated to Kay from Tobago. Every night when the huge turtles came to lay their eggs, she could be found in the bay armed with a shotgun to protect them from poachers. Not a shot was ever fired. She was a character. Thank you Kay. It was a privilege to know you. |
By Ulla
"Hi George, good to see you out of your hiding place. Are the insects a plenty?" Willy, the blue bottle, licked his long legs.
"Yeah, you know, there's always some to be had. At least I don't have to fly to get them. I sneak up on the prey and suck them in."
"Oh, the life of a lizard!"
"Yeah, It's not bad, Willy, not bad at all"
"I'm off the ... "
George smacked his lips.
| Author Notes |
Thanks to cleo85 for the use of the artwork. I love it. I also love lizards.
A 'blue bottle' is a big fly. |
By Ulla
The thud, as the doors to the lift closed, made him sit upright - now wide awake.
He sensed rather than heard the soft footsteps, as they stopped outside his room. He reached for the bag and felt the cold metal.
Gun in hand, he called out. "Who's there?"
"Room Service, Sir!"
| Author Notes |
Fifty-two words to be exact.
Thanks to Awmurray for the use of the artwork |
By Ulla
The wind picked up. Huge waves battered against the hull. Foam sprayed. The howling wind and the raging sea drowned all coherent thought. We bounced from side to side, and the sails filled to capacity.
"My God, John, what to do now?" I shouted, as I secured my harness to the boat.
"I don't know. We'll have to hover to, put her nose up in the wind and hope for the best."
I nodded. I knew the drill well, but this wasn't one. This was real, and worse than anything I've ever encountered. And then ... then the big shadow appeared. The killer wave had arrived!
<><><>
I sat up with a jolt and gazed around me. A soft light filtered through the sand-coloured curtains, leaving the room in a yellow glow. I looked out to the bay where small boats swayed in the gentle breeze.
The dark shadow retreated into its recesses.
| Author Notes |
151 words to be exact.
This is based on true events. I'm dedicating this Flash to rama devi. She'll know why. Thanks to catmal for the use of the artwork |
By Ulla
What a fool I'd been. How could I've ever been so naive to believe a word he'd said. I'd fallen for the oldest trick in the world and now what? The laughing stock of a shamed woman. I would be ousted from everything I held dear, and I had only myself to blame.
He'd come to town, tall, dark and handsome, and I fell for it all: The sweet words, the promises whispered during our clandestine meetings, and one foolish day, I gave myself to him. I'd believed every word whispered in my ear.
I confided in my parents fearing the worst.
"You've been stupid but don't you worry," my father said. "We'll take care of him, and bring up your child. Nobody will ever know."
The next day, I saw him digging in the garden.
"Dad, what are you doing?"
He looked up and laughed.
"Just planting a bad seed."
| Author Notes |
A huge thank you to our FS writer, I.d.lauritzen fot the inpiration to a great ending.
Thanks to awmurray for the use of the artwork. Exactly 150 words. |
By Ulla
My mobile rang at five in the morning, and I knew it was bad news.
"Nelson, what's up?"
"A homicide. Get here and fast."
Five minutes later I was there.
Yet another victim of a senseless crime.
Until I saw a slight flicker in his eyes;
"You'd better call an ambulance."
| Author Notes |
50 words exactly.
Thanks to Anne fot the use of the beautiful artwork |
By Ulla
You will love this story of a woman's adventurous journey through life. A life full of adversities yet, there's so many lessons to be learned. Beautifully confirming.
A real page turner.
She was born only to be sent to an orphanage where she spent her first tender years. Then she was adopted by a loving father and what appeared to be a loving mother.
If you believe in wicked step mothers, then look no further. However, the prospect is so grim that it makes you wonder whether it's worth pursuing. Will she be able to overcome the poison planted so deep within?
Her epic story will take you around the world in a whirlwind, leaving you dazed in its wake only to culminate in her quest to find her roots. But, will she succeed?
Only time will tell.
A compelling story that asks more questions than it answers. Now, it's up to you to fill in the gaps...
| Author Notes | Thanks to Natalia Leigh for the use of the artwork. |
By Ulla
Sir Robert entered the auditorium with a heavy heart. The hall was filled with his loyal students eagerly awaiting one of his famous lectures. But all they saw was his sad smile. He used to know how to grab their attention and hold it, but now the attraction had deserted him.
"Dear fellow students, this will be my last lecture. Please, don't laugh until you've heard me out. As of tomorrow, Professor Smith will take over."
A deafening silence followed.
| Author Notes |
Must include 'don't laugh'
Thanks to supergold for the use of the artwork. |
By Ulla
"Honestly. I really, don't want to do this." I looked at Mark defiantly. He hadn't asked me something outrageous, but to me it was not on.
"But why? What's the big deal?"
"Well, I don't want to walk up to the ridge of the mountain when it's shrouded in mist, so why do you even suggest it? You should know it's suicide to go up there in this kind of weather."
"Ah, come off it, Lisa. That's never put you off before. How many times have we not defied the odds?"
True, I had done it before, so I reckoned I could do it one more time. Nobody would be the wiser.
We set off and were soon engulfed in thick mist.
"Mark, where are you?"
"Right here." I reached out. The moment had finally arrived ... and I pushed with all my might.
All I heard was a hollow cry.
| Author Notes |
' To me it was not on' is British English. It means: to me it was not okay/ it was not alright.
Thanks to bunkie for the use of the artwork. |
By Ulla
Tomorrow I'm finally moving into my new home. It has been a long process, and I'm very tired.
At the same time I'm also very happy. Two days ago, my divorce finally came through, and I'm pleased.
What is more, during the last few months I've found out who my real friends are, and I'm so happy to learn that I have many more than I'd thought.
I realise my time on FS has suffered, and I want to appologise to you all. I have managed to post, because writing has been and is great therapy, but I do realise I've let most of you down on the reviewing. I hope to rectify that in the near future. Maybe even starting tomorrow!
By Ulla
As I walked down the path, I breathed in the crisp air laced with the warm glow from the low winter sun. With a smile, I looked down at my happy dog leaping around me in circles poking her nose into anything that crossed her path.
We both heard the shot at the same time. We came to a halt, our ears tuned in to where the sound had come from.
And that's when I saw a dark shadow emerge from the trees aiming a gun at me.
I sat upright shivering in cold sweat. "Oh, no, not another nightmare."
| Author Notes |
100 words to be exact.
Thanks to Dick Lee Shia for the use of the artwork. |
By Ulla
I just want to appologise for being so behind with reviewing and answering the reviews I've received. I know I've posted my story and will endeavour to do it this week as well. But I've got visitors.
My daughter, son-in-law and my two grandchildren are visiting from Denmark. I haven't seen them for two years, and they obviously take up most of my time. So, please do forgive me.
They'll be away mid next week, and then I can dedicate more time here again. Meanwhile, I'll try to do as much as I can on site. No need to review this. This is info only, and I'm not going to promote it. Warm regards to you all. Ulla:)))
By Ulla
Interstate five. Los Angeles to San Francisco. How can I ever forget.
A meaningless highway yet one that forever set its mark on me. I was jet lagged, and tired beyond reason. I'd flown in from Copenhagen. Twelve hours in the air, and a plane full of tireless visitors eager to explore the magic of California.
But this was also a different flight for us, the crew. For some reason we had a whole week off instead of the usual three days before going back. I've forgotten why that was. Maybe it had something to do with the DC10 being grounded, yet again. But, I can't remember. What I do remember is that we flew over on the Boeing747, and my then husband, Tommy, had decided to come with me.
His parents had readily agreed to look after our little daughter, so here we were.
He'd slept a good deal during the flight, so he felt quite prepared to make the drive to San Francisco after arrival. My crew promised they would notify our crew hotel in Marina del Rey ensuring that my room would be ready upon our return.
So there it was. We picked up a car immediately after clearing customs and set off heading north and in high spirits. As we were both tired we decided on Highway 5. We would drive the famous number one on the way back; and so decided, off we went.
The road was tedious, absolutely nothing to go for it. I almost fell asleep a few times, but I didn't dare as I feared Tommy might succumb to fatique. However much he'd slept on board his body clock would be shattered. And right enough. Two hours out of San Francisco we both had to give in. I could hardly stay awake and Tommy was faltering as well. We stopped at a motel next to the highway and staggered out of the car. God, was it hot. This was mid August after all. In our bedraggled state we made it to the reception and managed to get a room. It was five in the afternoon, local time, but that meant nothing to us. We were not only tired but also starving.
Fortunately the restaurant still had a buffet going, so once checked in to our room, we headed for the restaurant. I remember I filled my plate with some chicken breast and then a good measure of a mixed salad. To top it up I poured some thousand Island dressing on my salad.
"But, Ulla, what are you doing? You hate Thousand Island dressing. "
"Yeah, I know, but, my word, I just feel like it right now. Must be the jet lag." And without another word, I tucked in.
Five hours later, those words were to come back and haunt me as I became violently sick. It lasted all but the three days we'd planned to be in the city. All I could cope with was boiled rice and Coca Cola . A well known drink to stop any unwanted ... Well, you know what. As for the rice where better to find it but in China Town.
What a way to be introduced to the city of San Francisco.
| Author Notes |
Thanks to supergold for the use of the artwork.
Carol, ciliverde, your latest poem inspired me to write this memoir. |
By Ulla
I don't think I can put it off any longer. I'm writing as best as I can, but I'm not reviewing as I should, and I do apologise for that.
My Husband and I are divorcing, and it's not an amicable one. I have finally managed to buy my new home, and I'm over the moon. It's in the same valley where I've been living for the last twelve years and where I want to spend the rest of my life.
Now I have to decorate and that's something I'm looking forward to. In fact, I can't wait.
I've been connected to the electricity, so that's fine, but the water is a problem. The minute I turned it on on, I was flooded. Fortunately, it's not a leak. All that needs to be done is for the washing machine connection to be tapered off. I just couldn't believe the amount of water that managed to escape.
The plumber has promised to come tomorrow, and then I will finally be able to move in.
So what I'm asking if you'll be patient with me. I will soon be back to normal
By Ulla
Do you think this is quite appropriate?
What exactly do you mean by that?
Well, I don't mean to offend you, but you know, I don't think...
Sorry, I don't understand what you're trying to say, at all. Is it that you don't like the design, or what the hell is it?
Oh, I do like your design. In fact I ... I like it very much. It's only -- I know you'll be so mad with me -- but for once I think you're a bit out of touch. It has to be toned down.
What ... what are you saying to me? This is some of the best I've ever made. How dare you!
See what I mean? I can't ever say what I really think. You always say you want my opinion, but when I give you one you reject it outright, and don't look at me like that!
A bit of an unfortunate expression you used there, don't you think?
Oh, stop going cheeky on me. You know perfectly well what I meant.
Do I?
Christ, sometimes you exasperate me. These curtains are for Miss Prickly down the road living in her lovely cottage, she inherited from her wealthy parents, right?
Yes, so what's that got to do with anything? She can afford my work.
Yeah, I know, but that's beside the point. For some reason I don't think Miss Prickly would appreciate the amorous couple displayed all over her fabric. I know they are woven into the brocade in gold and delicate brown tones, but if I may say so, they are rather explicit.
Oh, I've never thought about it that way. What am I to do?
I've given it some thought. What about we'll swap our bedroom curtains with hers. She'll never know the difference, and we'll have your masterpiece in our room. What do you think?
I think you have a dirty old mind.
| Author Notes | Thanks to awmurray for the use of the artwork |
By Ulla
Time travel isn't supposed to be possible. But I'd never really given it a serious thought. I'd read a few novels about the phenomena and I enjoyed them as the great escapism they really were. The couple of books I'd read were well written and had been quite believable. But there it all ended, however entertaining they'd been.
I never talked to my husband about them, either. He would have dismissed them as being stupid and put them down as a silly fantasy. In a sense, I agreed with him. It was really a fantasy however enjoyable the story was.
We'd been married a few years, by now. We'd both worked in the city and that's how we met one Friday evening going out for a drink with work colleagues. Quite ordinary and predictable, I suppose.
After our marriage, we both agreed to move out of the centre of LA and into the country. We'd been lucky to find a lovely house sitting on a slope overlooking the ocean. It was an old hacienda and we cheered when it came on the market. Fortunately, It was in a good condition, so we'd moved in as soon as the deal was done.
I'd just given birth to our beautiful daughter and we were as happy as we could be. I didn't know whether I would go back to work, but so far, my law Company had given me a year's leave, with the promise that I could return if I so wanted
The morning was beautiful, and I'd seen my husband off half an hour earlier. Our little girl was fast asleep after her morning feed. I was sitting on the porch blowing at my hot coffee when I first saw him. He approached at a slow pace. Tall, dark and so incredibly handsome. I felt a flutter in my chest, as if my heart was ready to take flight. My breath had become rapid and rather shallow. I found it difficult to breathe. What was going on, and why did I feel such a longing that it almost became a physical pain?
"Conchita, como estas?"
I swallowed. I was fine, but how come I understood he'd asked me how I was? I didn't understand a word of Spanish, but then he continued.
"Como esta nuestra hija?" and before I knew it I answered.
"Our daughter is fine. She's deep asleep." I'd said it in fluid Spanish.
Bewildered, I gazed about me until I caught sight of my dress. I was draped in a long skirt that flowed down to the ground in soft waves, and from the waist up I wore a white shirt with a colourful scarf thrown loosely around my upper body.
I looked up at the man in front of me. "Pedro," I said, "Is that you?"
He looked at me with a strange look. "Of course I'm Pedro. Who else would I be? I'm your husband. Conchita, who else could I be? He came up close and took hold of my shoulders shaking me ever so gently."Are you all right?"
I shook my head. I could feel the heat of his body against mine. It took all my strength to tear myself away from the pull of his warm embrace.
I leaned back and slowly opened my eyes. I watched and felt my breath catching in my chest. Way below in the valley, the morning haze dispersed as the sun heated up the ground. My coffee mug was still warm in my hands and the world returned to the shape I'd always known. I looked at the time. Only two minutes had passed since I sat down with my hot drink. What had just passed would have to stay between me and my conscience. Time travel? Surely not! But then again, who was to know? I took a sip of my coffee and waited for my heart to slow down.
| Author Notes |
Thanks to iphone7 for the use of the artwork.
Who says it's not possible? |
By Ulla
You know, your writing is okay. It's not bad and I quite enjoyed it.
Jeez, thank you very much.
Don't get over excited now. It was alright, but nothing memorable.
Well, I've never aspired to the Pulitzer, so that's not a problem. As long as you like it.
You know, I sort of liked it, but anybody could write like you. You don't have a voice. You know what I mean?
I'm not sure. Sort of, I suppose, but please do explain.
All I'm saying is that anybody could write like you and placate it.
Oh ... oh, okay, so if that is the case, how would they know what is to happen next?
What do you mean?
Well, I'm not going to tell you, am I? For all I know, you could be the one doing the placating.
Don't be so silly. I'm only suggesting that you would probably like to read a few of the following writers. They remind me of you and your style.
Never heard of them.
Exactly!
| Author Notes |
Got a bad review today, and that is okay. We all get them. I never mind when it's well deserved, and I learn from it. But to be told that my writing is bland and of no consequence and with no voice and could be written by anybody, that did hurt.
Thanks to cleo85 for the wonderful artwork. |
By Ulla
I wonder, whether I should be writing about this so soon after the event. Some would claim it possibly couldn't be termed as a memoir at all. At least not just yet.
All the same, to me it's already categorised as a memoir--recent or not.
Earlier this year, I divorced and for me, it was a happy one. I can't remember I've ever felt so elated. I just wonder how many can truly say they've been happy to divorce. But for me it was the catalyst into a new and happier life.
<><><>
It was June last year, the beautiful weather we'd had for the last month or so had all but gone. Rain was pelting down, and the world had turned a murky grey. It was wet and damp. Not really cold, but wet all the same. Unusual weather for this part of the world, and something I hadn't expected.
It was also the day that marked the end of my marriage. - I'd had enough.
Oh, I still loved to work the land and the trees. I would still pick cherries with a passion, knock down almonds and collect olives for the production of oil.
But, what I'd stopped loving was to live on a building site that leaked everytime it was raining. And I'd ceased loving my husband in the process. Eleven years of this, and we were still building. I'd had enough. I wanted out.
And, so I opted out. No divorce is ever without its obstacles, but I suppose, I was lucky.
Oh, we had our differences but all in all it was quick and fairly amicable.
Today, I live in a lovely wee house I bought in the same valley I so love, and I'm happy. I'm seeing my old friends, and making new ones all the time.
Earlier this year I visited my brother and family in Massachusetts, and in October my daughter and her family visited me here in Spain. It was lovely to see my grandchildren.
I'm happy, and I'm content.
By Ulla
Another tedious day at work had come to an end and another evening of boredom awaited me.
The empty fridge glared back at me. I decided on yet another take out of pizza or chinese.
The pizza won the day. I phoned in my order, and settled in front of the TV.
I was disgusted with myself. At twenty-five, I realised something had to change. Tomorrow I would walk, clean up the place and shop for proper food.
The door bell rang. I opened the door.
A pair of soft blue eyes met mine ... I swallowed.
"Please, do come in."
| Author Notes |
Well, you never know, do you?
100 words exactly. Thanks to booklotto for the use of the artwork. |
By Ulla
As so often happens, when you think back on past events you'll find they are left in a shroud of mist. What you thought was clear ends up in a bit of a blur. But not so for me. That specific afternoon and the rest of the day will forever stay with me as if chiselled into stone.
It was a Sunday afternoon towards the end of September. The year was 1967 and I was fifteen. I'd been busy writing up an essay due first thing in class the following morning, when there was a knock on my door. I sighed. I really didn't appreciate being disturbed at this crucial moment.
It was my mother. "Can I come in, please. We need to speak."
Annoyed, I turned around. "Can't it wait? I'm busy right now. What I'm doing is quite important. I'll have to hand this in first thing in the morning."
"No, Ulla, we really have to talk. Please, let me in. It's about your father. "
I heard the door handle turn as mother closed the door behind her followed by soft footsteps. Steps that were easily absorbed by the thick rug covering part of the whitewashed wood floor. She grabbed the only other chair in my room and sat down next to me.
I feared I knew what was coming, but I still hung on to a world where everything was no different to what it had always been. I realised Dad was ill. How could I not know that something was really amiss? Only weeks before my father had fallen seriously ill when we were still down in Seville. It was a long drive back to Denmark and mother had to do it all on her own. I would always admire her for that.
The moment we arrived back home, Dad was admitted to the hospital.
We visited every afternoon, and I soon realised that he was not well. The tall, strong and well build person that I had known up to now seemed to diminish as every day passed by.
But he was in good hands. I knew that much. We were fortunate that he could be treated in a private hospital, so all the latest technology was available to him.
Mother, reached out for my hand. "Ulla, I've had a call from your Dad's physician. He's just back after they've operated, and I've been told the result."
I looked up from my work as a cold fear took hold of my whole being. I instantly knew what I was about to hear.
My voice came out in a whisper. "There's no hope, is there?"
Mother shook her head, and I bent over my desk. Tears spilled all over my essay obliterating everything I had written.
| Author Notes |
Thanks to Angelheart for the use of the artwork.
|
By Ulla
How could it happen that I missed to read a poem that was dedicated to me? I must be a callous person. I just feel so bad that I could cry.
Estory, our fellow writer on FS, has written a wonderful free verse poem, which he dedicated to me and I never saw it until I was reminded.
I am so ashamed.
| Author Notes | Onions make you cry and that's how I feel like doing. |
By Ulla
He watched her approach. Young, strong and walking fast through the dark. Her long legs moving like pistons. Just as he liked them.
Retreating into the shadows, he waited to claim his prize.
He pounced, and fell to the ground, his head exploding in pain.
"You Bastard! thought I hadn't seen you?"
| Author Notes |
52 words exactly.
Thanks to jgrace for the use of the artwork. |
By Ulla
Carol begged me not to go sailing, but I ignored her. I'd woken up in a foul mood, and for some reason or other, all I could think of was to conquer the ferocious waves pounding the shoreline a few hundred meters away.
And now what? I knew the sea better than most, but I had committed the cardinal sin of becoming complacent.
A cross sea had broken the mast and I floated helplessly at the mercy of the ocean. I tried the engine yet again. Dead.
One last try . . . It sputtered to life.
Maybe I would see Carol again.
| Author Notes |
Thanks to suzannethompson2 for the use of the artwork.
100 words exactly |
By Ulla
I just can't keep this to myself. I know I'm not the best writer, but I work hard to improve. I also know that English is not my first language, but, then again, I do my best. However, none of the above is the issue here.
I've received a four star today and that is okay when the errors I've made are pointed out. I always endeavour to remedy what I've done wrong and it encourages me to improve. I also learn from it as so many of you know.
But to receive a four from a writer who thinks the world of himself and who indeed is well aclaimed on this site would have been an honour had it not been for his erroneous ways. Not only did he read the piece incorrectly from beginning to end, but he also had the audacity to talk down to me. Apparently, the only mistake I'd made was that HE never read it properly.
I know, I should let it go, and not rise to the bait.
But there it is.
Grrrrrrr
Ps. After receiving so many reviews, I decided to promote this. I would especially like you to read the six star review I received earlier today, and then it will all become clear. I know, I'm sticking my neck out here, but somebody has to be brave enough. Thanks to you all.
| Author Notes |
Thanks to Linda Bickston for the use of the artwork. Most appropiate.
I feel better now. I don't mind a four or a three if it's well deserved. We can only learn from our mistakes and good guidance. That's why we're here after all. |
By Ulla
I landed at Logan Airport, Boston, on a glorious day in early September 2008, my heart fluttering in anticipation. I was sad, yet excited at the same time. Sad, because my father had only just died. A father I didn't even know existed until a few years back. But a father who I'd grown very fond of and who I'd come to love. A father who'd accepted me as being the daughter he'd always known he had but never thought he would ever find. But as fate would have it, I found him.
Yes, we had grown to love each other. Always at a distance, but yet so close. And now he was dead.
A month earlier, I'd received an email from my father. An email I'd been anxiously awaiting. I hadn't heard from him for a wee while and I was getting worried. I did know I had a sibling, but I had no means of getting hold of him as Dad had never told him about me. So when I saw the email in my in-box, I was delighted.
I opened the mail. I started reading, and to my great surprise, I found it wasn't from my dad, but from my brother, Reuben Baker. They shared the same name. What followed saddened me and shook me to the core.
Reuben, my brother, went on to say that Dad was ill - most probably fatally so. A few days earlier, he'd asked him to sit down and to listen carefully. He'd then been told that he had an older sister who lived in Spain. All Dad wanted was for us to get to know each other.
Reuben admitted that at first it had been a bit of a shock. However, he was now delighted at the prospect of having a sister, and admittedly he was more than intrigued. He would love to get in touch with me hoping that I would feel the same.
He left me email addresses, telephone numbers and even the number for our father's private telephone at the hospital. I was in tears. Tears of sorrow that my father was dying and tears of joy having gained a brother.
I opted to call my brother. I've always believed in action and this was the moment to grasp. I didn't want to lose the opportunity of getting to know my brother. So it was with my heart in my throat that I punched in his numbers on my mobile. After a couple of rings, a deep voice came over the line.
"Hello ..."
For a fearful moment, I didn't know what to say. I was rendered speechless. I realised I was in danger of losing the one and only opportunity to get to know my brother. I swallowed and took a deep breath.
"Hello, my name is Ulla ... I've received your email, and I've chosen to phone you rather than writing you. I do realise it must be strange and a difficult time to find yourself speaking to me, but ..." I got no further, before a friendly voice interrupted me.
"Ulla, is that really you? Wow, what can I say. I'm glad you chose to phone rather than email. I'm Reuben and Dad has spent a great deal of time talking about you. I can't say how glad I am to be speaking to you."
I don't know what I'd imagined would happen but this surpassed all my expectations.
"Yes, this is really me. I'm so relieved. You actually mean you want to speak to me?"
Reuben chuckled from the other end of the Atlantic. "You bet I do. I can't wait to get to know you."
I angrily brushed at the tears forming. This was not the time to be sentimental. This was about our father and what was happening here and now.
"I can't wait getting to know you, either. But more important, what is happening with him?"
"Ulla, I'm afraid, it's bad news. I think it's going the wrong way, but I know he would love to hear from you. In fact, I know he's counting on it."
"Reuben, I'll phone him right away. We'll keep in touch?"
"You bet we will. I'm not letting my new-found sister slip away."
If I could have hugged him, I would have done so.
The days turned into a few weeks, and one day the doctors conceded there was no more they could do for Dad. He decided that he wanted to go home to die surrounded by family, and that's what happened.
I spoke to him on the phone often, and I could hear how he got weaker, but I also sensed that he relished our moments together, albeit over the wire.
My brother Reuben and I discussed whether I should come and see him in person, but we agreed it would have been too much of a strain on the rest of the family to take in a new family member that everybody had only heard about.
So we decided that I would keep on talking to Dad on his death bed, which I did up until a few hours before he passed away. I knew the phone was on speakers, the rest of the family sitting around the bed. It was poignant, and at the same time it was one of the best things that had ever happened in my life.
<><><><>
And so it was that I arrived at Logan Airport in Boston, and there was my brother. Although we'd never met, let alone seen a picture of each other, we immediately recognised each other. We fell into each other's arms, both of us having tears in our eyes. It was a home-coming.
The drive out to Wellfleet, Cape Cod, lasted the best part of two and half hours. We'd run into the rush hour, but that didn't stop us from talking, and woah, did we have a lot to speak about! My brother, being nineteen years younger, spoke about his daughter and three boys, not to mention Kimberly, my sister-in-law.
I told him about my daughter, Amelie, in Denmark, and, of course, about my then husband, Alan, and our life in Spain. Reuben and I got through a lot during those two and a half hours, not least about Dad. And then we were there. We had arrived at Belvernon, the family home.
I sat back for a moment to take it all in.
| Author Notes | Photo is of the family home, Belvernon. |
By Ulla
The day started as any other. It was early spring, a sweet scent lingered in the air. Six months had passed, and today he was due back.
My heart jumped for joy when I heard the approach of a car. I stared out of the window holding my huge belly. Dark hair appeared and there he was, larger than life. That's when I saw a pair of shapely legs emerge.
When I came to, a woman screamed, "What have you done?"
I looked down at the bloody knife in my hand.
"I'm not sure, but I think I might have killed him."
| Author Notes |
102 words to be exact
Thanks to Angelheart for the use of the artwork. |
By Ulla
The world was at peace here in the Midwest. Well, that at least was true from where I sat. It was mid-May and the day had been unusually hot.
I sat in my favourite chair on the porch, a cold beer in my hand.
A breeze suddenly shot up, and I noticed the clouds approaching, a green hue to them.
I reckoned the sirens would sound very soon. Meanwhile, I'd continue to savour my beer.
| Author Notes |
May in the Midwest is tornado season. I've been there and gone to the basement when the sirens sounded. It is scary stuff. This took place in South West Missouri in 2003, when I visited close friends. So far, 46 people had tragically lost their lives further East in the State. It was now our turn. A Cat 4 was approaching.
75 word exactly. Thanks a lot jgrace for the use of the artwork. |
By Ulla
"Do you fully understand, Aunt Molly?"
"Yeah, I think so, Dear. I don't believe anybody will ever know."
"Good, so where did you bury him?"
"Under the heap of compost." She looked scared and sad.
"I'm sorry, I know, you loved him so."
"Yes, he was a good ma-- rooster."
| Author Notes |
Thanks to Anne for the use of the artwork.
50 words exactly. |
By Ulla
I spotted the picturesque cafe, the minute I turned into the famed plaza, and decided there and then that's where I was having my late afternoon drink. I grabbed the last free table, and lowered myself into the comfortable chair with a sigh of relief.
My feet were killing me but I didn't dare to shed the shoes as I was afraid I'd never be able to put them back on. Not that they were high heeled or any thing like that. I was just not the Nike type of person when walking around in a city. Flat heels were fine with me, but the heat had taken the better of them and of me.
Before I got any further with my private musings a waiter appeared before me. "Que quiere beber, Senora?"
I abruptly turned back to the present. "Ah, un vino blanco con hielo y limon, por favor."
"Enseguida," right away, he said, walking away with a smile. What was so funny about that? White wine with ice and a slice of lemon seemed to be a perfect option after a day of sight-seeing.
But the waiter and his smirk was soon forgotten when I took a closer look at my surroundings. The square was truly magnificent. The tan buildings, tall and aristocratic in design hugged the pavement on three sides, but there, ... right in front of me, was La Casa Rosada.
At once, I was taken back in time. A time steeped in Argentina's colourful past albeit a violent one. I looked up at the famous balcony and an apparition appeared before my eyes. I could hear her. Or so I thought ... Evita Duarte Peron addressing a nation starved for some good news -- starved to have a leader. And they loved her. Until her tragic death at thirty-three.
The waiter brought me abruptly back to the here and now as he brought my drink. My wine was served in a big tumbler of a glass. Just as I liked it. I gave him a grateful smile and was rewarded with a graceful bow. I would make sure to give him a handsome tip.
I took a sip, and then another. Ah, this was good. I closed my eyes thinking that I could soon get used to this. I took another good look at the balcony and the building. It was beautiful but I decided it was time to move on. I'd had enough of all the obvious tourist sites. Another part of the city was calling with its narrow streets famed for their bars and restaurants if not to mention their cuisine. I drained my glass, paid the bill and left a generous tip as I had promised myself to do.
An hour later, I stepped out of the soothing hot bath. I dressed carefully in a black dress which hugged me in all the right places. A few touches to my face, and I was ready.
John gave me an appreciative look as I stepped out of the lift and entered the lobby. He gave me a peck on my cheek as he drew me close, and whispered into my ear. "You look as if you're ready for a night out on town."
"Oh, but I am," I said in mocked surprise. "But don't get your hopes up. Remember, we're off to the Iguazu falls at seven o'clock tomorrow morning."
He smiled at me. "How could I forget."
| Author Notes |
Thanks to supergold for the artwork.
John, my then partner, and I had a great time in Argentina. I've been so lucky to see the Iguazu falls from both the Brazilian and the Argentinian side. |
By Ulla
Orphanage, adopted, travel, life, adventure, peace.
By Ulla
Hi, Jonas, what's happening?
Happening? What do you mean what's happening? I can't see anything special going on. Look around, do you see anything?
You're packing.
Yeah, too right. And so what?
Nothin, really. Just sayin.
Well, either say what you mean or nothing at all. Okey doke?
It's only, I fink something is not quite right, Jonas.
Oh for God sake, could you say 'think' and not 'fink'? What's wrong with you? Has nobody ever taught you to speak properly? Everything you say grates.
I'm sorry.
Oh, stop saying sorry all the time, will ya!
See, Jonas, you speak funny as well.
What'ya mean, I speak funny? That's how we speak where I come from and that's where I'm goin.
Exactly my point, Jonas.
| Author Notes |
This is dedicated to Rachelle with thanks. She'll know why.
Thanks to booklotto for the use of the artwork. All bad spelling is intentional |
By Ulla
"What do you mean you'll be delayed?" Sean sounded annoyed.
I sighed, and braced myself for what was to come. It'd been the weirdest day to say the least. I'd met the man of my dreams and shortly, I was to meet the person who, up until now, had carried that title .
"Well," I whispered. "I don't think I'll make it. I've met somebody ..."
"But Judy, you've stolen my line for tonight. I'm the one who was to break it up!"
| Author Notes |
81 words exactly and manually counted.
Thanks to Anne for the use of the artwork. |
By Ulla
What is life? That is a big question and an all encompassing one. But to me it's simple. It's about as mortal as it can be. To me there is only one answer. It's about living. Live it and enjoy it within the time we're allotted.
Oh, there will be ups and there will be downs. Those will come to us all whether we want it or not. It's a given that can't be avoided. Rare would be the life not touched by some misfortune.
But, how bad or sad it may be, it's also a challenge, an opportunity even, to turn a negative into a positive. I think I'm not the only one who can testify to this.
Now, here comes the point where many will not agree with me because I can't believe that God, nor any god, has anything to do with me inhabiting this earth. I was born, I live and eventually I die and I'm turned into ash or earth. That's what happens to all living matter. Maybe we're immortal that way. I don't know. Who am I to say?
What I do want to say is that I respect any belief and any religion. How could I not? Far too many crimes are committed in its name and it saddens me. Why can't we live in peace with our different beliefs?
I love life and I live it to the full. I always have, and I always will. As long as I have my health I will keep on doing so. I've been fortunate to have travelled the world, and I still travel as much as my finances allow me to. The travel bug is in my genes.
I've had many adventures, but the greatest was when I found my birth parents on another continent. Through them, I learned who I really was and where I came from. We had some good years before they passed. I've gained a whole new family. My brother and I are close, not to mention his wife, my niece and three nephews. I also have a lovely daughter and son-in-law and three adorable granddaughters.
To me, all the above is what life is really about. I've been lucky.
By Ulla
This one is for Robyn. She knows why.
Tobago 1979.
The beautiful isle of Tobago and the year of 1979 will forever be engrained in my heart and for various reasons. Not only was it to be one of my most memorable moments of my life, but a woman, who can only be described as a person much greater than life itself, was to leave a mark on me never to be erased. Her name was Kay.
Kay was born in British New Guinea. She married a British man and like so many others they decided to move to Tobago. They liked it there and soon recognised its potential.
Rather than settle near the local airport, they moved to the Northwest of the island. There they found a beautiful old house and restored it into it's former beauty. It came with a big chunk of land and part of it was a wee cove with a small beach of its own. A rather important stretch of sand as it would turn out to be.
Little by little, the idea of making the small estate into a guest house was born, and as the years went on it became a legend in its own right to the locals. Every late afternoon, a flock of midnight blue parrots found their way to her estate to find the food she'd left out for them. The dark blue birds against the setting sun was a sight I would never forget.
But this story is not about parrots, nor about a tropical sunset, however beautiful it may be. This is about Kay. A woman who would sit all through the night with a shotgun in her lap while the giant turtles came to lay their eggs in the sand of her little cove. If any of the locals had come to steal any of the eggs she would have shot them point blank. It never came to that, thank God, but I will never forget her tears when she talked about her fight for the new generation of turtles to be born.
What is more, she also taught me the love of geckos. One evening, she'd invited me and my then husband, to dinner. For some reason she'd taken a shine to us, and we to her. That was the night, when a lifelong friendship was born. What was also born was my love for geckos.
We arrived and she greeted us in her usual grand style. She was dressed in a flowery kaftan style dress, and her dark hair was piled high on her head. She looked magnificent. We had just tucked into our starters when she pointed at the opposite wall crying out loud. "Oh, look. There's George!"
I looked up in confusion and all I saw was this gecko scurrying along the wall. "Is that what you mean?" I said in surprise.
"Yes, that's exactly what I mean." Kay looked at me with a smile. "You know, Ulla, they eat as many insects as they can come by and they are harmless. They are really a friend of ours. I don't know how anybody can be afraid of them. So that is my George, and I believe he's been here for a number of years. "
I had to smile, and I could only agree.
Ever since that day, any gecko I come across is called George, and Kay is always in my thoughts.
| Author Notes | We have a lot of geckos here in Spain. |
By Ulla
The minute I was born, they immediately gave me away to an orphanage. Two years later, I was adopted into a loving family. Or so I thought, until my adoptive mother showed her true colour.
Travelling was the order of the day and I loved it, hence I became a flight attendant for more than twenty years. During that time, I married my first husband and we had a lovely daughter.
Sailing became a part of my life as well as horses.
However, one day I decided to find my real parents and found them both in the States. My Danish mother had married and settled in California, and my father was native to Cape Cod in Massachusetts.
I now live in Spain, yet again divorced. I have three grandchildren in Denmark and a lovely brother and family in America.
Did I mention the years I lived in Britain?
| Author Notes | Thanks to avmurray for the use of the beauutiful artwork. |
By Ulla
It was on a glorious day, Pepina made her entrance into my life. I'd been working on the land for a couple of hours, and it was hot. So was I. A break was in the cards, but I had only sat down with a mug of sweet coffee--yes, I drink my coffee sweet in hot weather--when I heard a noise nearby.
I looked around, but didn't see anything. Not wanting my coffee to get cold, I kept on drinking when I suddenly felt something soft brushing against my ankles. With a start, I looked down and there she was. A white and black cat who looked at me as if to say:
"Yeah, I know who you are, and I also know you can't resist me."
It was love at first sight. There's no denying it. I gave her something to eat and our pact was made. She was mine, and I was hers.
She was also pregnant, as it turned out. So instead of gaining one cat, I ended up with three. Oh, cats are clever. To use a well worn cliche, she knew where her bread was buttered.
A few weeks later, she gave birth to two healthy boys. And she was the perfect mother. It was a delight to see her bringing them up. Something I'm glad to have experienced.
Since then, she never left my side. She came with me wherever I went on the land. If I had to go somewhere in my car she'd follow me to the end of the driveway and would be greeting me on my return.
Pepina was something else.
| Author Notes | Pepina died three years ago. Her two sons are healthy and lively, now eleven years of age. I will always miss her. I've somehow lost the photos I had of her but this photo from avmurray looks so much like her. She always wore a red collar as well. Uncanny. |
By Ulla
'I can't believe they're doing this to me. Humans must be so beyond stupid. Stupid, stupid!!!
'They walk with their heads in the clouds, or so it seems. Have they not realised I'm a hedgehog, for God's sake? Or what do they think all those prickly things are? Stroking me is out of the question. They can't get anywhere near me. Imbeciles. That's all I can say.
'Well, the only redeeming thing is that they leave out milk for me. That I do like.
'I'm going on strike, or so I've decided. If the British Parliament can, then, so can I.'
By Ulla
The first thing she remembered, when she came to, was the scream. A scream that shook her to the core, almost ripping her apart. Only then, did she realise she was the one doing the screaming.
She trembled, and kept her eyes tightly shut as the nightmare slowly abated, leaving her in peace once more. She turned onto her side and let out a soft moan.
After a short while, she could feel the cold. She reached out for the duvet to wrap it more tightly around her but couldn't find it. She frowned, but tiredness took over, yet again, and soon she was deep asleep.
How long she'd been sleeping, she would never know. What she did know, though, was that she'd never been so cold in her fourteen short years. A deep shiver travelled through the length of her body, leading her to make the mistake she could never undo.
She opened her eyes and instantly wished she never had. But it was far too late.
That's when she screamed the second time. But this time, the scream was all the more feral. If anybody could have heard it, they would have retreated into the sanctuary of their own home, making sure the door was firmly locked behind them.
However, the only creature, who heard the faint echo of the terrified cry below the floorboards, was too busy cooking up a concoction of wild herbs and some other unmentionable things. He couldn't wait to get to his little prize. Maybe, just maybe, it would work this time, and she would live to be his and his alone.
"I can't wait, little one," he cried out loud. "Please, please don't die on me."
Oh, how he loved the thrill of it all. He took in the scent of the brew and almost keeled over in the process. Only the faint sound of another strangled cry from below kept him going.
| Author Notes | Thanks to cleo85 for the use of the artwork. I've always admired her work |
By Ulla
It was going to be the trip of a lifetime, or so I'd thought. I had planned it all and I hadn't told a living soul. That was my first mistake. Little did I know what lay in store.
My second mistake was when I presented the plans as a gift to my wife of fifty years. She looked at me in astonishment and she seemed to be out of breath when she exclaimed. "Are you out of your mind for f.... sake?"
Now it was my turn to look at her with an astonished look. In all the fifty years, I'd known her, I had never heard her using a swear word. Ever! And I mean, ever!
What the heck was happening? I knew we were in our late seventies, but we were in good health and sprightly for our age. We walked our dogs every day, ate five veg a day, and never seemed to get out of breath. We were not on any medication. We were as healthy as we could be, so what was all this about? I was at a complete loss.
"But Emily, What's wrong? Why are you so upset? I thought you'd be pleased. We're sailing to the Far East, you always said you wanted to go back there. The Cruise will take us to all the places you love best. Goa in India and then on to the Southern Isles of Thailand. Bangkok will be next on the itenary and then on to Singapore. All in an outside cabin and ensuite."
The more he talked the more appalled she looked.
Emily, shook her head. "You just don't get it, do you, Peter?"
"No, I don't. You're absolutely right, I don't. I thought you would be so pleased. But I now see that I've never known who you really are. I've been married to you for fifty years or so, and I don't have a clue who you are. How can that be?"
He gazed at his wife, a hurt look on his face.
"Awe, Peter, don't be so bloody silly. Have you even looked at the route taking us there?"
Christ, she was swearing again! What the heck was going on?
"Yes, woman, of course, I've seen the route." By now he was shouting. "When we come out of the Atlantic we go into The Med and then through the Suez Canal into the Ocean. What's wrong with that? That's the fastest way of taking us through to The Indian Ocean."
"Exactly!"
"What do you mean, exactly? What have I said wrong now?"
"Nothing, Peter. Nothing at all. But you've just pointed out what is wrong with this trip."
"For crying out loud, woman, could you get to the point? You swear as I've never heard before and you speak in riddles. What the hell is wrong with you?" Peter was getting seriously angry.
"Oh, you're one to talk about swearing. But Peter, tell me one thing, have you followed the news of late?"
Peter swept a weary hand through his hair. He'd been lucky. He'd never lost a single hair and it was still thick and wavy. It was mostly white now and it suited his square and still handsome face. A face that was furrowed by deep concern.
"Okay, Emily. Get to the point. What's the problem?"
"Peter, My Dear, the problem seems to be the Iranians and our Country."
"Yeah, and so? They're having a problem, alright. But don't they always? What's that got to do with us. We're going nowhere near there."
"I'm sure you're right, Dear, but I just don't want to be blown up in the Hormuz Strait by some stray drone and end up in a puddle of oil."
"By God, woman. Do you even know where that strait is?"
By Ulla
1. What did you want to be when you were small?
A Medical doctor. I even started to study at medical school and then life took over. Read my biography.
2. If you could choose to do anything for a day, what would it be?
Spend the day with a famous prose author and learn, learn, learn.
3. How often do you buy clothes?
Not very often. I buy classics which match and quality. They last forever. So no, not high in my budget.
4. If you had a warning label, what would it say?
Handle with care. Could be explosive.
5. If you could only eat one food for the rest of your life, what would it be?
I love healthy food, always have. I'm not into sweets at all. So melon would be my answer.
6. If money was no object, what would you do all day?
Well, I'm lucky. I have my good pension. So I read and write. Working the land my ex husband and I have agreed on and travel as much as I can afford.
7. If you were a super-hero, what powers would you have?
To make the world at peace and to cure all dreaded diseases.
8. Is your glass half full or half empty?
It's always half full, and I make sure of that without fail.
| Author Notes | Thank a lot to Alyse Dietel for the us of this wonderful artwork. |
By Ulla
My precious home had turned into a building site. The kitchen was gutted, and so was the downstairs bathroom. The living and dining room hadn't fared any better. What was left was an empty shell.
Only our bedroom and our daughters' room upstairs were still intact. In the adjacent bathroom, a toilet and an old sink was still functioning. But it was time to knock down a wall to make the bathroom double the size.
My husband swung the sledgehammer with force. I heard a sharp crack.
"I hope you do realise that you just split the toilet in two?"
By Ulla
Thank you, dear writer, for reading and editing all the chapters in 'The Rustle In The Wind' during the last few days. I'm overwhelmed, and I can't say how pleased I am. I'm still working my way through all the reviews and making corrections.
I just wanted to share this with all of you. There are some amazing people out there.
Thank you so much, Fonda.
| Author Notes | Thanks to Cleo 85 for the use of the artwork. |
By Ulla
Ilich shivered. He inserted the key to unlock the door to his second floor flat. The cold Moscow air still sent out its freezing tongues as if to suck him in. But he knew better.
Nadya, and her rich stew, would be ready to welcome him into their warm kitchen.
Only, as he walked in, there was no Nadya and no rich aromas.
That's when he heard a familiar noise.
He turned towards the bedroom.
| Author Notes | Well, the rest you can guess. |
By Ulla
My first Flight to China.
It was on a sunny day in late May 1989 that I emptied my pigeon hole. As usual it was full of the latest company post. I'd just arrived back in Copenhagen from Stockholm or some such place. I was looking forward to the next four days of a much needed break, spending a few days with my family and my beloved horses.
I gazed at the papers in my hand and shoved them into my overnight bag. They could wait. I was in a hurry. I wanted to surprise my eight year old daughter when she left school for the day. I'd already spoken to my husband, so all that was left was to pick up my car and be off. I couldn't wait. A long glorious weekend lay ahead of us.
And a wonderful weekend we had. The weather was gorgeous so the barbecue came out to be aired. We rode our horses, my daughter and I, and the rest of the time it was just the three of us enjoying ourselves.
It was not until Sunday evening that I remembered the internal post from the airline. I hurried upstairs to retrieve them, making sure I didn't wake up our daughter. As I came back down, my husband, Tommy, sat on the sofa pouring us two glasses of wine.
"Oh, that's rather nice," I said, as I sat down beside him. "Amelie is deep asleep, and now we'll have a couple of hours to relax."
We took a sip of our wine and I let out a satisfied sigh.
"So, Ulla, anything exciting in your post? Isn't it about this time of the month that a new schedule of flights for the coming month is due?"
I looked at Tommy in surprise. "Yeah, I believe you're right. Let me have a look." I flicked through the papers, and right enough, there was the schedule for the next month's flights. I quickly looked through them and then I gasped.
Tommy gave me a startled look. "What is it, Ulla? Is something wrong?"
"No ... no, nothing is wrong as such. It's only that I've been scheduled to fly to Beijing in three weeks time."
"To Beijing, China?" Tommy asked, rather foolishly.
"Yeah, the very same."
"But will that be safe?"
"Tommy, I know as much as you do. At the moment it wouldn't appear so, but who knows what it will be like in a few weeks time. But wait, this is not an ordinary flight. There's some information attached here. Let me just read through it."
Tommy gazed at me as he drank from his wine glass. "Hurry up and tell me. I can see from your face that something is up."
"Just be patient, will you?" I frowned as I concentrated on what I was reading. "Yeah, I've got it.
So here goes." I took another sip of my wine.
"Get this. I'm scheduled to be on the inauguration flight from Copenhagen to Beijing. All kind of officials will be on board. After two days, we, the crew, will fly with Thai Airlines to Bangkok where we will stay for four days. Only then, will we be flying back to Copenhagen as active crew."
Tommy raised his glass to mine, "Sounds like a holiday to me."
I smiled. "Yes, it does, doesn't it. But let's see what happens in China before then,"
Three weeks later, it was all over. The tragedy of Tienanmen Square had shaken the world and the students in China were licking their wounds.
What was more, my flight had not been cancelled. I was due to leave for Beijing barely two weeks after the massacre.
And arrive we did.
We, the crew, were met in the airport by a young man in his late twenties. He told us in good English that he was a professor at the university and had been appointed to escort us to our hotel.
It was unusual, and we didn't know what to make of it, but none of us said anything. On the way to our hotel he asked us whether we would like to take a tour of the city. We all agreed that we would, and he arranged to pick us up a few hours later. It was only nine in the morning so we agreed on a pick up at noon.
He turned up in a little bus that had room for twelve passengers but that was enough for the ten of us who had turned up for the tour. I've no idea what his name was and he never told us. He also informed us he would speak in riddles as he didn't know the driver and how much he could understand.
None of us spoke. The whole thing seemed unreal, yet here we were being talked to by a survivor. It was obvious he wanted his story to be told to the outside world.
After a few minutes, we arrived at the huge square in front of the Forbidden City. The very square where so much blood had been shed. I looked out at it, the sheer size taking my breath away, and I remembered the pictures I had seen only a couple of weeks ago. Back then the square had been crowded with thousands of young students, protesting against a regime they couldn't tolerate.
And that's when the tanks arrived ...
<><><><>
To this day, I can still hear the words of our young professor trying to explain what had happened, as he recounted it in his quiet and guarded way.
Tears streamed down my cheeks as I listened to his gentle voice and I knew I was not alone in my grief.
The sense of despair filled us all and penetrated deep into our souls. We looked and looked and pictures of fallen bodies wouldn't go away. It was a tragedy, and a tragedy that should never be forgotten.
Our little bus was very quiet as we continued on our tour.
| Author Notes | Thanks to avmurray for the use of the artwork. |
By Ulla
"Did you see that?" Rebecca said. She turned towards her husband, a frown creasing her otherwise flawless forehead. If Peter didn't know better, he would have sworn that he'd detected a frightened look in her eyes.
It took him slightly by surprise because he'd never known his wife to be off balance. Something had spooked her, and he knew she was not easily scared.
"But, Bec, what is it you want me to have seen?" He shook his head, as if he was about to confirm another prognosis for one of his less fortunate patients. "No, I can't say that I saw or heard anything out of the norm. Anyway, how could I see anything late at night on the African savannah?"
"Sometimes Pete, I do ask myself if you hear or feel anything these days."
"To be honest, Dear, there are times, when I ask myself that very same question."
"Oh Pete, don't be flippant, and spare me all your psychological babble. I'm sure I saw something, but I just don't know what it was, or more to the point, what it is."
Peter sat back in his seat enjoying the gentle breeze of the warm night. He took a sip of his cold drink as he looked out at the dark. It puzzled him that Rebecca would have used the words, 'did you see that' when you literally couldn't see a thing beyond the porch where they were sitting.
But what if she was right? What if she really had seen something?
All of a sudden, he didn't feel quite that confident, and then there was the flash of fear he thought he'd seen in her eyes. It refused to go away, but kept coming back to haunt him.
"Bec, I apologise. I'm actually dead serious now. What is it you think you saw?"
"I don't know, Pete, but it was like a big shadow walking by. One minute it was there, the next it was not. Maybe it was just a figment of my imagination or, maybe, I really saw something. Although we are sitting on the porch without any lights on, all the lights are on in the house. If something did walk by ... oh, I don't know. It sounds a bit far fetched, doesn't it?"
<><><><>
Four days later, a short notice appeared on the second page of the New York Times.
A couple in their forties, who were on a safari in Kenya, is still missing. They were last seen three days ago when they were believed to have spent a quiet night at their rented accommodation. When they didn't turn up the next morning, at the agreed time, the safari tour went ahead as arranged. It was only when the couple failed to turn up for the farewell dinner party the same night that the alarm was raised.
Two staff members went to the cottage where they found most of the lights on; but no sign of the couple. Nothing seemed to be missing, not even the passports. As relatives of the couple have not yet been located, the identities of the missing couple cannot be revealed.
| Author Notes | Thanks to jgrace for the use of the artwork. |
By Ulla
You hid behind the black curtains, not wanting to show your face. I urged you to come forward, no need to be shy.
"I can't," you said, as you hid in the dark shadows.
"But why not?" I asked.
"You don't understand, do you? I bring death in my wake."
| Author Notes |
Hand counted it to 50 words.
Thanks to cleo 85 for the use of the artwork. |
By Ulla
Dear Diary,
I'm sure you will be surprised that I have come back writing to you after so many years of absence. But here I am, dear old friend. A friend I've neglected for far too long. So what has brought me back you might ask and rightfully so.
Well, to tell you what caused my return to your pages will be too long and too far fetched. So let me just write a short outline of what led me to be here. Since I wrote my last entry, I've had a good life, I'm glad to say.
What you don't know, of course, is that not long after I stopped writing my weekly entries, I met a wonderful man who I soon married. We were happy together, and, three years into our marriage, we had a wonderful little girl.
We lived the life to the full and had everything going for us. But as so often happens, we probably overdid it. The bubble burst, and we went our separate ways.
Now, you may think that was the end of my great adventure. But not so, my dear friend. Yes, there was the difficult time with regards to our daughter and with whom she was going to live. For a while, her father thought it was his divine right to have her and he simply took her away from me. And apparently he had the law on his side. He had convinced the authorities, that because I'd fallen in love with a British man I would take her away to live in another country.
Nothing could have been further from the truth.
But he forced the issue and got custody of our daughter. So defeated, I moved to Britain in a heartbeat. My twelve year old daughter wouldn't even speak to me, and it broke my heart.
But now, dear diary, as it so often happens in this life, fate played its own little game adding a twist to the tale.
The year of 1993 was coming to and end, and with it came an unexpected letter. It was from my daughter, and it is difficult to express the joy it brought me. The short of the long was that she had changed her mind and wanted to see me, after all. I let out a big yelp of joy, and the very next day, I made arrangement for her to fly to London. Her father had agreed, finally understanding that nothing could stay between a mother and her child.
It was a happy reunion and the joy of seeing my daughter again knew no bounds. I kept my tears in check, because I knew that an open display of my happiness would have embarrassed her.
From then on we saw each other almost every weekend. Due to my concessions with my former airline, I could easily afford the flights. I often flew into Denmark to visit my beloved aunt, and on those occasions I met up with my daughter, as well.
It was during one of those visits that my ex-husband wanted to see me. He had something to tell me. I readily agreed. When he invited me to lunch at the local Marina, I knew he had something important to impart.
So, I was not surprised when he claimed he'd met the love of his life and they were to marry within the month. The last time I heard something very similar was eighteen years earlier, when I was the target of his undying love. Fair enough, our union lasted for almost sixteen years, and most of them happily so.
But this adventure of his was to be of a very different kind. However, at the time, neither of us could have known.
So, Dear Diary, who was I to have objections? I actually felt happy for him, and wished him all the best in this new happiness of his. I felt even better that my daughter seemed to be happy and looking forward to her new life with a couple of step-brothers about her own age.
Later that day, I flew back to London with a light heart. Everything seemed to be working out quite nicely.
Little could any of us had known what was to happen next.
Later that year, John and I went up to Scotland to spend Christmas with his old mother, his sisters and their family. It was also the year that my daughter would be joining us. It had become the custom that I provided the goose and stood for all the cooking. I didn't mind, in the least. Truth be told, I've always loved cooking, and I rather do that, than sitting down to a tasteless turkey. Dorothy, John's mother, enjoyed it, as well, and she always helped me preparing all the vegetables while the goose was simmering in the oven.
And this year was no different, apart from my daughter being there, and she seemed to be having a good time. Of course, the concession we both have to give was to sacrifice our own Christmas and celebrate it on Christmas day. But we could both live with that. Well, I'd been used to it for a few years, by now. Deep down, though, I did miss my traditional and beautiful Christmas evenings, but that was something, I always kept to myself.
However, that particular Christmas was to be different in so many ways. Christmas day came and went and everybody had enjoyed the meal and the gifts that were handed out. It had been a good day and a lively one.
On Boxing day, we all went for a walk. John drove us up to the hills above Paisley. The Brae it's called. It was cold but delightful. The highland cows came to greet us, their thick red hair falling over their brow. To me they always seem to smile. As we walked back to the car park, we had an unfettered view over the river Clyde and up to the Highlands.
So, it was a big surprise to us all when we woke up to a thick layer of snow and freezing temperatures. My daughter was due to fly back to Denmark, and she got away just in time.
In hindsight, I wish she hadn't.
John and I were stuck for two more days before we could attempt to drive back down to England. So it was late in the evening on the thirtieth of December that we finally arrived back home, only to be met by some frantic lights on my answer machine.
Something was wrong. I knew my daughter had arrived home okay, but something was up. Of that, I was sure. I dropped what I had in my hands and rushed to the phone. And there it was. One message after the other from my daughter's father asking me to phone him. He assured me our daughter was alright but could I phone him as soon as I got in.
There must have been at least twenty messages.
I turned towards John with a bewildered look. "What am I to do? I better phone him, don't you think?"
I knew, it was a silly question and a stupid thing to say, but John seemed to understand how I felt at that moment.
"Yes, I think you better do."
I picked up the phone and dialled the number to my daughter's father. I didn't have to wait long. He answered on the second ring, and all he said was, "Thank God you phoned back." And without any further explanation he said.
"I'm sending our daughter back to you. Please don't say no. It's an emergency. She needs out of here. I have a ticket for tomorrow morning, she will arrive at Heathrow at ten o'clock your time. Can you pick her up?"
For a moment, I didn't know what to say. I turned towards John, and mouthed to him that my daughter would arrive tomorrow morning. He nodded and I turned my attention back to my daughter's father.
"Yes, of course I will pick her up. But what is the urgency? Surely you'll have an explanation?"
"I do, but I can't talk right now. Just promise me you will be there tomorrow. I'll speak to you as soon as I can." And with that he hung up.
The next morning, I went to Heathrow and waited for my fourteen year old daughter to arrive.
When she appeared from the luggage claim, I let out a gasp. What I saw very nearly broke my heart.
A tall girl, looking quite forlorn, dragged along two huge bags while fat hot tears streamed down her cheeks.
What on earth had happened to my beautiful daughter?
<><><><>
All I ever knew was that something had gone terribly wrong in her father's marriage and for some reason he was too frightened to tell me the full story.
Meanwhile, my daughter was happy living with me, as far as I could tell.
Her father eventually got a divorce and she visited him often.
So, Dear Diary. It all had a happy ending of sorts. One day, I'm sure, he will tell me the full story. Until then, I'm patiently waiting.
<><><><>
It was many years later, when he finally told me some of what had happened. It turned out the family he had married into was a bunch of hardened criminals. When he'd made known that he would go to the police they had threatened him on his life. That's when he felt that our daughter had to disappear. He then carefully planned his own escape, and even after he'd succeded, he still received threatning letters. He was scared, and I'd never seen him scared.
When he revealed this to me, I was in deep shock. Many things could be said about him, but he'd always worked very hard, in the Navy, no less, as a respected and high ranked technician, but more importantly, his is one of the most honest and law abiding persons I've ever met.
Love can indeed make you blind.
By Ulla
I looked out the window for the hundreth time that day, and like the ninety-nine other times I'd looked, nothing had changed. The village was dead, the wee street was dead. Even the dogs had stopped barking. For all I knew we could all be dead.
But something told me that we were all very much alive. Two days prior, we had been put in lock down. A lock down that was to last for at least a couple of weeks. Or so the government said. A virus had its grip on the world and had shot us all down.
I'd been lucky and seen it coming so I'd catered up and had plenty of food and drink for at least a month. So I hunkered down in my little house. Boxed in, as it were, with plenty of books to read, my computer to keep me abreast of the news around the world, and my dog who forced me outside a least once a day.
And yet, I still didn't see anybody. I didn't hear any voices nor any noises. So, one day, when I was too bored and had run out of ideas of what else to do, I ventured up to the attic where I had stored some old stuff of mine.
The room was stuffy from lack of air and the few cardboard boxes left in one corner were covered in a thick layer of dust. I looked around the otherwise empty room and thought it could be a lovely space to turn into a studio. It needed a window, which would give some much needed light enhancing the slanting ceiling with its rustic beams.
All dreams, but good to have, though. I sighed. For a moment I'd forgotten the dreadful situation we were all in. Abruptly, I was back at the present and, once again, gazed at the boxes leaning against the far corner. They looked quite forlorn in their lonely corner, as if they had been all forgotten. I tentatively aproached the stack and reached out for the top box. I brushed away the worst of the dust and carefully made my way downstairs, the box tucked under one arm.
Entering the kitchen, I sat the box down on one of the chairs. I decided to make myself a cup of coffee, and a few minutes later, I sat down with my mug of hot brew. I glanced at the box sitting on the chair next to me and, after a few moments of savouring my coffee, I decided to have a look.
The lid came off easily enough, but what I saw almost took my breath away.
The letters were neatly stacked. Letters I'd almost forgotten about, but, never quite had. Letters that dated back to a time I would rather not think about.
Antonio, the first and true love of my life. The affair had been hot and passionate and I knew the letters would prove the fact. He'd worked for the embassy and he'd travelled a lot, hence the letters he'd written to me when wherever he happened to be.
And then he fell ill. He was thirty-two and I was twenty-three when he came to see me. Said he had cancer of the stomach and had to go to hospital. Within a week he was dead.
I looked at the box, as tears filled my eyes. I took out the letter at the top and carefully removed the pages from the envelope. I remembered it well. It was one of the last he'd ever written to me when hed been on a trip to Australia. He'd wanted me to come with him and I'd declined. Something I'd always regretted.
I looked over the page and then back to the heading: "My love, you should be here with me ..."
My hands shook as I folded the pages and replaced them in the envelpe, a lonely tear making its escape down my cheek.
No, this was definitely not the time to re-read his letters. I gently put the lid back on and decided to put it back up where it had come from.
Some day, maybe some day.
| Author Notes |
This is an entry to the flash challenge created by Robyn Corum.
Thanks to awmurray for the use of the artwork. |
By Ulla
"You're doomed!"
I was dumbfounded. "What do you mean I'm doomed? You told me I stand to gain a lot of money on the sale of my shares."
"True, but that was when the company was still solvent."
"Still solvent?"
I watched my consultant, as he fidgeted with his tie, making sure his face mask was in place.
Something was definitely not right.
"I'm sorry to say, your sale is on hold. The coronavirus killed off the entire company."
| Author Notes |
Thanks to avmurray for the use of the artwork.
I hand counted 79 words exactly. |
By Ulla
I know full well that I shouldn't do what I'm going to do, but I can't stand by silently and say nothing. I will lose some reviews and reviewers, as well, but heck, so be it. I know what I believe in, and I have to stand up for that.
To my horror, I've read some writing on this site that more and less condone what has happened in recent days in the US. How can anybody condone the police to murder a black man just because he is black? He was a petty criminal, that is maybe so. But would a white petty criminal be put on death row, let alone being killed on the spot of capture for that same crime?
I don't think so.
The police are needed. That's for sure. But they have to be recruited with more scrutiny and trained to being less biased.
America, I ask you. Get a grip. See your ways.
I live and grew up in Europe, and I was proud when I found out that I was half American. Am I still proud of that? No, today I'm not so sure.
| Author Notes |
I could never condone the rioting that has taken place. That is not the answer to the problem.
Thank to cleo85 for the use of the artwork. |
By Ulla
It had been a very hot day. Rhonda and I now sat on the porch sipping a cool drink.
In silence, we both watched the dark clouds gathering on the horizon, and I was startled to see their rapid approach.
I turned towards my friend. "Rhonda, what a strange green hue there is to the sky."
"Yes. Ulla, this is a tornado on its way."
"You mean, one of those big ones?"
"Yes, the very same. Prepare yourself"
Just then the siren sounded, and I looked at her in alarm.
She grabbed my arm. "C'mon, we need to go to the basement."
| Author Notes |
102 words exactly.
Thanks to cleo85 for the use of the artwork. This took place in May 2003, when I was visiting my friends in south east Missouri. A Cat. 4 was approaching and by some miracle, just when it was about to hit, it split in two and passed our village by. It then formed in to one yet again, and went on its destructive way. Sadly, 46 people lost their lives in Missouri during that time. |
By Ulla
I've just spoken to my daughter, who lives in Denmark with her husband and their three young girls, my three grandchildren. Like in Spain, the whole country is in lockdown. I wanted to offer my help as schools are now closed just like here. But as it turned out, the border has been closed and, although I'm a Danish citizen, I would probably not be able to enter the country.
I have to mention that she's a nurse, and my son-in- law is a medical doctor.
But all that aside, my daughter is running a fever and has a headache with a slight cough. On Monday, we will know the result, which we all expect to be possitive, and, in that case, all the rest of them will have it. Even if I could go, she wouldn't let me.
To say that I'm worried is an understatement.
By Ulla
Now, I need to let off steam. I'm angry beyond words. I live in a country, Spain, which has one of the best health systems in the world, which is free of charge to anyone who lives here. All health care is free of charge in Europe, I may add. That's what we call a wellfare system.
Now, a virus starts off in China in December 2019, the spread of which couldn't be predicted. But the worst came to pass, because a virus doesn't know borders nor wealth. You can't buy off a virus as you can a bad investor.
Now, I seem to remember a president of a major nation chided the world of being somewhat hysterical. That is, until the illness suddenly presented itself at his own doorstep. Now he's blaming everybody. Europe is the great offender all of a sudden, but Britain is not, because it left Europe a little over a month ago. How convenient!
Well, Mr President, are you closing schools in your own country? Are you cancelling all sport events and other major gatherings? But most important of all, are you giving all your citizens of your great nation the opportunity of a free tests to see if they have the virus?
No, I wouldn't have thought so. That's the difference between your nation and mine.
There was a time I would have been proud to say I'm half American. Now I'm not so sure.
By Ulla
So who's driving home tonight?
You are, of course, Jonathan. It's your turn, after all.
I don't think there's anything 'of course' about it, Fay.
What do you mean?
I think it would be good for you to be off the booze. That's all.
What! Could you say that again?
You heard me the first time round. No need for a repeat.
Maybe not, but I think there's a serious need for an explanation and an apology, come to that. You make it sound as if you think I'm some sort of a drunk.
Well, maybe that's what I'm starting to fear.
What? I just can't believe what I'm hearing.
No, I believe you can't. Denying there is a problem is a sure sign there is one.
I still can't believe what I'm hearing. Yes, I like a glass of wine, but so do you. What's the problem?
That's the thing. I do like a drink once in a while, but as of late, you seem to need one every single day.
And so?
If you must know, I have a problem with it. I don't understand why you have to turn to a bottle of wine at every opportunity. So my suggestion is that you drive tonight and I'm the one who enjoys a drink with my meal.
Well, if that's how you want to play it, be my guest. I'm staying home. Make whatever excuse you want to make, but I'm not going.
Fine, but you won't find any alcohol in the house. I've thrown it all out.
Good. Off you go, and when you get back, I might not be here. Suit yourself and have a pleasant evening. At least I now know what I've got myself into in this marriage.
| Author Notes | So is there a problem, or does she just like a glass of wine and no more? |
By Ulla
I'd known for some time that I was going to China, To Beijing or Peking, as it was still called back in the eighties. Scandinavian Airlines had been negotiating and achieved the rights to open a direct flight to China from Copenhagen, commencing the first of July 1989. But prior to that, a flight had been scheduled to take some of the top management of our airline and some Chinese representatives to the capital of China. The flight was to leave on the 24th of June 1989. And I was elected to be one of the crew.
When I received my flight schedule in early May for the month of June, I was excited to learn that I was going to China. A place that had the great allure of the exotic Far East, but at the same time, too elusive to be reached. And now I found that's where I was going. It was a dream come true.
Little could I know what lay in store.
And then China erupted. The whole world looked on in amazement, as the tanks moved in and mowed down thousands of students, and we all cried with the horror of it all.
To my surprise, my flight was not cancelled, and, barely three weeks after the tragic happenings, I flew into Peking.
After our few important passengers were led off the plane, we, the crew, were quickly taken through immigration. Upon receiving our luggage, we were met by a gentle young man in his early thirties, who said he had a small bus waiting to take us to our hotel. He spoke such perfect English, which defied the notion that he could be a mere bus driver. And, true enough, just before we reached the minibus, he stopped and asked us whether we would like to go for a tour of the city in say, two hours. He appreciated that we were jet-lagged and tired, but still hoped we would join him.
He told us that he was a lecturer at Peking's largest university.
I think we all recognised there was a hidden message here, and, as one, we readily agreed. After that he drove us to our hotel in the centre of the city. Nothing much was said during the drive, but what we all noticed was the empty streets, a few stray bicycles, and nothing much else. No cars to speak of. It was eerie and strangely frightening, as well.
It reminded me of Madrid, Spain, back in 1974 when Franco's second in command was blown to high heaven not three blocks from where I lived. Within the hour the city was devoid of people, when the whole country held its breath awaiting what would happen next.
I sensed the same unnerving fear having its grip on the multi-million population of this city, and I didn't like it. I didn't like it for one moment. I was in a state of fear and fascination, both at the same time. One part of me wanted to know more yet another part of me just wanted out. To leave it all behind and go back to my safe family life in my little safe country.
But, of course, there was no escape. I was here. So I removed my uniform, and had my shower. I changed into fresh clothes and lay on top of the bed. I drifted off, and after an hour, the alarm brought me back to reality. I quickly brushed my teeth, and had some water to drink, and quickly made my way down to the lobby.
We were all there, and, like bees to honey, we all sought out our new found friend. As it turned out he'd taken on the role as a guide and introduced us to the driver who was a student from the same university.
Before we entered the bus, he said that we would be taken to The Tiananmen Square so we could appreciate its beauty and its size, and, of course, in addition we would be able to admire the entrance and the magnificent buildings of The Forbidden City.
We had all caught onto that he didn't want to say too much in the bus for fear that it might be bugged. So off we drove through the empty streets and then we were there.
We all drew in a collective gasp. The sheer size of the square was frightening, but what made us shiver was its infinite emptiness devoid of visitors, let alone citizens. All there was, was the presence of an endless amount of soldiers armed with weapons ready to kill. The silence in our little bus was deafening, as tears ran down our faces, remembering what we'd seen on the TV screens in the safety of our homes only a few weeks ago.
An unforbidden image of a lone student, standing in front of a huge tank, suddenly flashed before my eyes, and I broke down in sobs.
We bowed our heads, as we felt the shame of it all lying heavily on our shoulders.
| Author Notes | Thanks to awmurry for the use of the artwork. |
By Ulla
Sarah heard the wheels on the gravel. She chuckled and stirred the venison stew once more - Rob's favourite. She wiped her hands on the apron and walked towards the front door.
Rob, as usual, had his hand behind his back - a loving smile on his face.
"Hi honey, what surprise have you for me today?"
"Something I've wanted to do for a long time," he said, as he plunged the knife deep in her chest.
| Author Notes |
Thanks to avmurray for the use of the artwork.
75 words exacltly. Hand counted. |
By Ulla
It was 1971. My father, my adoptive father as it were, had been dead for a couple of years, and I was nineteen years old. It was also Christmas, and true to the tradition my father had established many years prior, I found myself celebrating Christmas and New Year on Mallorca, Spain, with my adoptive mother and grandmother. To be honest, I was getting too old for this, and I was bored out of my skull.
And that's when my knight in amour arrived and carried me away on his white stallion- figurately. The stallion turned out to be a racy Mercedes convertible, and the knight was a hotel owner named Martin. I was as ready as I could be.
Truth be told, I had met him the year before, and we'd stayed in touch, writing letters. Hard to believe, isn't it? But such was the world back then. Now, during that year, he'd built yet another hotel, and it so happened that the hotel was to be launched and celebrated during that Christmas. It was a big affair with a formal dinner and dance. Tuxedo and ball gowns were on the cards, and I had been invited as his date.
I'd never owned a dress quite like that before, nor ever since. It was daring, but so utterly elegant at the same time. Young as I was, I could carry it off. Strapless, off white with crimson leaves falling off a full skirt right down to the floor.
I gave a little gasp when I saw Martin. He was in a burgundy tuxedo with a creamy shirt, and looked everything a Spanish Don should look like. But he could also carry it off, and he looked beyond elegant; nothing tacky there. That our outfits matched in colour was a coup. His black hair against my blonde auburn managed to turn a few heads in the course of the evening.
Everything went as predicted with a prolonged dinner and lots of talks, which all bored me to death. Then there was the obligatory dancing, and I thought the night was coming to an end.
That's when the most extraordinary thing happened.
Martin and I stood with a group of his friends, some of whom I'd met the previous year. To my surprise, they were talking about sailing; and how about setting sail that very night heading towards a bay southeast of Palma, dropping anchor for the night. We could stay there until the next day before heading back to Palma sometime Sunday afternoon. To me it sounded like paradise.
How I was going to get permission was another story. My strict, and rather Victorian, adoptive mother would never allow me to go on such a frivolous adventure. But I was in luck. She was not yet back, so I quickly changed, packed some clothes in a holdall and left a note saying that I would be back on Sunday, well knowing there would be hell to pay.
But I didn't care. I wanted to have fun and I knew I could trust these people. Believe me. The Spanish know how to have fun, without crossing the line. It's even so today.
So we set off into the night in two fairly big yachts. The night was balmy, a full moon shining down on to our vessels, as we moved through the silken water, the engines humming away. We reached the bay and dropped anchor right next to each other. There was not a breath of wind, and our two boats swayed gently side by side .
We had all setttled down with a drink, when somebody on the other boat began to play old classics on his guitar. Before long we were all singing along to some ancient songs, their sad words and melancholic tunes bringing tears to our eyes. And so it was that our sad songs saw the night fading into a misty dawn.
It was a time never to be forgotten.
| Author Notes | Palma is the main city of Mallorca, Spain. |
By Ulla
The sound of water, the sweet sound of water, ran in a nearby stream.
Had I died and gone to heaven?
For a brief moment, I believed it was so, until my furry tongue and a shooting pain through my body told me another story.
That's when I remembered what I'd wished to forget. The beating of a man who searched - or so they'd told me - a truth that no longer existed.
My old world had died, only to become the prey of a new one.
A ring chimed in the distance, and I reached out towards the dying tone.
| Author Notes |
I have hand counted 100 words
Thanks to susanthompson2 for the use of the artwork. |
By Ulla
Hi there, whatever your motives to write this are well meant, I'm sure. But I can't help thinking that you've lost sight of the core of the matter, and the real reasons for the recent demonstrations in the Western world.
I'm white, and it cannot be disputed that throughout history we've always suppressed those who didn't think or act like us as we perceived as our God given right at any one time.
I come from Denmark, a small country of no consequence you might say. But you'll be surprised. We were one of the worst slave dealers of the time. We ruled a few states in Africa among them Ghana where we ruled some 300 years. We owned the now American Virgin Islands where we transported the slaves, exploited them and sold them on. Guess where? . . . To the United States.
This went on until we sold the islands to America for 1 Dollar. Something to be proud of? I don't think so. Even Great Britain abolished slavery before we did.
And then we acquired Greenland and ruined the Inuit population in order to 'Civilise them'. Result? They drink themselves to death, have one of the highest murder rates in the world, criminality is rife as you would never know. All created in the name of civilisation. Something to be proud of? I don't think so.
We, in the West, have put the black people in abject poverty, and as we all know, extreme poverty creates crime. I've travelled the world all my life and I've seen it first hand. I'm sorry I come over like this, but I feel very strongly about it. Kind regards. Ulla
| Author Notes |
I have added a bit to my answer. I just had to share this, as I can't just sit on it.
I cannot condone the violence that has happened in some of the demonstrations. That is never right. Thanks to awmurray for the use of the artwork |
By Ulla
We landed in Alaska mid afternoon local time. As always, the flight had been almost full, and as always, it was a relief when our 747 touched down. Eleven hours from take off to arrival and there was never a dull moment in between. For some reason no one slept or rested on that flight. I never figured out why that was.
Already, wee Denmark seemed a long way in the past, and in a sense it was. It would be another ten days before I would set foot on the soil where I was born. Meanwhile, I would have been to Tokyo, not to mention Moscow.
What is more, in the span of ten days, I would have lost a day but experienced two days of the same name in one week. Confused? Yes, so was I. That's what time difference and crossing the date line do to you when it happens within a week.
But the next few days it was all Alaska. And it would be an Alaska I would never forget.
Over dinner that night, a few of us agreed to have a day out the following day, driving up to Mount Denali, also known as Mount McKinley. It is the highest mountain in the United States. It stands more than 6000 metres high (18000 feet,) and it is magnificient. Its white cone appears to reach up to the heavenly unknown. It never fails to bring tears to my eyes.
So, the next morning, after a hefty breakfast, we piled into the car and set out for the mountains far beyond. The day was glorious, the early sun glaring down on us from its immense blue nothingness. We all dozed, the jetlag playing its evil game, but our driver, the captain, as it were, kept his cool and mercifully stayed awake.
But even he must have succumbed to the urge of a quick nap, because he managed to wake us all when the car came to an abrupt halt.
We looked around and saw nothing but wilderness. The mountains soared high in the near distance and all we could hear was the sound of a fast running river. It drew us like a magnet, so we left the dozing captain behind and walked nearer to the sound of running water.
The ground was rough and slippery, wild shrubs impeding our progress, and then there was a huge boulder blocking our way. But we challenged it, made our way around it, and then we stopped dead.
To this day, I'll swear we all ceased to breathe ...
Because, there he was, an eight feet apparition. He was on his hind legs, his brown fur reflected in the sun from the water spray, which covered his damp coat. He never paid us any attention. He was far too busy catching the willing salmon as they jumped into his receiving mouth.
We stood for a moment. Then turned around and quietly made our way back to the car. What we'd seen was nothing short of a miracle.
<><><><>
Whenever I met the captain on future flights, he always cursed that he'd fallen asleep on that particular morning.
| Author Notes |
Thanks to alaskapat for the use of the artwork.
Many have asked me why we didn't have any camaras. We were not tourists. This was our time off work. In hindsight, I'm surprised we never had one on the ready. Then again, this was the time before cell phones, smart phones and whatever they're called . If this had happened today one of us would have captured a photo on our phone. |
By Ulla
The high-pitched scream made Jane sit bolt upright. Her breathing was laboured and for a confused moment, she didn't know where she was. Only then, did she realise she was in her own bed. The scream still lingered deep in her throat while beads of sweat slowly made their way down her forehead.
She reached behind her pillow, and felt the cold steel from her Glock, knowing it was fully loaded. She pulled it out and laid it on the bed cover in front of her, while she tried to get her breathing under control.
At the same time, she listened into the darkness. It was Halloween and it could have been some prank or another that had woken her up, but for some reason, she didn't think so. She'd been found out. Her undercover had somehow been contaminated, and she now knew, she was in mortal danger. She was alone, and there was nobody to cover her ass. It all came with the job description.
So what to do?
Basic training had taught her a few things. Be alert, listen and wait, and then listen some more. And that's what she tried to do. She thought she heard a faint noise in the hall just outside her door. She grabbed the gun and cocked it, hardly making a sound - all her instincts on high alert.
There was a faint scrape against the door.
She held her breath while the door opened, but at first, nothing happened. Somehow she remembered to exhale. The door opened a bit further, and a shadow slowly appeared. Without thinking, she aimed and pulled the trigger. She heard a moan and saw the shadow fall away.
Jane sat for a moment, before turning on the lamp next to her bed. On the carpet in front of her lay a man supine on the floor. He didn't appear to breath, but she couldn't be sure. Jane got up and went cautiously to his side. She bent down, searching for a pulse, and found none.
She straightened up and said out loud. "I finally got you, didn't I, you bastard?" She shook her head as she looked down at her superior.
By Ulla
A snapshot of a green wall flashes before my eyes, until another snapshot appears. It is grainy at first, but as it slowly comes into focus, a pair of small boots suddenly becomes apparent.
They have a fur lining, and that is all I see until I become aware of a small hand caressing the warmth of the wool. Instinctively, I know the hand is mine, and then, once again, I notice the green backdrop only to discover that what I see and feel slowly fades away until there is nothing more.
Then, all of a sudden, there are more snapshots - some of them of the chaotic variety. People are milling about in a confused manner, forced smiles plastered on their frantic faces.
At first, I don't understand what it is all about, because the focus seems to be centred on me. And then part of me suddenly understands that I'm going to a real home. The word adopted, whatever that means, keeps coming up. In the end, though, I don't really understand anything, at all.
What I do know is that the boots are for real; the first item I've ever been able to say was truly mine. Somebody is also saying that I will be going home. But what that signifies, I'm not so sure. What does it mean to go home? I've never had a home to go to ever before.
Where I live is a house full of other kids just like me. We each have a bed and there are many beds to each room. The adults who look after us are really friendly and caring. As much as a stranger can be to a lonely child.
Then yet another snapshot. My bed is just behind the door which opens into our shared dormitory. And yes, the wall, next to my bed, is definitely green. Somehow, I also know that I am two and a half years old.
I embrace my soft leather boots, and close my eyes. The fur-lining soft against my cheek.
And then I sleep.
| Author Notes |
I was officially adopted on the 22nd of December 1954. A christmas gift? Yes, I suppose it was. I still have that pair of boots.
Thanks to meg 119 for the use of the artwork. |
By Ulla
"It's happening tonight." Dave suddenly realised he'd said it out loud as he gazed out of the window into the dark nothingness of the night.
I didn't answer, as I kept stirring the rich sauce for our pasta. I loved the aroma of the garlic I'd blended in with the tomato, basil and green celery among other savoury herbs making up the sauce. It was almost ready, when Dave's words suddenly engaged with my brain.
"What was that, dear?" I asked as I looked up from the sauce pan.
Dave shook his head, deciding it was not worth starting an argument. All he wanted was to get off the mountain and fast. He turned towards me.
"Jane, all I said was that it is happening tonight, and we need to leave as of now."
"Okay, I hear what you're saying, But could you please say what it is that is so urgent? All I know is that this sauce is almost finished, and so is the pasta. What's the rush anyway? What is so different from an hour ago? Besides, the wine is decanting."
"A snowstorm is coming in, Jane. A severe one. I can sense it." As if to confirm what he'd just said, a gust of wind brought with it a flurry of snow, which landed with a dull thud on the window panes. The crystal-like flakes quickly turned into fat drops of water.
"David, what do you want us to do?" As I spoke, the snow had suddenly intensified at a terrifying speed, supported by the wind, which surged up the valley like a howling animal.
"I wanted us to get off the mountain, but I can see it's not such a good idea anymore. Let's have our meal and wine. Tomorrow morning it will be over, and we can get away. I'll just go out and get some more firewood."
Once Dave was back in, we sat down to our tasty but spicy meal, while the logs crackled in the crate, and the wine mellowed our brains. Meanwhile, the weather Gods decided to dump a white carpet of icy snow onto the surface of the northern hemisphere with no regards to man or to any living creature.
<><><>
The first rays of the wintry sun found their way in through the frozen panels, caressing the man and the woman, seemingly asleep in each other arms. But neither of them stirred. The rays continued their slow travel up the wall, oblivious to the embracing couple in the bed.
A couple who would never stir again.
<><><>
Two weeks later, a hiker came along and raised the alarm. The snow had all but disappeared, but what had first caught his attention was the abandoned vehicle in front of the cabin. Only later did he discover an unpleasant smell.
To the investigators' surprise it was not the cold or lack of food that had caused the couple's demise. It was smoke that had taken their lives. The severe frost and the lack of wind had prevented the smoke from escaping the chimney. Instead it had swirled into the interior, where there was no escape. All doors and windows had been firmly closed.
<><><>
So Dave made a bad decision listening to his wife, you may say. But leaving the mountain could have been just as disastrous.
| Author Notes | Thanks to alaskapat for the use of the artwork. |
By Ulla
Odin was tired. He was tired of life, tired of strife, but worst of all, he was tired of his son, Thor, a son who appeared to be less and less in control.
He sighed as he sat back in his favourite chair, looking out at the view he'd come to love more than anything in life. The rolling hills fell softly away down towards the deceptively calm sea. A sea, which had surprised many an ignorant sailor with its treacherous whims.
Just like his son had surprised many of his followers.
Odin let out another deep sigh, as he thought back on the last few years. It had been a happy time when Thor married Sif, or so everybody thought. Odin nodded at the memory. Yes, it had been a happy time, no doubt about it. Two sons had followed, and not long after a third child was on its way.
When Trud was born, everybody cheered and welcomed the little girl. Even Thor seemed to soften and cherish this last addition to his growing troop. The small girl, with her plump cheeks and joyous smile, brought joy wherever she was taken.
But, Odin reflected, Thor was becoming increasingly restless, and the use of his hammer had become an obsession. Whenever he swung it, the earth shook and an echo of a tremendous sound reverberated through the clouds, bringing fear to every living soul.
What was worse, was that he, Odin, had made that first hammer, and given it to his son.
"On this day, my son," he had proudly said, "I present you with this hammer. Use it wisely and with prudence."
Thor named it Mjolnir and he fought bravely against the Jotuns, an enemy of great strength.
But then one day, an even greater threat came to the world. Mjolnir was stolen and Thor swore to get it back. At first, he didn't know how to achieve that, but, all of a sudden, help presented itself from an unexpected corner.
Loki was a clever God and a true friend of Thor. He'd found out that Thrym, a two-faced leech of a man, had stolen the hammer. What was also known was that Freya was prepared to marry this man, or semi God. But most importantly, Freya knew where Mjolnir was buried.
Then Loki came up with the idea that Thor had to impersonate Freya and marry Thrym. At first, Thor balked at the idea, but after some second thoughts, he recognised the merit of the scheme.
So decided, he dressed like a woman and almost went through with the fake wedding ceremony , when it all proved too much for his big ego. In the end, he couldn't go through with the sham wedding.
Amid the chaos which evolved, he managed to get hold of the hammer, and so the day was saved.
However, his pent-up anger is still being felt and heard up until this day. Every so often, he swings his hammer, which brings along a thunderous noise never to be forgotten.
Sadly, Odin's wish to calm his eldest son's anger was never granted.
By Ulla
I tossed and turned, the sheets getting clammy and crumpled under my hot and sweaty body. A round thing, like a ball, kept hovering next to me, its stumped fingers reaching out for me.
"I will get you in the end," it wheezed. "I will suck out your breath and leave you breathless and weak. I will relish in your agony and sit back in glee, when I see you taking your last intake of air."
"It's not that I have anything against you, you understand. It is just that you are there and you are for my taking. You are my feed and you are my survival. Without you I would be nothing, but you have played beautifully into my hand. Keep on doing what you are doing and I will be fat and you will be no more."
I screamed out in agony, and nearly choked on my own breath. A dry cough caught up with me and I gasped for air. But the damn thing just rolled off me pointing its short fingers at me.
"You see, you fight, and you think you are so clever. Granted, my dear, you have been clever for centuries gone by. But, you have also been arrogant, haven't you? So very arrogant. You were raised to believe that you could conquer and win against any enemy, didn't you?"
I raised my weakened head and looked at the monster hovering above me.
"But why do you take it out on me? I'm a nobody. All I do is to look after my family. I'm just a poor mechanic, for crying out loud."
"Yes, but that is just it, isn't it? We have to hit out at anybody. We don't discriminate you see. We don't care about colour, origin or your standing in society. We just want to devour you all."
The ball came closer and, as it reached out its slimy arms, I felt my breath growing shallow. I tried to cry out as a nurse and a doctor approached near by, but they may not have noticed, and then everything went dark ...
| Author Notes | Thanks a lot supergold for your wonderful photo. I've been there and it took my breath away. |
By Ulla
1.) Do you collect anything? I collect books. You will always find me reading a book. My walls can testify to that. They are covered with them.
2.) Would you rather hear the good news first or the bad? I'd prefer to hear the bad news first, deal with it and then get to the good ones.
3.) If you had to give up one thing of these for the rest of your life, would it be brushing your hair or brushing your teeth? Brushing my hair. It would be nice not having to make the choice, though. I have very thick hair. What a mess! But my teeth have priority.
4.) Would you rather go into the past and meet your ancestors or go into the future and meet your great-great grandchildren? Can't I have it both ways? Well, I guess not. I'd love to look into the future. But then again, I was adopted, and I've only found my biological family a few years ago and I'm now learning about my past, and a very interesting one, if I may say so.
5.) Are you related (or distantly related) to anyone famous? Yes. At this stage, I say no more. If you're following my novel you'll know soon enough.
6.) How long does it take you to get ready in the morning? All depends, on my dog and cat, and the plants. I'm ready in no time, but the animals need feeding, the plants watered before the sun is too high in the sky, and then I have to walk the dog before it gets too hot. Phew, I feel tired, already!
7.) If someone wrote a book about your life, what would the title be? She talked too much? Maybe, I don't know, but I do have a lot to tell.
***
By Ulla
You entered our life. You stayed for a while and then you were gone.
Yes, the two first statements were certainly true. The third one was equally true, but maybe not in the way you would have liked.
You talked a lot. Such great charm on display. You were liked. But not by all.
Then one day you simply disappeared.
I spread the rumour you were last seen at the water edge.
They're still searching.
| Author Notes |
75 words exactly.Hand counted.
Thanks to Freelo 59 for the use of the artwork. |
By Ulla
It was a Saturday morning. It was also a dull and grey day. Unusual for this part of the world in late June, but there you have it. It was muggy and quite unpleasant, the humidity entering every pore of the skin only to leave a wet film all over my warm body.
But the vegetable garden didn't care whether I was comfortable or not. So, down I trotted to the plot of the land that had become the home of my edible produce.
I soon got hold of the hose and turned it on. It was still early enough in the year for the natural stream that ran through our land to provide water for this purpose. The flow was slow but steady. It was just enough to water around the feet of the plants, minimising the risk of bugs to take hold. A risk which is always present in a hot and humid climate like the Mediterranean summer.
So here I was, happily engaged with the task of looking after my crop when I heard a distinct snort. At first, I didn't pay much attention. In fact, it hardly registered.
But then another snort interrupted my train of thought, or you might say the lack of any thought. I looked around and gazed up towards the house, but there was no sign of my husband. So it was definitely not him making that sound.
Just then, a couple of more snorts erupted and the source of them suddenly became all too apparent.
Six or seven young wild boars came straight for me. I will never be sure how many there were, and I don't really care. All I know is that I ran for my life screaming as I went.
In the end, I managed to scramble up towards the house and safety before they got anywhere near me.
I had a lucky escape.
| Author Notes | Wild Boars normally sleeps during the day, but, on a murky day, they can get confused. I learned that by the hard way. |
By Ulla
Right, it's time to let go of the ropes.
Okay, Skipper, which one is the first?
Read the wind. If you read the wind that will give you all the answers you need.
But, Sir, excuse me, Skipper, I mean. How can I read the wind when there are no words?
Just lick your finger and hold it up in the air, and you'll have all your answers.
Yeah, well, this is all well said and done, but could you please tell me which rope I first let go of?
Boy, are you making fun of me or what?
No ... no, not really, Sir.
So what are you doing? You told me you'd grown up on a boat.
Oh, but I did. I really did. That is not a lie.
So you're admitting lying to me now?
Well, yes and no. You see, I grew up in a longboat. Those you see up along the river? They don't carry much of a sail, and the wind doesn't really matter much. So which rope do I let go of, then?
Son, don't worry about it. Let them all go. Just make sure none of them stay in the water.
Oh, okay. So the wind doesn't really matter, then?
Let me be the judge of that. What I do know is that I'm Ietting you off at the next port.
By Ulla
It was mid 1980's or maybe it was a bit later. It doesn't really matter. What is certain is that it was sometime in the eighties.
What is more, the night was a warm evening in late August, and I was part of the crew on the last flight to Paris out of Copenhagen, Denmark. It was nine in the evening and dusk was approaching, the early night taking on that special rosy hue which is so typical for the Nordic countries at that time of year.
Unusually, the flight was only half full, so the pilots invited one of the cabin crew to sit in the cockpit during take off. To my delight, the cabin crew knew me well. They all realised how much I would have loved to be a pilot, and they decided to indulge me.
As soon as all the passengers were on board, and the cabin clear had been declared, I quickly buckled into the harness of the extra crew seat in the cockpit. That night we flew an MD82 a bigger version of the DC9. It still only had two pilots and I was sitting behind them, right in the middle.
The pilots asked whether I was comfortable, and I answered I was. Push back was affirmed and the strange looking truck, attached to the shanks above the front wheels pushed us back from the gate way. Thumbs up were given and we were ready to start up the engines.
I knew better than to say anything as a lot of communication was going on between the ground and the tower. It was not the first time I'd had the privilege of sitting in the cockpit, so I knew the procedure quite well, but it never ceased to amaze me. As always, I was fascinated.
Once the engines were engaged, we commenced our slow progress towards the runway. Quite a few flights were in front of us giving us plenty of time to admire the still rosy sky lit up by a sun, now well below the horizon. A dark blue tinge was appearing above in the upper part of the horizon making it clear that the night was rapidly closing in.
Our small talk soon ceased as communication was coming through from the tower. El Al, was in the front, the first aeroplane to take off. Next was Lufthansa, wherever they were going in Germany, Then came British Airways, followed by Air France, and then there was us, Scandinavian Airlines, making up the tail.
By now, we had all lined up in our respective places to be called for take off, all of us waiting for our turn. El Al was at the start of the runway, They were the first to be cleared for take off, They got their clearance, but to our astonishment their plane didn't move an inch. There was a short silence when all hell broke loose.
"El Al to tower. We're short of a passenger."
"Tower to El Al. With all due respect, How can you suddenly be short of a passenger at this stage? Are you quite sure?"
"Affirmative, El Al to tower. Our cabin crew is recounting heads. We'll be back to you in a moment."
The pilots and I looked at each other, with an incredulous gaze. "How on earth can this be happening?" I said. "They are supposedly the safest airline in the world when it comes to security. How on earth can they suddenly be missing a passenger at this late stage? it just doesn't make sense. What is more, we could be sitting here for hours."
Both my pilots nodded in grim agreement, until the radio once again crackled back into life.
"Tower to El Al, Have you come up with a result? We need to know what you want to do. As you know there are several planes behind you all awaiting to take off. You're holding them all up."
By now, all formality had be given up, this was starting to be an interesting night, indeed.
"El Al to Tower, we are recounting once again, but it does look like we are missing a passenger. But we still can't be sure."
At this there was a moment of silence. We now knew that if a passenger was indeed missing they would have to empty the plane. All passengers would have to come off and so would the luggage which would have to be identified by each and single passenger. We could be here all night.
So much for being invited to be in the cockpit during take off. But all we could do was to sit and wait.
Then, all of a sudden, the radio came alive yet again; "El Al to Tower. We definitely think we are short of a passenger."
A short pause followed after this. "Tower to El Al, so what do you want to do? We'll need a decisio..."
But before the tower had finished their sentence another voice suddenly appeared, this time in a very thick German accent.. "El Al, El Al, tis is der Capitain for der Lufthansa speaking. We were just thinking. Have you looked in der oven?"
At this there was a profound silence. I could have sworn I could hear the bated breath from every single pilot, until the laughter broke from the Israeli airline. They laughed so hard that they immediately asked for permission to take off. We could all hear them chuckling all through their ascent.
As for us, we never stopped laughing that night and I'm still laughing to this day.
It was such a liberating moment.
By Ulla
I'm always late, I know. But this time it's worse. It's been raining now for 24 hours, but not some normal rain. It's tropical in nature and something we dread around here at this time of the year. It's due to continue through Friday, in my immediate area, so we could be in for some damage. The power is on and off. Right now it's on, so I've taken advantage of it to write some more of my new chapter. Meanwhile, I hurry back writing reviews and answering some more of those I've received.
So far, my house is dry. I have some wet patches in a room on the middle floor, but it's right below the upper terrace. I suspected I had to lay new tiles there and now I know that I'll have to. The former owners did a really bad job.
So cross fingers that nothing worse happens. The rain is now back on, the lightning and thunder coming closer.
For those who don't know. We call this a 'gota fria' meaning ' the cold drop.' This time, every year, we dread it. It happens when colder air meets the hot air and gets worse by the hot sea(The Med). The amount of water can easily cause severe mud and rock slides with extensive damage. It has nothing to do with climate change. It's been known for centuries. It's so local, so it can be difficult to forcast. It may happen here, but one mile away it's bone dry or just raining normally. So please cross fingers for me for the next few days.
| Author Notes | I chose the artwork, because it's beautiful. Thanks to Michelle Morrison. |
By Ulla
At four in the morning, I was thrown unceremoniously out of my bed. My brain, still 6000 miles away, struggled to catch up. Then it hit me.
"Shit, this is the big one, isn't it?"
Everything seemed okay for a little while, until the world started to move again.
By noon, I'd had enough, and I met up with three of my colleagues. The earth moved, and who cared?
The sun shined, we were alive and Venice Beach was around the corner. The SideWalk Cafe and its strawberry margaritas were calling.
Why not die happy appeared to be the general consensus.
| Author Notes |
101 word exactly, manually counted.
It was at the end of June 1992, when LA was struck by an eartquake the magnitude of 7.1 on the Ricter scale. The epicenter was in the desert some 70 miles inland from LA, hence the damage was kept to a minimum. Unfortunately a few people did lose their lives, a little baby boy among them. During the three days, I and the crew were there, the earth never ceased moving from the after shocks. It was quite surreal. But the food and the margaritas were wonderful. What a time! |
By Ulla
early morning dew
spells a long awaited change ~
autumn's diamonds
| Author Notes |
I've chosen the 5-7-5 format. Haiku is always wtitten in lower case.
Thanks to avmurray for the use of the artwork. Diamonds have three syllables. |
By Ulla
It had been a good day. Their guests had loved the food and the drinks, if the volume of their voices had anything to do with it.
Now, they'd left and she was exhausted. She leant back, savouring her glass of wine.
Just then, she looked up and saw her husband clad in an apron and not much else.
"My dear, are you up for the next part?"
"No, I don't think so. All I'm up for is a quick divorce."
| Author Notes |
Thanks to Iphone 7 for the use of the artwork.
No, this has never happened to me. |
By Ulla
I had just finished putting on my uniform, when I heard my seven-year old daughter calling up the stairs.
"Mum, hurry up, if we don't leave soon, we'll be late for school."
I chuckled, how much things had changed for my daughter during the last few months. She loved her school, and for once, our roles had reversed. My seven year old was urging me to get on with it rather than the other way round.
So it was with a light heart I set her off at the school gate. Amelie gave me a firm kiss on my cheek, before she departed with a breezy, "goodbye, Mum, see you in two day's time," and she was away.
"Goodbye, until the day after tomorrow," I said under my breath, as I put the car into gear and headed towards the airport.
During the fifty minutes it took me to drive there, I mused how unusual many would find our way of living. I was a flight attendant and, Tommy, my husband, was in the Navy. It had to be said he mostly worked on land, but at times he had to go out to sea on some exercise or other. He was an expert on radar and missiles and had to be present if something went wrong during an exercise.
He'd left at six this morning for work and he would pick up our daughter at four in the afternoon. At that time, I would be well over the Atlantic, on my flight from Copenhagen to New York.
An hour later, I checked in for my flight at the crew check-in. The flight was on time, but I still had ten minutes before I had to meet up with the crew for a pre-flight briefing. I quickly checked my pigeon hole, grabbed the internal post and went straight for the phones which were at our disposal free of charge.
I decided to give Tommy a quick ring. It had become a tradition, really, before I went on a flight. Something we never spoke of but deep down both understood, just in case.
But this was the first and only time I wish I never had. When I got through and asked for him, I was told he'd departed first thing in the morning on the Frigate, and nobody knew when he would be back.
I thanked the man, and thought frantically what to do now. There was no way I could call in sick to my flight, so I phoned my parents-in-law, but got no answer. All our friends and stand-bys were away out of the country for some reason or other. I tried my parents-in-law once again, and this time I left a frantic message.
Needless, to say, that it's the worst flight I've ever had to work on. I was out of my mind from worry, and if the term, 'not fit for flight', would have applied to anybody it would have been me.
When I finally arrived at our crew hotel in upper Manhattan it was five in the afternoon, local time, eleven in the evening, Danish time. Once in the room, I threw by bags unceremoniously on the floor and headed straight for the phone.
On the second ring Alice, my mother-in-law answered. "Don't worry, Ulla, Amelie is fine and she's had a ball."
"Alice, what the heck, do you mean she's had a ball? Can you imagine how worried I've been? What the hell are you all playing at?"
I had been so worried, and I was so angry at my husband I could hardly think straight.
"Of course, we can understand your worry and anger. Tommy was in the wrong, and he knows it. But when he couldn't get hold of anybody he contacted the Military Police who went to pick up Amelie two hours after the school's closing time. They then took Amelie back to the Navy base where they entertained her until we finally showed up."
"You're kidding me, aren't you? Are you saying the MPs fetched her up from school?" Now it was my turn to laugh. "So where is Tommy?
"Oh, he's just come on shore and heading home with his tail between his legs."
"As he should be. Oh, Alice, I can't believe the MPs picked her up, and you can't believe how relieved I am. I can sleep in peace now."
| Author Notes |
Thanks to Cindy Sue Truman for the use of the artwork;
Tommy did what he did in good faith. He thought he could handle the situation, so I didn't have to change my flight. I have to say, he never ever did something like this ever again. That The MPs came to pick up our daughter became the folklore of the school. I actually also want to thank Beth Shelby, who inspired me to write this. |
By Ulla
After two years of Covid, I'd had enough. It was finally time to break out of the inertia, and what better day to do so than on the the 25th of January.
Burn's night is a much loved tradition in Scotland and rightfully so. I first came across it in January 1994. I'd divorced my daughter's father in Denmark and had since taken up residence with my Scottish partner who lived in the south of England.
When I was introduced to this great celebration of the Scottish Bard, I immediately fell in love. The wee country of Denmark is a land full of traditions, so it was not difficult to add this one to the list.
So, for many years it became a great part of my life.
Now, John and I eventually broke up. My daughter had finalised her baccalaureate and decided to go back to Denmark. Meanwhile, I'd achieved my LLB law degree. I soon found employment in an American IT company practising contract law.
Suffice to say, the IT bubble blew up and I lost my job. After that, there was no reason for me to stay in England, so I decided to go to Scotland. A decision I've never regretted.
There I befriended a few people, who are still some of my best friends, and I also met my future husband. We eventually sailed to Spain in 2003 and we set up home there.
Needless to say, we also brought the traditional Burn's night with us.
Now, the years passed with sailing and building a new home on our land of many cherry, almond, and olive trees. It was hard work and one day that bubble also burst its seams. We went our separate ways and divorced at the end of 2017. However, we managed to stay good friends. I moved to a lovely house in the same valley with my dog and cat. A couple of years later, my ex husband married his third wife.
However, we still remained friends. His new wife and I quite liked each other and became friends as well. All the while, Robert Burns stayed with us.
Then Covid came our way, and Burn's night suddenly seemed to be a thing of the past. Everything stopped and our life changed to something we've never experienced before. At this juncture, I don't need to get into further detail.
However, then Omicron came along, and I believe this is our way out. So much so, that I resurrected Burn's Night yesterday evening. The haggis flourished in the company of neeps and tatties. My ex husband, Alan, who is Scottish, was there with his wife together with a few other friends of mine. We all live in the same valley of 700 souls, and we had a great evening. As I brought in the haggis Alan rose to his feet and recited Robbie Burn's 'The Address to the Haggis: 'Fair fa, sousie face, Great chiftain of the pudding race ...
It was a lovely evening with much laughter and a Slainte Mhath to the great poet and to us as we raised our glasses.
| Author Notes |
Slainte Mhath: a toast to good health. It sounds like 'slante avar'. Very much used in Scotland. not only on Burn's Night.
The address to the Haggis: Fair fa = your honest Haggis consist of, lamb, sheep, lungs, heart and liver, including onion oatmeal and a lot of spices. It's very tasty. It surprises many who hasnt't tried it before. It's served with mashed neeps and tatties. Neeps being swedes= yellow turnips, and tatties =mashed potatoes. I use to add mashed carrots to the neeps as many do. |
By Ulla
I'd spent most of the day, preparing for the celebration of our family get together. The roast was in the oven while the potatoes and the vegetables slowly simmered in the pots on top of the hob.
Coming straight out of the bathroom, I donned my new dress and high heels to go with it.
Now, as I looked at my reflection in the mirror, I congratulated myself on my choice of outfit. It was time to join my husband downstairs.
He gave me an appreciative look when I entered the parlour.
"You look lovely, tonight, Amy. That dress really suits you."
"Thank you, my dear, you don't look too bad yourself, if I may say so."
"Oh, you can say so. Can I get you a drink? A little glass of sherry, perhaps?"
"No thank you, but a glass of bourbon on the rocks would be great. It would do nicely before the dinner."
My husband gave me a strange look as he proceeded to the drinks cabinet. "So when are they all arriving?" he asked as he handed me the drink.
"Oh, didn't I say? None of them are. It's only you and me, so why don't you join me having a drink."
"No, you never did," he said through clenched teeth. "So why on earth are they not coming and why didn't you tell me?"
"Well, the answer to both questions is very simple. What would be the point?
"Our eldest son can hardly say a word without swearing or inferring some sexual innuendo or other. Our daughter can't have children so she wants to adopt. Your youngest son is a dog owner and has just finalised his PhD in politics."
At this juncture, my husband's jaw almost reached his upper chest, his pallor turned to an unhealthy grey. I carried on regardless, though.
"But just to sum it up. We all believe in ghosts and we all find the concept of time traveling quite fascinating. So you see, since you censor all that, what is the point of a family get together. Can you answer me that?"
| Author Notes |
To understand this story you may have to read the rules for this contest.
Thanks to meg119 for the use of the artwork. Ulla:))) |
By Ulla
I'm writing this little note to let you all know that I'm struggling to keeping up. It's hard work having to do everything on the phone.
My Laptop is dying, and I'm getting a new one in ten days. I live in Spain so I've had to order my computer from abroad, as I don't want a Spanish keyboard and everything else.
Meanwhile, I'm keeping up with all my fans as best as I can. I'm also writing on my phone, something I never thought I had to do.
By Ulla
I hardly know where to begin? First, my computer died on me and granted, it's somewhat old news now. But the problem is still very real to me.
I've received my new laptop and that is all good and well. But I still need help to set it up. It won't happen before Wednesday now, so thank goodness for phones.
How the heck we ever survived without them has become a very good question. The answer, though, goes a bit beyond the scope of this missive.
Now, all of this soon turned out to be the least of my problems when on Friday, I almost had a chimney fire on my hands. The fire was burning nicely in my fireplace when all of a sudden thick smoke bellowed out from its belly. I quickly closed it down, hoping it
would burn itself out. I opened all windows and doors, my dog and cat happily escaping outside.
The fire did eventually die down, but by now everything in the vicinity of the fire place had turned black, being covered in dried and liquid soot. It was a nightmare to say the least, not to mention how dirty I was.
I barely slept that night, but on Saturday afternoon, I finally got hold of my builder, who would come on Monday and have it sorted. It's now fixed, and as I'm writing this, Monday evening, the fire is blazing happily in its grate.
However, this is not the end of what I've been up against.
As a lot of you know, I've been writing the latest part of my story on the phone directly into FS. I then released it last night, Sunday, and received some lovely reviews and stars. But my joy was short lived because my post suddenly disappeared.
I stared at the page in disbelief. No story, no promotion, no nothing. Mind you, at that time I'd received fourteen reviews and a number of sixes. All gone!
I was in tears.
I urgently contacted the site who told me it would be reinstalled the minute I released it again. I did that and it was back in its position, but almost 400 words were missing.
Now I did cry.
I wrote frantically to restore the last part of the story. Remember I had no backup as everything had been written on my phone.
When I submitted it, I noticed it had no reviews whatsoever. What the heck was going on?
I contacted the site yet again, and in no time everything was back as it should be. But the damage had been done.
You have all been good to me helping me through this hurdle. I suddenly had more mistakes than normally, but there was no time to edit those 400 words. Thanks for all your help.
It's been a week from Hell.
By Ulla
My name is Spring, and I prevent the perpetual dark. Every year I bounce back thanks to the warming rays of mother sun who spreads her warmth to the barren soil.
I know how much you're waiting for me to appear, and you can't imagine how much joy it gives me to comply with your wish.
The height of my joy is to see new growth appear from a virgin soil.
I try my best to give you as much fun and pleasure as I can. But sometimes I'm being stumped by other forces of which I have no control. An unexpected cold from an eastern front can suddenly appear, and frantic measures have to be taken.
At times, those intervention can be harsh, but most of the time, I bounce back with great success.
This year, however, seems to be particularly tough.
I can only hope for the best.
.
| Author Notes |
Thanks to cleo85 for the use of the lovely artwork.
150 words exactly, hand counted I don't think I need to clarify this much further. The underlying political meaning should be quite clear. I live in Europe after all. |
By Ulla
Bow cuts through gentle
waves, when dark shadows appear~
dolphins jump for joy.
| Author Notes |
I loved when they jumped out of the water with their smile and high pitched whine. They sometimes stayed with us for as long as half an hour. It always made me laugh out loud.
Thanks to Cindy Sue Truman for the use of the artwork. |
By Ulla
Soft rays bathe grapes in
a ruby shine, giving birth
to life's elixir.
| Author Notes |
Thanks to cleo85 for the use of the beautiful artwork.
I do live in Spain, after all. A glass of good red wine is the tradition with a good meal |
By Ulla
The little man sits motionless behind his huge desk. A desk which almost swallows up his small frame. His face is a dead mask. It's dominated by high cheekbones and two small but penetrating eyes, which make you think of a rat. His small hands flutters about, as he speaks. They, the hands, have a tendency to move towards his upper lip as if they were looking for the narrow moustache that is not there.
Maybe it is as well that his hands have that intrinsic will to reach his upper lip rather than to reach down to the red button on the table next to his computer.
But one thing is all too clear. He is sick for power. A little man, who feels quite impotent in any other way, wants to conquer and rape an independent country of its innocence.
He doesn't care what damage and misery he will bring to millions of innocent people. All he cares about is their submission and for them to be part of his Russian family. He will demand of his soldiers to do whatever it takes to achieve his goal. If it means women and children are beaten up or raped by his brutish soldiers then so be it. This is war, after all, and the aggressor, of course, is Ukraine. Russia can't have a peaceful nation as its neighbour who believes in democracy. Can it? What the heck is the world thinking of?
Well, the Western world that is and most of the far east as well are against his world view. But China is on his side, is it not?-- not to mention North Korea.
Besides, he sits on the gas, and a lot of oil, and those naive Europeans have allowed themselves to be reliant on his country. So they are really quite stupid aren't they?
Oh yes, Russia was great and let's make it great again. The Soviet Union was what we all believed in, in the good old days of KGB. Lets bring it all back again. He even knows he has a great friend in the US of A. They can both sit with a glass of vodka or maybe a whole bottle while they hold the whole world at ransom. Well, his American friend would maybe prefer a bottle of bourbon; who cares?
Alas, his good friend is not in power at the moment, though.
But if he feels a bit lonely and isolated, at least he sits next to his great friend, the red button. Once again, his small hand touches the imaginary mustache.
| Author Notes |
Thanks to Renate- Bertodi for the use of the beautiful artwork.
Today, we came one step closer to that red button. Also, this is satire but with a very real and scary note of reality. |
By Ulla
Like everybody else with a sane mind I'm shocked and very disturbed with what is going on in our world right now. How we've suddenly arrived at this pivotal moment is quite beyond me. But we're here, and, as a civilian, there's nothing much I can do about it.
I've also suddenly come to a rather sobering realisation. A revelation I feel quite comfortable with. I'm almost seventy years of age, and I've had a wonderful and very adventurous life. I really couldn't ask for more. So whether my demise should come by way of Putin, or from a genuine source, such like illness or old age, I've now come to realise it doesn't matter all that much.
No, what matters are my three young granddaughters in Denmark. What matters are my three nephews, my niece and her little son, all in America. And what matters to me is my daughter in Denmark, my brother in America and their spouses.
Like everybody else, I have so much to lose.
My heart and thoughts go out the Ukrainian people.
| Author Notes | Thanks to simonka for the use of the artwork. |
By Ulla
Suzanne barely noticed when the bright day took a turn to one that was not so bright anymore. She was tired, and she reluctantly had to admit that she'd lost her way. She swallowed hard to suppress the tears, which threatened to surface and undermine her last resolve. What on earth was she going to do?
It had all started so very well. She'd woken up to a bright morning, and decided to set out for a hike. Not a cloud was in sight and the mountains were sharp edges against an impossible blue sky.
After a quick breakfast, she'd set off with a small rucksack with some water, a thermos of coffee, a couple of sandwiches and not much else.
Her phone was fully charged, and she now retrieved it, wanting to see if she could get a bearing of where she might possibly be. Or, if that failed, to make contact with whoever would answer her call. But to her dismay, she was out of coverage, or her phone had ceased working.
She looked around her, not knowing what to do. That she was in trouble there was no doubt. Through blurry eyes she watched the path meandering ahead of her and she made the decision to carry on a bit further.
Just then, as she turned the next bend, a long driveway appeared. How there could be a driveway in this remote place was a bit of a puzzle, but she suppressed the thought as quickly as it had surfaced. All she could think of was that this might lead to her salvation. At the end of the drive there would surely be a house with people who could help her.
So she set off with a new resolve. She'd covered a lot of ground, when an old house suddenly appeared through the descending mist. To her immediate delight, a faint light shone from one of the upper windows, but otherwise the entire building was shrouded in darkness. No smoke came out of any of the chimneys which did seem odd, but she quickly put it down to her general uneasiness.
She slowly walked towards the old house, and as she edged closer, she noticed how dilapidated it really was. Old creepers were reaching out their gnarly fangs covered in green foliage. Had it not been for the faint light in the window, she would have turned away.
She was just about to knock, when the huge wooden front door opened, and a black shadow with a huge pair of hands reached out towards her.
She turned on her heels, and screamed as she'd never screamed before.
<><<><><>
Suzanne opened her eyes, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath. Just then, did she realise it had all been a bad dream. The immediate feeling was one of relief, and she let out a deep breath of suppressed air.
She reached out to turn on the light, when she felt something taking hold of her throat. For some weird reason, she thought of the gnarled branches from her dream, and let out an agonised scream, but to no avail. Whatever had got hold of her had no intention to let go. She once more tried to scream, but no sound emerged. She thrashed about and kicked at her invisible enemy with all her might, but for every second that passed, her opponent was too strong, squeezing out what precious life she'd ever had.
Her last thought was that of a question. "Why are you doing this?"
By Ulla
Frankly, not once, did it occur to me that I would ever write. I was happy reading my books, having a voracious appetite for old classics as well as modern fiction. In those days, poetry had no room in my literary world. That's not to say I didn't know my classics. My walls bore witness to my passion for prose, and I suppose I had become a bit of a collector.
Now, as things so often happen in life all that suddenly changed. My then husband and I were busy building our house and looking after our land at the same time. Cherries were picked and sold, the same with the almonds, as I knocked them off the trees and collected. Olives were equally knocked off the trees converting them into olive oil for our consumption.
Still, I always found time to read my books. I would read early in the morning until after breakfast. I would read after a late lunch, and I would read in the evening.
Now, as I said, this all changed almost overnight. My ex-husband and I met a British couple who had decided to spend some considerable time in our area of Spain. Peter appeared to read as much as I did, but what was more, he also wrote, and as it turned out, he wrote well.
Overnight, my curiosity and my sense of intrigue were awakened. It suddenly occurred to me that why couldn't I try my hand as well? I'd read since I knew how, and surely I would be able to transfer some of my thoughts and ideas onto paper.
And so began my journey into the writing world. I was sixty-two years of age, but hey, who says you're too old to try new things? What I hadn't bargained for was that I dared to write in a second language. I'd lived in Britain for many years, I even had a law degree in England. I was married to a Scottish man and I'd spend twenty years flying into America. That we now lived in Spain was of no consequence. I knew I couldn't write or express myself in the Danish language anymore. I'd been away far too many years.
That's when I stumbled on Fanstory and it's community. You all took me under your wings and you taught me to walk before I could run. You polished my language and you taught me grammar and you all gave me courage. Writing prose, is a whole lot different from reading and speaking. Writing on a legal pad is easy, but writing proper prose is something entirely different.
Poetry has entered my life too. This site has taught me that as well, and it gives me joy.
So why do I write? The answer is simple. I love to put words on paper, and I have a story to tell.
By Ulla
I had barely entered this world when I was taken away. Rejected by a mother who didn't want me or, perhaps, felt she couldn't take proper care of me.
Such was the law in Denmark back in 1952. Once a mother had decided she wanted to give her child away for adoption, she was not allowed to see that child ever again.
So, for my first two-and-a-half years, I lived in an orphanage. I still have a couple of images imprinted on my mind from those first years of my life. Images, nobody but me could possibly know.
Now, as it turned out, I was one of the lucky few.
One day, a couple showed up who desperately wanted to adopt a child. Seven years had passed before they'd finally been accepted and approved by the authorities. They had their eyes firmly set on a boy and almost made up their minds.
But then they stumbled upon me. By all accounts, I was a bit of a tomboy. My hair was short and reddish blond and I sported a magnificent black eye as well. I had apparently been in a huge fight with some bigger boys.
I was later told that my Dad-to-be, fell in love with me there and then. And he loved me with a fatherly affection, which any child could ever wish for, until his untimely death when I was barely seventeen. It was a love I could so easily return. I still miss him all these years later. He was a kind man, and he taught me so many values.
Now, you may wonder why I don't include my adoptive mother in all this. She took me in and she showed me love, but the day my Dad died, it all changed and she became like a stranger.
Some of you, who have read my memoirs will know this, but for the rest of you, it's a story for another day.
Suffice to say, that I was given a home full of love, and I was taught everything any child should learn. I became a member of a lovely family whose history also became part of mine.
My parents travelled a lot. We visited many countries in Europe and other parts of the world, and so they passed on a travel bug and a hunger to learn about different cultures, not to mention new languages.
A bug that is still with me as I'm approaching my seventh decade. For that I will always be grateful. I became a full member of the family and I never hungered for my true background.
Until one day, after my fiftieth birthday, I suddenly thought it could be interesting to know where I actually came from.
What I found almost blew my mind away.
Not only did I find my real mother in Santa Cruz, California. But I also found my father in Cape Cod, Massachusettes
My mother was born Danish, and had married George, an American. She'd been an American citizen for almost fifty years when I found her. She never had any other children with George.
My real father was American through and through, his family landing on the continent with the Mayflower.
Both of them took me in and acknowledged me as their daughter. It was an amazing experience.
Among other things, I soon learned the bug of travelling not only came from my adoptive family, but ran in my genes.
What is more, as you will now know, I'm half Danish and half American by blood. Maybe not such a great feat, but something I feel fiercely proud of.
Now, to sum this up, how many can say they have truly had two sets of parents? The adoptive ones and the true ones.
Does being adopted make me a lesser person? Oh, I don't think so. In many ways it makes me a richer one.
| Author Notes |
Thanks to Neilnap773 for the use of the artwork.
I had to speak up and create this contest, to recount some of my story as an adopted person. We are as much part of a family as anybody else. A baby never asks to be born and a baby never asks to end up in an orphanage. Anyone who thinks differently is hugely mistaken and poorer for the fact |
By Ulla
I just want to let you you know that The Fisherman won't come out this Sunday.
It's been raining here for more than a month, which, in itself, is very unusual in the part of Spain where I live. What is even stranger, is that during the last two weeks it's been a deluge.
My house is thankfully holding up, although I have some rain leaking through a couple of windows which are exposed to the high winds we also suffer from.
No, what is worse is that our main road out of the valley has been split in two, making it impassable for the foreseeable future. Another smaller farm road has also been washed away in parts by all the rain.
So all we are left with is a single lane road going over the mountain, and if that gets washed away, we'll be cut off from the outside world. It doesn't bear thinking of.
As I write this on Saturday evening the water is coming down in torrents. I probably won't get a lot of sleep tonight.
Pray, the road will hold up. That's all I can think of. I've got plenty of food and water, but I'll need more firewood as so many more of my fellow villagers do. Thank goodness we still got electricity.
No, The Fisherman is definitely not in the cards this week. I just can't concentrate. I'm sorry.
| Author Notes |
This has nothing to do with climate change, as far as we know. The last time this happened was back in 1950.
We do live through a time of extremes, don't we? |
By Ulla
I carefully walked along the narrow path following Louise as she hurried along. I soon realised we were on a mission, but I didn't feel confident what we were doing was the right thing. My sister, Louise, however had other thoughts, trudging along with her usual stamina.
What I felt quite sure about was that she knew where we were heading, but, to be honest, I didn't know whether she could be trusted or what was on her mind.
What happened next had me baffled. We'd entered a big house. That It used to belong to our family, I was quite aware. But that it didn't anymore was also well known to the wider world.
These days, it was a museum commemorating the family who once lived there. Tours were scheduled twice a week, not so much to honour me and my sister, but to that of our great-grandfather who'd become quite famous in this part of Massachusetts.
However, what was less known to the outer world, was it's fame of ghosts. It was not much spoken of, but something which was well documented within the family. That is, bar me!
So what did I do when I first found out? I confronted my family. How they'd had the audacity to keep me in the dark was quite beyond me. To be honest, I was not happy and I'd blamed both my siblings.
At this point, I tossed and turned, in my bed as I listened to the howling wind, heavy raindrops hurling themselves on the window panes.
It took me a while to come to, as I realised it had all been a dream. I had no sister named Louise or otherwise, but I did indeed have a brother, and the museum was for real. That it contained a real ghost was also a fact. Everybody knows that an ancient aunt is looking after the place. She doesn't take well to newcomers, and she won't hesitate to tests them to their limit. But once they get her respect, they will never be bothered again.
I should know. I'd been tested and found worthy.
By Ulla
Hello, Darling, did I wake you?
Eh, eh, I ... what did you just say?
You were at sleep, weren't you? I thought you said it was to be a short meeting with a school friend and then an early night.
Yeah, well, I'm sorry, it did drag out a bit longer than I thought It would. But you know how it is, don't you?
No, no, to be honest, I'm not sure that I do. But not to worry. Our lunch date is all set, and our special table is reserved, for one thirty. Mind you, that's barely an hour and a half from now, so you better get going.
Yes, you're right, don't worry, I'll be . . . Ah, hmm . . .ouch!
What was that? Is somebody there with you?
No, no I don't think so. It was the damn cat, again.
Oh, that's strange, Pete, last time I heard, it died six months ago.
.
| Author Notes | Thanks to cleo85 for the wonderful artwork. |
By Ulla
Never once did I question my family's motive to show me the cruelty of man. And never once did I doubt them, when they said this must never happen again. Yet now, so many years later, I once again feel the burden of grief as man shows how cruel he's capable of being.
History is repeating itself, and the family I grew up with would have folded in dispair.
We travelled a lot all over Europe from the late fifties and onwards. I saw firsthand the destruction the second world war had imposed on the continent. A continent that was slowly being rebuilt with the help of the Americans and Europeans. I was only a little girl, but it stands clear before my eye.
Then one day, my parents, who had adopted me when I was two and a half years old, thought I was old enough to be shown the horror of what had really happened during that terrible time.
The first place they took me to was Bergen Belsen. I watched, I listened, and I was left numb. I didn't say much, as I took it all in. To say it was overwhelming would have been an understatement. I didn't sleep well that night.
My family rightfully understood I couldn't take much more, so for the next few summers, we kept on travelling throughout Europe, giving me time to digest it all. And digest it I did. So much so that I wanted to know more.
That's when I was taken to the ultimate camp site.
To this day, I can't understand how this could have happened. It shaped my whole life and how I was to view the world. Quite frankly, I didn't get it. I ended up reading the Old Testament from beginning to end, trying to find an answer how this could have come about. I failed to find that answer, and miserably so.
So yes, this is one of the strongest and most enduring family memory, I have.
| Author Notes |
Thanks to avmurray for the use of the artwork.
Bergen Belsen was a Nazi concentration camp. |
By Ulla
I tried to phone my daughter for the umpteenth time, and once again there was no answer. I left a message and as usual there was no answer nor a forthcoming message. I decided to retreat.
It was a shame I knew, three granddaughters missing out on their grandmother. But then again we lived 2000 miles apart, so the loss was maybe not that great, after all. Covid had certainly put paid to that.
Now, Omicron came along and we all seemed to be fine. Fully vaccinated and a booster appeared to be the answer to freedom. It was time to see them all. Or that's what I thought.
After several calls, I still got no answer, and then I gave up. A month went by and then another. Then Russia entered Ukraine and I still heard nothing.
Now, several months later, I've made my decision. I have had enough.
| Author Notes |
150 words exactly. Hand counted.
All fiction. |
By Ulla
This is just a short note for all my fans to say that I won't be posting this week.
After three years, my best friend has come to celebrate my birthday and we're having so much fun. I can't even start to describe how lovely it is seeing her. Life is finally getting back to a degree of normality.
I hope to catch up with you all and my writing during the next seven days or so.
Soon I'll be back to normal on the site.
By Ulla
I woke to another day of despair, and wished I never had.
The explosions detonated around us, muffled somewhat by the concrete above our shelter. The children, held by their desperate mothers cried, wishing they'd never been born.
I closed my eyes. Another day of 'The Special Mission' had just begun.
| Author Notes |
Fifty-one words exactly, hand counted.
Thanks to avmurray for the use of the artwork. |
By Ulla
Antonio was tired. It had been another hard day's work knocking down olives from the ancient trees. Poor Pepito, his old donkey, who carried the load of this latest olive harvest was also tired and knackered as only old donkeys knew how.
All the same, it had been a satisfactory day. Antonio now had enough olives to press, providing him and his family with enough oil for another year.
So, it was with a satisfied smile that he tied up his old companion, outside the local bar, leaving enough slack on the rope, so the tired animal could have his fill of water.
As Antonio entered the bar, the noise and smoke blinded him for a few moments, but soon his eyes caught on and he located his friends, who greeted him with cheery smiles.
Alejandro, the owner soon appeared. "Que te traigo?" "What can I get you?"
Antonio smiled. "Un vino, por favor," and before he knew it, a glass of red wine appeared on the counter in front of him with a little plate on top containing a morsel of his favourite tortilla.
<><><><>
So that's how the tapa came to be. 'Tapar' in Spanish means to cover and in Andalucia a glass of wine was always covered by a little plate containing a sample of the local delicacy.
It's origin has very simple roots here in Spain. In rural areas, where I live, that is still the case.
It's also a healthy way of consuming a bit of alcohol with something to soak it up.
Now, what has become quite famous are the tapas bars. Madrid, the capital of Spain, became the leader for that. I should know, because I lived there back in 1972 to 1974. What it entails is that one bar is for instance famous for its giant mushrooms filled with Serrano ham, topped with garlic, parsley and olive oil, grilled on open fire. Another is famous for its squid in a garlic and spicy tomato sauce and on you go.
So you end up tapa bar hopping. It is fun, and it will set you back a few euros.
Yes, the tapa certainly deserves the reputation it has when it's done the proper way.
<><><><>
Antonio, after emptying his glass and his bite of tortilla, felt refreshed and ready to have his full meal he was sure, Josefa, his wife, would have ready for him.
And old Pepito, the donkey, whinnied in anticipation of its meal and a rare lie down, when it saw its owner emerging from the bar.
By Ulla
I was only just born, when I was given away for adoption. I was placed in an orphanage where I would spend the first two and a half years of my life.
Then one day, a youngish couple walked in, and not long after, my fate was sealed. I had been chosen to share my life with this new mum and dad.
I had a very happy and loving childhood. I was also blessed with a lot of travelling, something I have done ever since.
During those years my adoptive father and I grew very close. He was a clever and kind man. He always seemed to have time for me and we had much fun. But he could also be strict and that was as it should be. As I grew older, I also realised that he didn't suffer fools gladly.
And then disaster struck and, as disasters go, it struck at the worst time possible.
We were in the south of Spain about 2500 miles from home. Dad's left leg had swollen to double the size overnight and he was in great pain. It was 1967 and not a good time to seek any help in what, at the time, was a totalitarian country. So mother decided to drive us back to Denmark and as quickly as possible.
And that's what she did. Remember, in those days motorways still didn't exist, so the journey was all by meandering roads until we came to Germany, where motorways crisscrossed the country, all built by Hitler so he could move his army and the artillery as fast as possible. But they now helped us getting back home.
I was worried about my dad and, as it turned out, rightfully so. He was diagnosed with terminal cancer. Two years later, he finally passed away. I was seventeen and devastated.
But life goes on and I learned to live it to the full. Just as he would have wanted me to do. I got into airline as a cabin attendant. During that time I married a wonderful man and we had a lovely daughter. After many years of being happy together we reached a crossroad and decided to divorce.
I moved to Britain, and one day at the age of fifty-one, I made a decision. That's when the quest to find my birth parents began. After a long and meandering road, I managed to find my birth mother in California. Without her knowledge I travelled there and stood on her doorstep. To my immense joy and surprise she took me in, no questions asked, and that's how I learned the name of my real father.
It's a long saga and not the scope of this particular story. Suffice to say that when I returned to Scotland I mulled over what to do next. As fate would have it, I met a wonderful man who was to become my second husband. We also decided to move to Spain later that year.
All through this, my ties with my mother grew stronger and stronger, and that's when I decided it was time to find my birth father. It didn't take me long. Ten dollars later, I had all the details I needed from the computer, but what to do next?
This time round, I couldn't justify to go back to the States, so I did the next best thing and phoned him. I knew I ran the risk to be fobbed off. However, I didn't know what else to do. But again, I was in for a pleasant surprise.
Granted, at first he was sceptical, and we agreed I would write him a letter. In that missive, I told him things, I couldn't possibly have known had I been a fraudster. Things that mum had told me, which I was now able to pass on.
That's when a little miracle took place. Dad accepted me and he said something I will never forget: "You know, I always wanted a daughter."
It still brings tears to my eyes as I'm writing this.
So the years passed by and we spoke often on the phone. We got to know each other, and we grew more and more fond of each other.
By now, I knew I had a brother, but it was only when Dad got seriously ill that he revealed my existence to Reuben.
One day, I received a very important email. At first, I thought it was from Dad, but it turned out to be from my brother. Not only did he want to make contact, but he also wanted to say that our dad was dying.
He left me a bunch of phone numbers and contact addresses where I could get hold of him.
I phoned Reuben right away, and that we hit it off there and then was never in doubt. We both agreed I should not come to Dad's deathbed, but wait until it was all over, something we now both regret. But we did agree on me calling Dad. As it turned out, it was to be the most important call of my life.
Through tears, we both said goodbye, and how happy we were to have found each other. I also thanked Dad for bringing me and my brother together.
It was poignant and something I will never forget. Within an hour, he passed away.
Three weeks later, I flew into Boston. Reuben was there to meet me and after a few more days, we laid Dad to rest in the family grave outside Wellfleet, Cape Cod.
| Author Notes |
My birth father sailed all his life. He loved light houses, hence the picture.
I now have a lovely new family. Reuben and his wife, three nephews and a niece and her little son. On top of that I have three granddaughters in Denmark. |
By Ulla
"Where are you really from?"
I looked at my young boy for a moment, not sure whether he was insolent or just plain stupid.
"What do you mean where I'm really from? What kind of question is that? I'm your father, and you know from where I come. Have you any reasons to doubt any of it?"
What I hadn't counted on was what he said next.
"No, I don't and I think I know who you are, or at least I think I do. Up to a point that is. But you're hiding something, aren't you?"
I looked at him with my blue-eyed stare which I knew would make him squirm within.
"You've brought me up with much care and as much love as you've been able to muster. A love that has been well hidden in discipline and strict guidelines.
"So Dad, what are you hiding and where did my mother come from? Why is it such a big secret?"
I watched my young son, wondering how much he would be able to take.The moment I'd dreaded for so many years had finally arrived. I was in a bind, but at the same time I realised I had to collect my thoughts.
"Hmm, how about having breakfast at Kelly's?"
"Fine, let's go, but then no more excuses for not telling."
"Okay", I swallowed.
"Son," I said. "What if your mum was an angel?"
"Then I'd say you'd lied".
"Yeah, I would agree. Whoring is no angel's work."
| Author Notes | 250 words exactly, hand counted. |
By Ulla
I left on Monday, for Chinchon which is as medieval as it gets. No it's not in China, but a little town only forty miles from Madrid, the capital of Spain. It takes me almost seven hours to drive there, but it's worth it.
I have friends here. Teresa and I met some years back, when I first rented her town house right on the square, which you see in the photo. Now I have the house almost for free; our friendship cemented during the years of Covid. She's a grandmother like myself, and we have much in common. So far so good.
The last week and a half has been a bit hard on me and especially for my family in the US. What is happening there is difficult to take in let alone to understand. However, I want to reassure that my brother, sister-in-law and their children are all fine, including little Sam who's my niece's young son.
My daughter-in-law's father, George, remarried more than thirty years ago and he and his wife, Claire, live in Florida. They have had a happy life together, and Claire is much loved by the family.
Now, a couple of years ago Claire was diagnosed with Alzheimer's. She was treated with medicines to help slow down the progress of this devastating illness.
In February of this year, my brother and his wife flew down on a short visit to see how things were going, and they went away with the impression that all was fairly much under control.
Until ten days ago, that is, when George phoned them, delivering a virtual bombshell. Somehow, Claire had got hold of the car keys and driven off in a state of anger.
George immediately called the police and they said they would intercept her and get her back. As it has now come to light it's not the first time she's done this, hence George hid the keys in what he thought was a secure place, but she somehow managed to find them.
The trouble is that this time they, the police, couldn't find her. The car and she have disappeared into thin air.
The police pinged her cell phone until it died down so they roughly know in which direction she went. She hasn't used any of her cards and she hasn't been spotted at any fuel station.
It's also now known that she hasn't brought her medication. A ground and air search has been conducted and no-one understands how it's come to this.
Ten days have now past, and nobody are any the wiser. As you can imagine, we are all in a numb state of worry. We also realise that she is most likely dead. But the not knowing is the worst. Poor George, is almost out of his mind with worry and guilt. Fortunately, his daughter, my sister-in-law is with him.
We are all waiting for some news.
And as I'm editing this early on Saturday evening, we've received some news. Her car has been found, but Claire is not in it. It's going from bad to worse.
<><><>
I arrived back from Chinchon on Friday night, but I can't concentrate on the Fisherman. Not until this drama is over.
| Author Notes | The photo is from my camera. |
By Ulla
I've been back from Chinchon since Friday last week, and I have news. I promised to let you know, when there were and here they are. They are not good and I'm very upset. Well, we all are.
A major ground search has been in place since Saturday, when Claire's car was found. The police have searched with dogs and a lot of manpower as well.
Today, Wednesday, it bore fruit. First, her purse was found and a few hours later her body was located. The police reckon she's been dead for nine to ten days. It doesn't bear thinking of.
Then again, it brings closure to all of us. I'm in tears as we all are and upset beyond words. I can't begin to describe what I feel.
I will be speaking to my brother, Reuben, on Saturday, and I will know more.
All I can say and with some relief is that this drama is now over. I will be able to get back to the Fisherman, but I doubt I will be able to post this week. At this stage I really don't know.
| Author Notes | The photo is taken with my camera. |
By Ulla
I'm writing this short story about a horse I once had in response to a poem Bill Schott released earlier this month. I also want to add this is not aimed at Bill, but rather about the issue he raised in said poem.
Now, as I said, this story is about a horse I once had. His name was JR, not very original, I will admit, but in my defense I never chose that name.
JR was a beautiful thoroughbred stallion, but he was not cut out for the races. His build was far too square and he had a most unusual and unique pace. He was a born dressage horse. Something which is very unusual in thoroughbreds.
That he was also a gentle and kind horse, yet full of spark and will, all attributed to his uniqueness. In short, he was special and I loved him.
I bought him when he was eight years old and I asked the owner why the horse had never been gelded. Well, the short answer was that the owner would have liked to breed on him, but that had never materialised. The long answer is that when it comes to thoroughbreds it can only be done the natural way. Insemination is against the law. And breeding with another thoroughbred would surely have resulted in a race horse.
So far so good. So I bought JR and we had some happy years together. He taught me a lot and we competed in a few dressage events with great success.
Now, having said all this, we have arrived to the very point I want to make.
JR was a boy and he loved his girls, so I soon learned never to ride behind a mare. As long as he was in the lead there was no problem.
But then one day, I got something of a surprise. We were out hacking with a few other geldings, and I suddenly felt that JR had five legs if you get my drift. I kicked him hard to let him know I was not too pleased asking him to lay off. But he was having none of it. He whinnied and danced along. I kicked him with all my might to urge him on but all I achieved was bucking and more whinnying.
I was bewildered and hung on for dear life, until I noticed the beautiful gelding in front of us. Surely, that couldn't be right? My horse couldn't be aroused by a gelding, could he? But as so many things go in the animal world, my horse turned out to be bisexual.
Having said that, he still knew he was a male and he loved girls the most, of that there was never any doubt.
By Ulla
Once again, I'm not posting the Fisherman because, I'm too upset to do so.
To be honest, I didn't think I would anyway, but that was for other reasons. Then I had second thoughts and thought I would post after all.
Until today, Saturday, that is, when I spoke to my brother for the first time since the memorial which was held in memory of Claire a week ago in Florida.
Since then so much new information has come to light. Some of which we would have preferred never to have been privy to.
When the memorial took place they had still not identified poor Claire, which we didn't quite understand. Until we were told why.
There simply was nothing to identify. She had been reduced to bones, and nothing else. How this could happen in two weeks or so is hard to take in. It's grisly and difficult to digest. But that's how it is. However they had finally managed to identify her by her teeth.
Now, an anthropologist is going to examine the bones trying to find the cause of death.
It's all over, but before we can put it all behind us there are still answers to be had.
To say we're all disturbed and upset would be a gross understatement.
| Author Notes | The photo is from an upper terrace of my house in the village of Benimaurell. |
By Ulla
My hand travelled across the sheets finding his warm body next to mine. A sigh of contentment escaped my lips. The love of my life was there next to me.
We'd never really been apart had we? I let out another contended breath, happy in the knowledge he was close to me. His warm body within reach.
Just then, I noticed the bloody knife glaring at me, and I realised what I must have done.
| Author Notes |
75 words exactly and hand counted.
Thanks to Renate-Bertodi for the use of the.artwork. |
By Ulla
I'm writing this late on Friday night. Everything is fine, in so far there's no more upsets in the family, which I'm glad to say. So all is good or it should be. But it's not.
The weather here is just not right. It's 11pm and it's 105 F and rising. It's just got up a degree in Celsius so it's now 107 F.
Not only do we have yet another heatwave which I do realise is happening all over the world, but added to that, we are also experiencing what is locally called a 'Poniente'.
A Poniente is a very strong wind, that is coming from the west southwest. It brings very hot temperatures straight from Sahara. But what makes what is happening right now somewhat different is that two weather systems are coming at once.
Not only do we have to deal with a heatwave coming from Western Spain, but added to that, we've also got the Poniente. It's a recipe for disaster.
So the Fisherman is yet again a victim, and as for me, I'm just gasping for air.
Next week we should be back in the nineties and we can all breathe out a sigh of relief. Who would have ever thought those kind of temperatures would be a welcome relief. But there you go.
Now, it's Saturday night, and I'm even less happy. To be honest, I'm rather worried. The smell of smoke is very strong, but so is the wind. So far there's no fire to be seen, but as time passes the air is getting hazy from the smoke. Even the moon is hanging like a reddish lantern in the air.
Something is not right. I will keep you updated.
It's now Sunday afternoon and as you can see, it's gone from bad to something much worse. Friends of mine took these pictures at 3 am this morning. They live barely a mile down the way from me. The flames you're seeing were only 300 yards from my house and it was frightening. Needless to say that I haven't slept since last night.
The firefighters did manage to keep that part of the fire in check after they evacuated the hotel in its path.
Now, as daylight approached we learned that almost 3000 hectares of the mountains are on fire and still are. Houses have been evacuated and a village in a neighbouring valley has been evacuated.
However, we are far from safe yet. The fire has returned with a vengeance to our valley just above from my village. The efforts to curb it is rather amazing. The helicopters have been going up and down non stop for the last four hours and they are still at it.
They're scooping up water from a municipal pool three miles down the way, which the firetrucks are filling nonstop. The whole thing is surreal.
So if I haven't reviewed let alone answered any of my reviews please do forgive me. I haven't edited this either. There's no time.
I will release it now. One last thing. I have packed a bag, it's in my car. I'm ready to go with my dog if need be. The church bells will tell us if it comes to that.
| Author Notes | I so wish this was not happening. |
By Ulla
Just to let you all know that the drama is continuing. The fires are out of control hampered by difficult terrains, high winds, very high temperatures, and the dryness. It now covers a diameter of twenty miles, and it's spreading. Many villages have been evacuated, and mine is under threat.
None of us sleep much, waiting for the dreaded church bells telling us to go. The choppers are going nonstop, and the ground personnel are working beyond endurance.
I'm looking forward to be able to say it's all over. But that didn't happen today nor will it tonight.
A by product of all this is that ash is falling all over. We're pretty much covered in it.
<><><>
Now, this is Tuesday night, and it has been another bad day. It all started out well enough, and I managed to get a good night's sleep. The first out of three. The morning promised to turn into a fine day, and we were beginning to believe that everything was under control, at least in the area where I live.
But come noon, that illusion was soon shattered. The choppers suddenly appeared and I breathed out a huge sigh of frustration. "I can't believe this is happening!" I said out loud "They are back!"
And were they back! For five hours they, the choppers, went up and down up and down like a pendulum. It was so quick and regular. Come dusk, the fire trucks started to appear. They will stay until dawn when the choppers can take to the air again.
Now, to put this all into perspective. The fire which was caused by lightning late Friday night has caused the biggest fire ever recorded in our area, and it is out of control as I write. So far, it covers a 30 mile area in diameter. Almost 3000 people have been evacuated, and my village is threatened.
What can I say? Not a lot. I live from one moment to the other as we all do around here at the moment. Please do forgive me if I have been neglecting you all. I'm here tonight, but I can't say when I will be here next. The Fisherman won't be here this week either. I'm sorry.
Then again, it could all suddenly be over. It's that unpredictable.
By the way, we won't have any water between midnight and seven am tomorrow because the public pool is being filled. The choppers pick up water from there and from another village pool further down. Amazing stuff!
I'll try to post the links, but I'm not quite sure how to do that. I would so like to share the footage with you. It's amazing.
This link will show you what we're all up against. It only last a little over a minute:
https://youtu.be/jn9s4PgWxfU
| Author Notes | Some tired guys guarding us all after a long night. It's 6 in morning and the sky is rosy from the fires. Soon after, the choppers took to the sky. Another day of fire fighting has begun. |
By Ulla
Wednesday morning was as tense as ever. I woke up to yet another nightmare, the air so thick with smoke, I could hardly breathe.
Groggy eyed, I stumbled out of bed, happy that no bells had tolled during my few hours of being unconscious to the outer world. But as it turned out, it was a cruel awakening.
The fire had come over the mountains just across from us and flames were shooting towards the sky. What was more, the wind had changed direction and came right at us. To make matters worse, the mountain sides are covered in pine trees, which is the worst case scenario.
When a pine tree catches fire, its cones explode into the air all on fire and lands on the neighbouring trees. You can imagine the rest.
Also, the terrain is quite inaccessible to man, so the flights and helicopters were our only hope. As they can't fly at night doing that kind of work, the fire had obviously spread overnight.
This was now, the fifth day of what had become an endless battle, and we were as afraid as ever. And still, in my valley, we had been a little bit luckier than so many others not far from us.
But that morning we all felt our luck was running out.
I seriously contemplated to go while I still could. I was at the ready only having to gather my dog and cat. But although some people did leave that morning, something held me back. For one, I couldn't leave my three elderly neighbours to their own devices. Although, they are very mobile, they don't own a car anymore. They are all approaching ninety.
So, I put on a mask, like everyone else, thanking Covid for having those readily available. And so the vigilance began. I stood at my gate to my property, as did my neighbours, watching the war against the flames being fought. A few times my calm became dented, and I felt an unwelcome tear rolling down my cheeks.
"How is this going to end?" I murmured for the umpteenth time. "Will we lose everything?"
Every time the fire planes gained a bit of ground, new flames sprang up and more of the mountain sides were eaten up.
The only good news was that the fires behind us were now contained, so at least we were not totally outflanked.
Then suddenly, out of nowhere, dark clouds started to gather from the west. I could hear thunder in the distance and a shiver ran down my spine. Surely, this couldn't be happening again. That was all we needed. I visualised another flash of lightning to hit us and with no rain. Exactly what had started this nightmare. If that was to pass everything would be lost.
Just then, I felt a fat drop of water landing on my bare shoulder . . . and another, and then some more as they gathered speed. I looked up and felt them landing on my face as they ran down my face, starting to soak my clothes. But I didn't care. It was raining and I could hardly take it in. I had to hold back a sob as I realised our nightmare was finally coming to an end.
| Author Notes |
Now, it's Thursday night and I am tired. I have hardly slept during the last six days.
The poor firefighters must be ready to sleep for a solid few days. My admiration for them knows no bounds. A good friend of mine is a firefighter here in the valley. He was out there fighting for us all. One day I will get the full story My thanks also go out to all of you who have been there for me through all this. I will be catching up, I promise, but please bear with me. I am so very tired. :)))) |
By Ulla
Again, I have not posted and again I have neglected you all. What is more, I yet again ask your forgiveness and understanding. This week just gone, my daughter, son-in-law, and three young granddaughters have been visiting. It's the first time in two years and nine months that we've been together, and it's been great. Covid was the culprit!
We've had much fun together just hanging out, in the pool and going out for some wonderful meals. It's far too hot to do much else, but that doesn't matter. The main thing was that we were finally together.
So now I'm planning to get back to normal. How many times have I said that since July? I do hope for and need some normality again. Emotionally it has been a stormy summer.
| Author Notes | The photo is of my daughter and I having a quiet chat, while the rest of them were in the local pool. |
By Ulla
It was assembly morning at school. Two hundred of us, all girls, would you believe it, crammed into the biggest hall of the building which also happened to be the indoor sports centre.
Twice a week, our head mistress, would address us with news of the school, but also what was going on in the world and how it might affect us.
As such, we would always know what to expect for the week to come or the next. At the end, there was always a prayer said. Whether that was out of duty or by design, I will never know. I can't say Denmark is very religious, not even back then.
It was during some such assembly that I had my big fallout. I was nine years old and I loved my school. In fact, I loved everything about it, and at the age of seventy, I still do. It gave me, and I believe all of us, a broad foundation of knowledge, which would help us throughout life.
But now back to my demise. Unbeknown to the school, I was sometimes prone to some severe hiccups. And as fate would have it, it descended on me on that particular morning.
Now, it wasn't something I could suppress. I tried though, and the harder I tried the louder it became.
Can you imagine being in a big room of more than two hundred people where only the head mistress' voice could be heard -- and then my hiccups?
I still tried my hardest to get rid of it, but the more I tried, the worse it got. It was only when an angry teacher dragged me out of the hall that I finally got out of my misery.
Not that I stopped hiccuping, but I was finally away from all the unwanted attention.
But if I thought this was the end of the matter, I had a nasty wake up call. No, the teachers thought I'd done it as a provocation, and they felt I had to be punished accordingly. I was ordered to sit for an hour after school, with nothing to do. A teacher made sure I complied.
Can you imagine being nine years old, sitting at a table for a whole hour not being able to do anything? Fortunately, I didn't have another hiccup attack during that time.
| Author Notes | I can still get the odd hiccups. When it happens, I have to concentrate very hard to get rid of it |
By Ulla
The week started well, sort of. We all knew that Donna, my sister-in-law's mother was not doing so very well, but she was in good hands at the hospital. Her kidneys were not working, hence she was on a dialysis machine gradually helping her to feel better.
The hospital had hoped the kidneys would kick in again but, unfortunately, that didn't happen. Then she developed fluid around her heart, a serious complication when you already suffer from congestive heart failure.
Donna was in a lot of pain and she decided it was time to go. The hospital removed all treatment and put her in hospice care. All the nearest and dearest were there with her, and 18 hours later she passed away.
It's been a hard year for all of us, not least with the traumatic events during the summer, when another very close family member, Claire, suffering from advanced Alzheimer's manage to escape from her home and husband, only to be found dead after more than three weeks of an intense manhunt.
Claire was the second wife of my sister-in-law's, Kimberly, father. So you can imagine how hard this has been.
Within a few months my nearest and dearest have suffered two great losses and been living through a lot of pain and grief. And so have I as a very close family member.
Now, if all of this was not enough, I had the close call with bush/mountain fires this summer of which a few of you are familiar with. But now I come to the last bit which has also happened to me this week.
On Wednesday morning, I heard a huge thump and a bang downstairs on the first floor in American English, and ground floor in UK English. As I ran down to investigate, I found that a wood beam had fallen clear out of the ceiling.
My house is old, 130 years, but of a very sturdy build. I and my builder knew the beams down there were on their last legs, but we still thought we could safely wait until the end of this year or beginning of the new year before replacing them -- but not so!
Hence, Salvador, my builder, came around the same afternoon and put up an array of acrowprops to safeguard my two floors above.
So, in conclusion, I'm not posting this week. I simply cannot concentrate with everything that is happening.
I spoke at length with my brother yesterday, and he's aged 10 years in a week. I'm so very worried.
| Author Notes | Thanks to supergold for the use of the artwork. |
By Ulla
The plane, a DC 9, was full, yet we still had to confirm the number of passengers, before we could request the pull back from the now closed gate.
What was more, we also had to make sure all the passengers were strapped in, the luggage stowed away so nothing obstructed the emergency exits, and the seats were in an upright position. All routine and nothing unusual.
The only unusual thing was the heat. The summer of 1976 broke all records in Europe. Especially in the northern part of the continent. The people were just not used to month after month of 30 degrees and not a drop of rain. I loved every bit of it, but made not much light of that.
So, back to the plane full of passengers, impatiently waiting for the air conditioning to come on. Well, that wouldn't happen before the engines were engaged, as the APU was now disconnected.
As I walked down the aisle, I suddenly heard the ping pong which indicated there was a call from the cockpit. I didn't give it much thought, knowing that my my colleagues would pick it up.
I slowly worked my way down through the plane. Everything seemed to be normal, until I came to an abrupt halt. What met my eyes took my brain a long few seconds to compute. Here were these two elderly women, holding on to the over wing emergency window lying heavily and accusingly across their lap.
I looked at them and they looked back at me, a foolish grin on their face.
"Oh miss, please don't be angry. It was just so hot in here, so we thought we would open the window to get a bit of air."
To be honest . . . how do you react to something like that? For once, I didn't know what to say.
<><><><>
Needless to say, the plane was delayed for several hours.
| Author Notes |
APU stands for: Air Power Unit. The minute the doors are closed it's disabled until the engines take over.
The ping pong I heard was the pilot advising us about a warning on their panel that an emergency exit was open. Oh wow! |
By Ulla
My daughter sent the above picture to me a few days ago.
It shows the hand of my eldest granddaughter on her eleventh birthday. The bracelet and the book were her gifts from me. But have a closer look at the book.
It's title is Explore New Worlds written by our own Pam, Pam(respa). Yes, the very same , and now it's found its way to little Denmark.
What is more is that my granddaughter, Liv, is excited. She's been learning English since she was nine years of age and when I saw her in early September, I was impressed by her progress.
Now, she's thrilled to have her very own book written by a wonderful writer who her grandmother happens to know.
I just wanted to share this with you all and, most of all, with my friend, Pam.
| Author Notes | My grandchildren are globetrotters as we've all been in my family. So the theme of Pam's book is something Liv can identify with. |
By Ulla
I never thought I would write something like this. But 2022 has turned into a year best forgotten. So what possesses me to write about it, you might ask. Well, like so much else, it's good to get it off my chest. Besides, I want to share it with you.
Everything was fine with me and my family in Denmark and in the U.S. until the end of June. I continued to be fine and so did my Danish family. So let's concentrate what went down in the U.S. and with me after that date.
First there was the tragic disappearance of the second wife of my sister-in-law's father. Claire had advanced Alzheimer's and one day, in late June, she managed to get away from her husband's care never to be seen again.
A manhunt by air and ground took place in the coming days, turning into weeks. Tragically her remains were finally found. Remains, which turned out to be bare bones. It doesn't bear thinking of.
Then I had my own drama with all the forest and mountain fires threatening my very existence. Many were evacuated, but my village were spared although it was a close call.
Then, a few weeks ago, Kimberly's, my sister-in-law, mother fell seriously ill. She was only 74, but had a few health issues. She eventually succumbed and died a few days later. Kimberly was devastated, and so was my poor brother. As for me, I was in a state of shock.
Then I had my own little bomb shell. A roof beam came straight out of the ceiling on the first floor of my house, and my builders put in emergency supports as you can see from the attached photo. I knew the beams were very old, but none of us realised quite the bad state they were in. Now major work is happening replacing them all. I'm also getting a new kitchen so part of my house is in a state. But that is all a luxury.
However, much worse is to come.
Earlier this week, Kimberly was feeling rather unwell and was taken to hospital with a severe headache and extremely high fever. The doctors struggled to find an exact cause, but they stabilised her and eventually sent her home on Sunday.
Now, I've just spoken to my brother, and Kimberly, his wife, is back in hospital but with a severe bacterial pneumonia. She is on an intravenous antibiotic drop.
Reuben, my brother, is not feeling too good, and has been warned he might have it as well.
What the heck is going on? This has to stop somehow. I offered to fly over, but as Reuben pointed out, it would be stupid for me to get ill as well.
I just wish I could be with them. I'm distraught and have no idea what to do.
| Author Notes | The photo is part of my first floor, the ceiling being supported so my house won't fall apart. |
By Ulla
You have all been there for me throughout the year, and I am grateful. It's been a year which, to be honest, could have been a little less eventful. And I'm talking about what has happened to me and to my closest family, not what is going on in the wider world.
But it's finally coming to an end and for that I'm happy. We all need a recharge and a new beginning, so we can face and cope with what the world will throw at us next.
A year ago, I would never have thought to write something like this. But there you go. As the saying goes, there's a first for everything, and, oh my, is that true!
I would also like to add a warm thank you to everyone who has supported my writing and with the edits. One person especially springs to mind. You know who you are. Without your help, my writing wouldn't be where it is today.
Merry Christmas to all of you and may next year bring us some kind of peace and joy. Ulla xx
| Author Notes |
The photo is from a little corner of my house.
I will soon be finishing the second book of The Fisherman. Come the new year, I will start a new project. I can't wait. |
By Ulla
The day began just as planned. I was up early as I had a plane to catch. My husband, not to mention our three year old daughter in her room, was still deep asleep, so I slid out of bed as quietly as I could, got hold of my uniform and closed the door to the bathroom behind me.
I was off to Nice in France, and I was looking forward to it. I was scheduled to work on the flight down there, spend the whole day in the city and then fly home as a passenger. I would be landing back in Copenhagen at seven in the evening, where my husband would meet me and then we would be off on the ninety mile journey to spend Christmas evening with my in laws. My husband was leaving our daughter with them with all the gifts while I was away, so he would have a long day as well with a lot of driving.
It would be a late Christmas dinner, but we were all looking forward to celebrating the evening and night, exchanging gifts at the candle lit Christmas tree. What neither of us could have foreseen was what was to happen next.
I landed to a bright and sunny day in southern France. The Mediterranean sparkled dark blue against a cloudless sky. It was mild by anyone's standard, and as soon I was in my room, I changed into my private clothes. As fate would have it, one of my best friends had been scheduled to the same flight.
So we met up in the lobby and away we were, planning to make the most of the day left to us before we had to fly back home. And we had a wonderful day. I bought a little extra gift for my daughter, before we sat down in a local bistro which was renowned for its good food.
As friends do, we chatted and laughed while enjoying our meal, flushing it all down with a glass of the local red wine. The time flew, and we suddenly realised we'd better get back to our hotel, to pick up our bags so we wouldn't be late for our pick up. We certainly didn't want to miss our flight back home.
Everybody in our crew were in high spirits after a day off in Nice, and after a short drive, we arrived at the airport where we were met by our plane coming from Barcelona, Spain. It carried no passengers except for the crew, and as we boarded we were fifteen crew members in total. The only ones working were the pilots and the crew coming from Barcelona.
We took off, and the drinks trolley came around soon after. Nobody wanted anything to eat, as we were going home for a late Christmas Eve dinner.
My friend and I had another glass of wine and some peanuts and as usual we never stopped talking. I gathered we were an hour into our two hours flight, when the captain came on the PA system.
"Hi folks, I hope you've enjoyed yourselves in Nice, while we and the cabin crew have been slaving away all the way from Barcelona and now onto Copenhagen."
This was met with a collective laugh, until we heard what was coming next.
A light coughing and some hmm's and aw's could be heard over the intercom, and we immediately knew, what would be announced next, was not what we wanted to hear.
I could already feel that the plane was turning. Not back on itself which would have spelled trouble, but it was banking left towards the south west. What the heck was going on?
My friend and I looked at each other and mouthed a silent, what is happening now?
Our question was answered soon enough. "Guys, we are going to Lisbon, Portugal to pick up a crew who is stranded there. They've just arrived from Rio de Janeiro, and their plane has a major technical problem. So we are to pick them up so they can go home for Christmas."
We all let out a collective groan. It would be midnight at the earliest before we would arrive in Copenhagen. And so it proved to be. Of course, we were happy to help our colleagues. Nobody wanted to stay abroad on Christmas evening, when you were not scheduled to do so. But all the same.
Now, what none of us had anticipated was the weather awaiting us upon landing, apart from the pilots, of course, bless them. They chose to keep silent about it, thinking that one upheaval was more than enough on this special night which appeared to have all but disappeared.
As we came into landing, we looked out at what had been a brown and winter barren country earlier that morning, transformed into a magical landscape covered in a thick layer of white snow. I lifted my wrist and saw we were ten minutes short of midnight. There would be no Christmas for our family this year. Or so I thought.
I'd barely stepped into the arrivals, when my husband was at my side. "So much for our Christmas, huh!" I said, fighting back the tears. And our little daughter, 90 miles away and no Christmas with her mum and dad."
But then, I couldn't hold back the tears any longer. My husband didn't say anything, as he led me to our car, and gently guided me into the passenger seat. He still didn't say anything as we slowly headed north in the direction of where we lived.
I looked out at the white landscape, which would have been a beautiful sight on any other night, but on this night I had no taste for it. I closed my eyes. I was tired, and all I wanted was the world to go away.
When I opened up my eyes next, all I saw was a white landscape sparkling like diamonds in the rays of a full moon. Tree branches drooped from the thick cover of icy snow and distant church towers were bathed in a soft light.
I was suddenly very awake. "Where are we going?" I asked. But of course I knew where we were heading.
Ten minutes later, we turned into the driveway of my husband's parents', and it was truly magical. Every snow covered tree, surrounding the house, was lit with small white light bulbs, and outside the front door stood my parents-in-law with our little daughter, her dear face lit up in a bright smile.
At three o'clock that morning, the goose was on the table, and our traditional Christmas evening had just begun in the early hours of Christmas day.
It's a Christmas I will never forget. It was magical.
| Author Notes |
In Denmark Christmas is celebrated on the 24th of December, with a family dinner. After that we light the tree, and a few carols are song. Only then do we give each other our gift. One at a time.
|
By Ulla
I have been busy of late with so many things. But on Sunday last week I was even busier, having some friends over for a paella.
To prepare a paella is much more work than you would have thought. There's a lot involved. The cutting of all the vegetables and getting the meat, fish and seafood ready, all takes time. But I'm not going into that. You can see the result in the photo. I hope it does it justice.
No, what I want to share with you, is the wonderful day I had with some close and dear friends. We sat around the table for a little more than four hours, chatting and munching away.
Well, the chatting covered a lot of topics. From the happenings in our present and previous life, previous life meaning thirty to forty years ago, which shaped us up to our present day.
So that's what a gathering around a paella can do to you. It brings a lot of laughter and joy, which at times comes close to tears. The Spanish people learned that a long time ago.
That's one of the reasons I love to live here. Whatever happens in the world or in our country, there's always a reason and room to celebrate and having a good time. Life is too short, it has to be enjoyed. A platitude? Maybe, but I couldn't agree more.
| Author Notes | This is my own paella just placed on the table. |
By Ulla
Kay woke from her nap.
The minute she opened her eyes, she realised it was time to leave. This was the night when the sea-turtles beached to lay their eggs.
She grabbed the rifle at the door and began the descent to the cove. She would shoot anyone who'd attempt to steal the eggs.
Fortunately, that night nobody did.
| Author Notes |
60 words exactly
Thanks to cleo85 for the use of the artwork. I knew Kay who lived in Tobago in the Caribbean, most of her life. One day she brought me down to the cove and, with tears in her eyes she told me how she would shoot anyone who would try to steal the turtle eggs. Fortunately she never shot anyone. I don't think, anybody dared to go near the cove at night during the turtle season. She was a character. |
By Ulla
I sit in my old beloved chair by the window. I look down for a brief moment, and it suddenly occurs to me it is in tatters from being nigh on forty years old. What is worse, it reminds me of how lonely I feel. How alone I really am.
The view through the tall framed windows is still the same, and I suspect it will be like that for the rest of my life.
Only the changing seasons alter the picture I see. Right now, the trees are turning green and some forlorn flowers are opening their fragile petals. Spring must have arrived. Not many flowers to be sure, but they are there. So, this is what is left since you've gone, yet to me it all feels the same.
I turn my eyes farther down the driveway, and in the distance, I make out the shape of the letterbox. It sits high on its pole, watching for the postman who makes his round at the same time every day. He's not there yet, so I let my eyes wander up the way and, with a start, I notice the birds who are busy building nests in the trees.
They appear to be twittering away without a care in the world, and I sigh. I feel an irrational envy, and the tears filling my eyes run freely down my weather-beaten cheeks, leaving the lovely scene in a blur.
So every day since you passed, I sit in my old chair and wait for a letter from you, a letter I know will never arrive. I'm old and I am tired, but then I close my eyes and the world turns back its clock, and all I see is you and I remember.
***
The green dress swept around your lithe body as you ran towards me, a bright smile lighting up your face. Your twinkling eyes mesmerised my whole being, leaving me out of breath, and I think that was the moment when I fell in love with you. Your laughter, so enticing, begged me to follow and how could I not? I've followed you ever since.
We married and made the promise before God that we would love and cherish each other. We were lucky and soon we were blessed with our first child. She was beautiful but then, when we loved her most, disaster struck. Three weeks and she was gone. Our little baby perished. How could that be?
You turned towards me, and I can still remember your anguished voice.
"Why, could you please tell me why?"
But I had no answer. All I could do was to hold you, trying to transfer some of my strength to your frail body and soul, but I don't think I succeeded much.
Time passed and three more arrived. Two boys and another little girl. They were strong and they gave us an abundance of joy. We never forgot our little girl though. She stayed with us, buried somewhere deep within.
Over the years we experienced more adversity, but always you stood by my side. There came the time when my business folded and we went bankrupt. We lost everything including our beautiful home, and we had to start all over again. But you, you were always there. It was hard for you and the children, and for me as well. What I will never know is if you resented me --you never let on.
And so we built up our life again and, this time, it turned out okay. Our children grew up and eventually left, leaving you and me behind. After that, our life almost returned to what it had once been, until the final disaster descended.
The illness, the fatal disease, presented itself, but in a gradual manner. I don't know, and I suppose I never will, but I half expect you kept it away from me. What I do know, though, is that I never realised how ill you were until it was too late.
You were in hospital and you laid listlessly in your bed, watching me with weary eyes. I took hold of your hand and brought it up to my tearstained face and, between sobs, I murmured, "I will always love you. Remember, my Darling, I will always love you."
And then . . . then you were gone.
***
So here I am in my old familiar chair looking out at the mailbox attached to its pole. I wait for the postman to pass by, and I hope against hope, he will deliver that letter of yours.
I'm old and I'm tired. But most of all, I'm alone, and . . . I'm waiting.
| Author Notes | Thank you to the artist for the use of the artwork. |
By Ulla
On Sunday I woke up to heavy snow. Big fat snowflakes fell silently onto my roof and unto the ground.
Now, I know most of you won't be impressed, but maybe for a different reason than mine.
Of course you will say, why on earth would she write about a snowy morning? Well, the answer is that it never really snows here, not anymore. The last time we saw it was at least ten years ago. That is, in the part of Spain where I live. Many other parts are covered in thick snow for several months. The film Dr Zhivago was filmed on the plains of Spain, if you can believe it, without the need of artificial snow.
Since then, the climate change has altered all that. In my area, the old folks, I mean people in their nineties --yes a lot of people live that long around here -- talk about how harsh the winters used to be. How the snow would lie several feet deep. And today there's nothing.
But on Sunday the snow came down hard. Locals down from the coast, came up here to walk and take pictures of the flakes. It made me smile. I grew up in Denmark, after all, where it snowed every winter. I've never liked it, though, hence another reason why I thrive so much here.
But back to Sunday. By two in the afternoon, the sun broke through and that was it. The photo I've posted is from Monday morning, and if you look hard you can see what is left of all that snow. Hardly anything. A few specks here and there. I can understand if you're not impressed, neither am I.
I just had to share this with you, because the influx of people who wanted to see it and take photos was so funny. It shows how rare it is to see the white stuff these days.
| Author Notes | The photo is my own, taken on Monday morning in Vall de Laguar, Spain. |
By Ulla
It was a cold afternoon, but the fire he'd started soon put paid to that.They were at their cabin an hour's drive away, but the city they'd left behind could as well have been in another country.
The trip up here had been uneventful, until the snow started coming down thick and hard. A blizzard that hadn't been forecasted was descending on them at a fast rate.
She'd noticed the silence as they rode towards their destination. He'd been like that, of late, but she'd put it down to work pressure. She knew about the new customer his company wanted to reel in, explaining the long working hours.
After a cosy meal, they sat on the couch, nursing a glass of wine. He turned towards her, a gun appearing out of nowhere.
"I'm sorry, I know this is a surprise, but I need rid of you."
She just stared.
| Author Notes |
Thank you so much to the artist for the use of the it artwork.
'Put paid to' means stopped, changed. A common British English saying. 150 words, and hand counted |
By Ulla
Once again, I have to disappoint. The last chapter to the Fisherman will have to wait until next Sunday.
The week just gone by has been a hectic week. Some would have said a week from hell. But it was not all that much of a surprise.
I've known for a while that the beams had to be replaced on the first floor, the ground floor in British English.
Now, my trusted builders made sure, back in December that my house wouldn't fall down on me. So far so good. At the time, they reckoned to do the work in January.
On the strength of that, I decided to have a new kitchen installed in February. But my oh my, did I get it all wrong!
The beams were delayed, but the kitchen was on time. So lo and behold, did it not all happened this week just gone by.
My house has been invaded by an army of workers. Furniture had to be piled up out of the way, old kitchen appliances had to give way to new ones. To say my house is in disarray is an understatement.
All week, I've had an early night, no time to give Fanstory, let alone my own writing, a second thought.
So please do forgive me. I've only just started to catch up with all my replies and reviews.
Until next Sunday.
By Ulla
Sally looked in the mirror, and let out a gasp. She hardly recognised the image that looked back at her. Her left eye was not only black and blue but was shut closed into a swollen mass of what used to be her cheekbone. For a moment she had to look away, as an unwelcome bile rose into her throat.
She shivered, as another unwelcome image flashed in front of her eyes. She remembered being deep asleep when a punch to her face brought her back to consciousness. She also remembered John hovering above her in a drunken stupor before she mercifully descended into a black hole.
But here she was, alive if nothing else, with her self confidence completely gone and in serious need of restoration.
A few minutes later, she felt strong enough to have another look at herself in the mirror and, as she looked at her damaged reflection, she suddenly felt something fundamental shifting within her.
A lightness, followed by a determination she hardly knew how to put into words, suddenly surged through her whole being. If anything, it seemed strangely at odds with her battered appearance. But there it was. She couldn't remember when she'd last felt so good about herself and life in general.
However, with a shudder she also realised she had to take care. She was getting ahead of herself. If she didn't get it right, she could lose everything that was dear to her, the dearest thing being her own life. But right now there was not much time nor any point to delve into all the things that could go wrong.
With a jolt, she realised she'd made a decision and as far as she could tell, there was no going back.
The clock on the mantelpiece said it was just before noon. She had a forty-eight hour window, but she reckoned it should give her enough time to pull it off. It was time to make a move.
But first she had to call in sick at work. The last thing she could afford was to lose her job. She got through to her manager and apologised for not showing up for work. She explained she'd been in an accident, but would be back in two to three days. It was accepted, no question asked. She let out a sigh of relief. At least a car accident would explain her appearance.
Her next port of call would be the council. She needed somewhere to live and quick. She could only hope they would be able to help her.
One look at her face, and the receptionist at the council office made a quick call to someone in the building. On replacing the phone, she turned towards Sally.
"Please do come with me; someone will see you in a short while."
She brought Sally to an interview room, where a friendly looking woman already sat waiting for her.
"Hello, Sally, my name is Mary Halworth, your personal case worker. Please do take a seat and tell me what happened. Of course, I can see what has happened to you, and for that I'm so sorry. But, however painful it is to you, I do need to know more about the event and about your personal circumstances before I can offer you anything, if at all.
"I understand", Sally whispered. And so she recounted everything that had happened to her. How she'd awakened to the severe and unprovoked beating, how she'd lost consciousness, and finally woken up to face the tragic reality in the mirror.
"Fortunately, my partner had already left by then. He's away on a business trip, but will be back the day after tomorrow. By then, I have to be away to somewhere where he can't find me.
Mrs Halworth, nodded while taking notes. After a short pause, she looked up at Sally.
"As I understand, you work and have an income. Is that correct?" All Sally could do was to nod in confirmation.
"In that case, we can offer you a small house at a low rent. Will you be prepared to accept that?"
Sally couldn't believe what she was hearing. "Oh, yes, please and when can I move in?"
"Later this afternoon if that suits," Mrs Halworth said, smiling for the first time.
| Author Notes |
The story is based on a true story. I knew the person this happened to. Abuse of this kind will always have to be addressed. It happens far too often.
Thanks to the artist for the use of the artwork. |
By Ulla
I had arrived in Anchorage from Copenhagen the day before and, as expected, I was tired and jetlagged. The flight had been busy and none of us in the crew had achieved much of a rest during the long flight.
It was the beginning of July, and with the promise of a glorious weather forecast, four of us in the crew had decided to defy our tiredness, taking out one of the cars made available to us from our airline. We were determined to pay Mount Denali a visit on the following day.
We'd all been there a few times before, so we knew the road fairly well, but we'd also agreed it was well worth to pay another visit. Another incentive being the lovely restaurant at the foot of the mountain where we knew a mouth watering lunch would await us.
So, after a good night's sleep, but still very tired, the four of us gathered around the table in the hotel restaurant to a sumptuous breakfast. The best blueberries I've ever come across were once again on display at this morning's breakfast buffet. How Alaska could produce something that wonderful, I would never know.
As promised, it was a glorious morning. Not a cloud was to be found and as soon as we'd finished our late breakfast, we were ready to set off onto our journey into the wilderness.
Our spirits were high as our journey took us along the winding road. We made good progress and soon the iconic cone of Mount Denali loomed high in the distance.
After all the jokes of the morning, a welcome quietness had descended on us. We all looked out at the passing landscape each of us in our own thoughts.
I sat on the right hand side of the backseat, watching the passing hills in the distance which were slowly growing into low mountains. A river was flowing not far from the road meandering through the lush greenery of the valley.
As we drove further up the valley, I noticed that rivulets had started to form, emulating tiny waterfalls, if you used your imagination. I also noticed that the flow of the river had become more vigorous. And that's when I saw him.
I knew I hadn't been dreaming, but I still wasn't quite certain that I could trust what I'd seen would be for real. So I did the only in thing I could do which was to yell.
"Stop! Please stop. For all you do, just stop!"
The poor driver, being a pilot, bless him, hit the brakes so fast that we all lurched forward. To his credit, it later transpired he'd made sure nobody was behind us.
"Where's the fire?" he shouted as we came to a standstill.
"No fire," I unnecessarily shouted back. But there's a bear back in there and he's fishing. "Not with a rod, you . . . " I shook my head in frustration. "Just believe me. He's standing on his hind legs. Please just reverse and you'll see.
Of course, our pilot driver couldn't resist that kind of challenge. Just what I secretly had hoped would be the case. So we rolled back a couple of hundred yards, and then we were there. Everyone stared, not a sound to be heard but a few ohs and ahs. That's when I knew, I was vindicated.
And there he stood, the brown bear, in all his glory. His hind legs were firmly planted in the middle of the shallow river bed. His front paws were in the air, the sun reflecting in his wet but shiny coat. But what elicited a collective gasp from my colleagues was what was to happen next.
The big brown creature opened his mouth and, as if on clue, a salmon jumped out of the water, landing squarely in the beast's mouth. And if that was not enough, another and then another followed suit.
We all let out a cry.This was nature at its best and at its most primitive and basic self.
None of us uttered another word as we watched the drama unfolding in front of our eyes. The huge brown bear was having the time of his life. I think we all felt for the poor salmons. But what could we do? Absolutely nothing. The bear would have wiped us out with a few big strokes of his paws.
"Has anyone got a camera?" I shouted, but I knew the answer before anyone said anything. Of course nobody did. This was still ten years before the mobile phone was a common thing. So all we could do was to watch and save the memorable pictures in our heads.
Well, I certainly know I have, because that bear is as clear in my mind as he was on that memorable day.
After a while, we reluctantly left him to his task of annihilating as many salmon as he could, fulfilling his need to satisfy his belly.
We slowly returned to the car, reluctantly carrying on towards our destination. The day had somehow lost its allure, but we were still determined to carry out what we'd come to do. Namely, having a late lunch at our chosen restaurant.
As it turned out, the restaurant was lively with tourists and locals alike and, as luck would have it, we were able to secure the last table. We had all been here before and we knew a treat would be awaiting us.
Our waitress soon appeared and we all had the wild boar on offer and a big plate of salad to share. We all ordered water to drink, but we also allowed ourselves to have one glass of red wine to accompany the boar. We had to give it credit didn't we?
The conversation was lively as we all relived the amazing events of the morning. "Our colleagues will be so jealous won't they?" I asked at one point, and everyone agreed with me.
A couple of hours later, we finished the last of our meal and our drinks. It was time to head back to Anchorage.
As we drove along, watching the ever amazing landscape, our pilot chauffeur suddenly slowed down at the exact spot where the earlier drama had taken place, but there was no sign of bear or salmon. It might as well have been in our imagination.
But, we all knew better, didn't we?
.
| Author Notes |
That bear will forever be imprinted in my mind.
Thanks to the artist for the artwork. |
By Ulla
It's been such a busy week, and I haven't had a chance to write a single word of my new book.
My family from Denmark arrived on Monday and didn't leave until Friday Morning. On Saturday I was visiting some other friends from Denmark, who have a house down by the coast. Today I've spoken to my brother in Massachusetts, who revealed that my eldest nephew is to be married in a few months. So everything is happening and has happened all at once.
I've had a lovely week with my family from Denmark. It's been such great fun. But now I need a rest and then I'll be ready to post next Sunday.
As you can gather, the photo is of my three granddaughters.
By Ulla
I met up with a couple of friends the other day . They were on a passing visit in Spain and we arranged to meet up in my village for a meal.
We had a lovely time and as you can see the weather was beautiful. It's me with the glass of wine, surprise surprise!
One of my friends is sitting opposite me. Another friend is taking the photo as we're waiting for our meal. I just wanted to share this with you all.
| Author Notes | I love my village in this beautiful valley, as so many do. |
By Ulla
I'm away to Scotland tomorrow, to visit my best friend. She's just become a grandmother for the very first time, and I can't wait to be introduced to little Nathan.
So you may ask what is so special about that? Well, it is, because her daughter, whom I've known since a very young girl, has had one miscarriage after another. And then suddenly, this little baby decided to stay put. So at the age of 39, Sarah and her husband are over the moon, and so are the rest of us.
Now, I'm only staying for a few days, but then my friend comes back to Spain with me, staying until the first of June. So I doubt I will be posting much.
It's been a quick decision to go and not much time for much else having to plan for my dog and cat to be looked after.
My story is certainly on hold for the time being. I'll let you know when I will be back.
By Ulla
On Friday, my holiday with my Scottish and best friend, Marjory, came to an abrupt halt.
We have had a good time together in Scotland, before she flew down with me to Spain. Here we spent some wonderful days visiting places in the vicinity which we both know so very well. On Saturday, yesterday, we were due to leave for an ancient village some thirty miles outside Madrid, the capital of Spain. And that's when everything went wrong.
My friend suffers from a chronic desease, that can suddenly flare up and present its ugly face. In short, she has to seek help immediately. Treatment can be found in Spain, but a long way away from where I live, so it was much more prudent for her to fly back to Scotland.
So she flew back early yesterday, and is now in treatment, doing well I'm glad to say.
But of course, to both of our regrets, it was an abrupt end to our plans.
I just wanted to share this with you, and I will be back with my book story next week.
| Author Notes | Thanks to nikman for the use of the artwork. |
By Ulla
Hannah had just tucked into her humble meal, when there was a loud bang on the wooden door, causing her to let go of her fork, spearheaded with a hearty chunk of juicy pork. As it fell back on the plate, she came as close to a curse as she had for a few decades.
"Who the heck would be calling at this hour?" she murmured as she rose and walked to the door.
"Who's there?" she called out behind the closed door.
"Police, please open the door."
"Says who?" came her swift answer.
"The police. We want to speak to your husband, Harold France."
"That's impossible. I've never been married, and the only Harold I've ever known was my father, who died twenty years ago. So sod off. I'm opening no door for any police or whoever you claim to be."
There was a slight pause and some retreating footsteps.
Hannah shuffled back to her now cold pork, muttering angrily to herself.
A week later, the police were back, but this time with a warrant. However, apparently to no avail. The hut was abandoned, and all they found was a newly dug grave with the inscription.
Hannah France, RIP.
| Author Notes | Thanks to Willie for the use of the image. |
By Ulla
I was lucky, I suppose. Some would say I hit the jackpot. On reflection, I think they might have been right. But then again, at the time, how could I have known it was so? Or maybe I did know? How much, after all, do we know at the grand old age of two and a half years? Not a great deal, I would have thought but, as I grew up and the more mature I became I started to question that.
Today, I believe a child that young would be aware of something fundamental being amiss when growing up in an orphanage. The same child would also be deprived of what only a pair of loving parents would be able to provide.
But for the first two and a half years of my life I didn't know anything of all this; how could I have? As far as I was concerned, this was my life and my reality, until one late November day, it all changed.
Suddenly someone from the outside world had apparently taken an interest in me. I use the word, apparently, on purpose here because, the bit about their interest in me, I don't remember at all.
What I do remember, though, are the boots. No-one had ever given me something that was for me only and most importantly because I was me. In other words, it was the first gift I had ever received.
Those boots, never went out of my sight. I can still see them in my mind's eye as I lay in bed, my precious gift nestled in my arms where a teddy would normally have been, had I known what such a thing was.
And then I must have been adopted, because a month later, I spent my first ever Christmas in my new home with my new family, and one of my gifts was a teddy, I would call Bammy.
Bammy stayed with me for as long I can remember, no other could ever take his place. At one point, he lost an eye, but it didn't matter. His defect made him even dearer to me.
But, coming back to the boots. To this day, I still have them, stacked away somewhere. They have come with me wherever I have moved around the world.
So was I chosen? Yes, I believe so. Not in the biblical sense, but by a childless couple who gave their gift of a life to me.
| Author Notes |
I came to my new home on the 22nd of December 1954. It was a day which was celebrated throughout my childhood.
This was in Denmark, and they gave me the name Ulla. In 2003, my adoptive parents long dead, I set out to find my birth parents. I found my mother in California. Danish by birth and married to an American. I found my father the same year, in Cape Cod, Mass. I also gained a brother and his family. That's how I found out I'm half American. We have all become very close. I had seven years with my mother, and almost as long with Dad before they both passed away. My brother and I speak every week and I have visited numerous times. I live in Spain. My daughter, her husband and my three grandchildren live in Denmark. Oh, I forgot to say that I have 3 nephews and one niece and her little son in Massachusetts.. Thanks to meg 119 for the use of the artwork. |
By Ulla
Hi, my name is Ulla, and I may already be familiar to some of you.
I was born in Denmark and grew up there as the only child to my adoptive parents, who introduced me to the wider world by way of travelling, hence my love for languages was born.
Now, because of that love I decided to study French and Spanish at degree level. That brought an opportunity to Study at the Complutense University in Madrid, Spain.
After almost 2 years there, I decided I needed a gap year from studying, which led me to become a flight attendant with Scandinavian Airlines.
That gap year was to span over two decades, during which I married, Tommy, a Dane, with whom I had a daughter. We spent almost 16 years together, most of which were happy.
After our separation, I happened to meet a Scottish man and before I knew it, I lived in England just west of London. My daughter soon came to live with us, but she flew home most weekends to stay with her father.
After a couple of years, I stopped flying and decided to go back into further education, which four years later culminated in my English/Welsh law degree.
With that accomplished, John and I decided to split up. By now, I had a great job with an IT company, based on contract law and my daughter was furthering her education.
Then the IT bubble burst, and I lost my job. I made a quick decision and decided to go to Scotland. I had many friends there, and it turned out to be the right decision. My daughter, meanwhile, returned to Denmark to go to university.
Now, things took off very quickly. I met my second husband, Alan, who is a sailor like me. He wanted to sail the Mediterranean and settle in Spain, and so we did.
So here I am. Once again divorced after 16 years and happily so. I've bought my own house in the valley I love. Alan and I are good friends. He lives only half a mile away in the same valley.
My daughter is married with three daughters. They live in Denmark.
Twenty years ago, I found my birth parents and I discovered I'm half American. I gained a brother and a big family and we've become very close.
So this is me in a nutshell.
| Author Notes | Phew, I think I just managed this to be within 400 words or so |
By Ulla
I don't keep a diary, and I never have, and I suppose I never will. So why am I writing this? The answer is simple. It's all about what is happening right now. Nothing is normal nor pleasant anymore. So what is going on?
Well, the simple answer is that my Dad is dying. But how can he be dying? He's only in his fifties and I'm just fifteen. Such a selfish notion.
But the worst part is that I can't stop crying. My tears blur my vision. The letters I'm writing jumbles all over the page, taking on the colour of red, like the blood coursing through my veins. How am I ever to progress from here? I do not know. I'm in despair.
Dad, you're dying, and my tears won't stop. I never realised that anything could hurt this much. Against my will, I have to go to school. And I go, sure, but I don't speak, and I don't do anything. I can't do anything. I wouldn't know how. Only the tears seem to have a will of their own.
So please, Dad, show me the way. Please let me know what to do. I know you only have a short time to live, but meanwhile, I'll need some guidance.
I don't know where to turn. Where do I go from here?
.
| Author Notes |
This was more and less the words I wrote when I first learned about my adoptive father's illness. I was devastated. I cried for two weeks without stopping, and then I found a way to carry on. He died almost two years later. Two years, I would never want to relive, and I'm sure neither would he. But he clung on to life far too long.
I know this is sad, but that's how life is at times. |
By Ulla
I've gone away for some days further up in the mountains, having the use of some friends' house. It has all the amenities, but what I hadn't reckoned with was the poor connection to the Internet and the the mobile/cellphone network. How liberating is that in 2023!
Of course the downside is I haven't been able to finalise my new chapter, let alone post it.
I'm having a rare moment of reception, so I'm hurrying up posting this. Just in case you wondered. I've also managed to write a couple of reviews. I won't spend time editing this. I would rather write a few more reviews. On Sunday my new chapter will be out
By Ulla
There is a place I go to to whenever life doesn't want to behave as I want it to do. I'm happy to say that it doesn't happen very often these days, if at all.
But there was a time, twenty-three years ago, when I quite frankly didn't know what to do. My life was falling apart, but the fighter in me refused giving in to it.
And it paid off, and has been a blessing ever since. I had lost my wonderful job in the country I lived in at the time, and I felt completely lost. I was also raw from a recent break up from a relationship which had lasted almost ten years.
To cap it all, my daughter decided to go back to Denmark to further her education, so I was heartbroken, jobless, and left to my own devices. What to do?
I contemplated going back to Denmark, but in my heart, I knew it was not what I wanted. I had been away for too many years. Mind you, it's a lovely wee country, but people there are far too set in their own ways. Am I being condescending? Not in the least. But I've lived in a far more complicated world, to go back to a cocoon of comfort.
So I decided to go north, up to Scotland. And would you know, I found my place up there. I very quickly settled, found a job, and as fate would have it, I met Marjory, who was to become my best friend.
She quickly caught on to my unhappy state. She has this wonderful ability to listen and put two and two together. So one day she said to me, "I know exactly what you need. Next time you have a few days off work, I'll take you there."
And she did, and she was right. It was just what I needed. It's an island, but that's all I will say.
Now, twenty-three years later, we still go there once in a while, although I've lived in Spain for the last twenty years. But that's a story for another day.
Now, I will be off, Marjory and I are due to speak in half an hour on WhatsApp. We do that without failure every Wednesday.
| Author Notes | I'm back home with all the connections. I have no time to edit this, so be lenient, please. |
By Ulla
The morning was clear with a hint of warmth as is so typical in late May in my wee country. I was alone, and I relished the fact. Partly because I wanted to be on my own, and partly because I wanted to prepare for the celebration of my twentieth birthday later that day.
Only one thing was missing. The man I'd met a little over a month ago and with whom I'd formed a friendship.
I somehow knew I was entering into unknown territory, but I was curious and tempted all at the same time. He was eight years older than me and, at times, I was suspicious of his motives. He was also from another country, so there were so many unknowns. But to my surprise, he proved me wrong.
I still lived at home with Mother, but on that morning, she'd already left, her business keeping her on her toes. I was busy studying for my last exams, looking forward to a long break before going to University.
But today, and the next couple of days,, were mine and mine alone. Turning twenty back then in Denmark was a milestone. It was the day I was considered an adult, and it marked my right to vote in general elections.
So, I had just sat down with my coffee and a bowl of plain yoghurt filled with an assortment of fresh fruit and berries when the door bell rang. I looked up in surprise, but also slightly annoyed, because I liked my coffee hot. I took a quick sip and went to the door.
"Who's there?" I called out.
"A delivery for a Miss Ulla..." accompanied by a funny pronunciation of my surname.
Without further ado, I opened the door wide open, and I think I must have gasped out loud.
At first, I didn't quite comprehend what I was seeing. The doorway was covered in the largest bouquet of red roses I've ever seen and will never see again. They were at least three feet tall and above them, all I could glimpse was the head and upper torso of the poor delivery man.
"Are they for me?" I asked incredulously.
"Well if your name is Ulla ...," and again he made a hash of my surname, ,"then they are." He smartly dropped the flowers to the floor and was gone.
For a moment I just stood there not knowing what to think. But then I spotted a white envelope among the green stems. I bent down and picked it up. It was addressed to me. So there was no mistake. The roses were for me.
I quickly gathered the roses up and closed the door behind me. I returned to the kitchen, and filled the sink with water. Then I carefully lowered the roses one by one and counted each as they entered the water. There were twenty of them.
For the longest moment, I buried my face in their delicious scent. Only then, did I turn to the card.
'Dearest, Ulla, happy twentieth. Thinking of you and see you soon. A.'
With tears streaming down my cheeks, I quietly turned to put on the kettle for a fresh cup of coffee.
| Author Notes |
It was such an unexpected gesture.
|
By Ulla
I simply can't think straight. It's just too hot. Like great parts of the world, we're in the grip of relentless heat. My writing is suffering, and I don't have the energy to come up with profound thought.
So please do forgive me for not posting this Sunday, yet again!
Yesterday, was an exceptionally different day to what it's been of late. And as everyone else, I took advantage of it. I met up with some close friends. We went out for a meal, and had a lovely day. Who cared about writing under those circumstances? I certainly didn't.
And today, the heat is back with a vengeance and so it will be tomorrow. Then the temperatures are forecasted to be back to what a normal summer should be like around here.
So please be patient until next Sunday.
By Ulla
As my title to this flash states, faith can be so many things. I can have faith in my family, and that I certainly have. They have influenced me in so many ways, as I believe and hope I have them.
Have I faith in my friends? The answer is a resounding yes. At least with my closest friends.
Then there's the faith in our government. Do I have faith in them? Yes, as far as it goes, I still do. Although we seem to be on shaky ground there.
Now we come to faith as in religion, and that is where I come up short, and most of you will disagree, maybe ending up disliking me.
I just can't agree with any of it. I look at it as an escape from reality. When the world is burning and dictators are murdering innocent people and children for no other reason but greed and power, then you all condemn it, but still claim it's of some deity's will and somewhere there will be some meaning to it all! How on earth can you make that deduction?
Well, face reality. Man is murdering each other for any reason he can find. If it's not for power or greed, it's in the name of some religion or other.
So is there a God? Well, you have already guessed it. I don't believe in one nor can I. If there was a God and she/he were to be omnipresent and so very good, how come that God allows what is happening in the world?.
It's a complete nonsense. The escapism from reality never cease to amaze me. See it for what it is and face life and death head on. We arrive on this earth, and then one day we are no more.
| Author Notes |
I know I have offended most of you. But I am who I am. I respect all of you, so I ask you to respect me.
This little flash essay has exactly 300 words. Hand counted. |
By Ulla
I can't think straight, let alone write something creative, something I feel my novel does deserve. So here I am, trying to describe the weather pattern we've been going through the last few days.
Most of Spain has been in the crib of an excruciating heat during the last couple of weeks. My area, The Costa Blanca, at the Mediterranean, has been blissfully exempt from this. Oh it's been hot, but no more than is usual for this time of the year. Always, a cooling breeze running through it all.
But then an abrupt change was coming, and a brusque one at that. It arrived with revenge on its mind. Thursday morning dawned and, with it, so did an unusual weather pattern.
At seven in the morning we were in the upper nineties/ at least 30 degrees Celsius. Everything seemed to have halted. Not a leaf was moving the world engulfed in the strangest haze I've ever seen. The only way to describe it was as if a thick layer of cotton wool had descended on us. And it was to get worse.
I closed all windows and doors to keep in as much of the night air, and it did help. But my dog needed out to do her business, so out we went. Once outside, she immediately stopped, looking up at me as if to say. 'What is this?' but as I urged her on, she finally succumbed to what she had to do.
At around 2pm the temperature read 113 degrees/42 Celsius and rising. My dog and cat were flat out on the tile floors and I sat very still reading a book. The temperature inside was in the upper nineties / around 30 degrees, and I was okay with that as long as I kept still.
Now, our houses here in the mountains are built to cope with high heat. They are typically built from big stones from the mountain side, the walls being two feet deep/60 cm. Yes, you read that correctly. That's how it's always been done and my house is no different.
Most of us don't have air-conditioning. There's really no need. But this was a heat a bit in the extreme, never really seen before in this area. The heat kept rising until we hit a record of 116F/46C,when it slowly started to come down at around 10 pm that night. A slight breeze suddenly kicked up, dispersing the cotton wool and, only then, did my dog want to go outside again. How she managed to hold off all that time, I will never know. To be honest, it was a day from hell.
The temperatures are slowly coming down, every day since then, having settled in the mid to upper nineties which is normal for this time of the year. I'm starting to think straight again. Until the next heatwave, which is forecasted towards the end of next week. But one thing at a time. For now, we can all breathe normally.
| Author Notes |
Thanks to cleo85 for the use of the artwork.
The weather phenomena has been seen before, and is called a 'neblina'. Hot air traps the humidity that comes from the ocean and it has nowhere to go. What is new is the extremely high temperature that accompanied this particular 'neblina'. |
By Ulla
My Father-in-law hated cheese or so he told anyone who cared to listen. But I was newly married, and being young and carefree, I had either not paid enough attention or the issue had just slipped me by.
My husband and I were not long back from our honeymoon, when I suggested we should invite his parents for a meal. We had been busy decorating our new home, and I thought it would be good to show off our efforts. What was more, I also so happened to like my in-laws a lot.
Everyone was pleased to accept my invitation, so I happily spent the next few days planning the meal. I had set my heart on moussaka, but I wanted a light starter, as well. Light it had to be, as the main was leaning towards the heavy side. This being in Denmark, I chose Gravad Lax wrapped around some green asparagus with some lightly spiced mustard sauce to accompany it. A classic, which I knew would go down a treat. So far so good.
Now for the main course. Moussaka it would be and, of course, it involved cheese. Not only was it tasty, if I may say it myself, but it allowed me to prepare it well in advance, leaving time with my family as it cooked away in the oven.
So, I layered it with all the ingredients topping it off with grated mozzarella cheese and stuck it in the oven for an hour or so.
As I had expected, the starter was well received. We all enjoyed it. So far so good. We were chatting away over a glass of wine, when I heard the vague ping from the kitchen, announcing it was time for the main course.
I started to collect the used dishes and cutlery. My husband stood to give me a hand. "No need, Tommy, all I need is to bring in the Moussaka and the salad."
The plates and cutlery were already on the table. I first brought in the salad. I made sure the wood mats were in the middle of table, before I brought in my pride and joy.
I placed the big and very hot but deliciously looking dish on the mats. I waited a moment in anticipation of I don't know what, but all I heard was a deafening silence.
I looked at the three of them in bewilderment, not knowing what to do or what to say. However, just then did I notice two pairs of eyes trained on my father-in-law.
'Is something wrong?" I asked, not knowing what else to say.
"Ulla, my Dad hates cheese." I looked at my husband and sat down in utter defeat. How on earth had I missed that? I could feel the tears wanting to come through, but I fought them with all my might, swallowing hard.
And that's when my father-in-law came to my rescue. "Now, let's try this dish. Alice," he said to his wife, "could you please serve me some of this. And please don't remove the cheese. I want to try it all."
We all looked at him in astonishment, as he tucked in. We all followed suit, and the evening went on smoothly from there. It was when he asked for a second helping, we all became silent once more.
"I'll be damned!" Tommy finally said, breaking the silence. "My Dad actually likes your dish."
All I did was to give him a wistful smile.
| Author Notes |
It became my father-in-law's favourite dish. He often asked me to make it when they came for a meal, and I happily complied. It was the only time he ever ate cheese and loved it. What a compliment!
Thanks to avmurray for the use of the artwork. |
By Ulla
It's not right. What have we done to mother earth? We never listened and we still don't learn. Greece is burning, France is sizzling, and here I am moaning at half past eight at night, or as we call it here in Spain, late afternoon.
Rightfully, the temperatures should be going down at this time of the day ...No?...But, oh no, no such hope for this part of the world. In the last couple of hours, the temperatures have been rising from a mere 97F to 102F!
Now, mind you, I do like warm weather even leaning on the hot. But this is getting a bit over the top, even for me.
But who cares. We are having our yearly Fiesta and nothing is going to divert us from that. Come hell or fire, our fiesta is sacred. And would you know? I couldn't agree more. It's festive and it brings us all together.
Processions abound and we gather in our village streets, setting up tables eating a meal into late in the night. And then the music starts. It's now past midnight, so I bid goodnight. I will be dancing in my bed until six in the morning when everything finally goes quiet, and I can get a couple of hours of deep sleep. Until it all starts over the next afternoon.
I wouldn't be without it, but I could do with a little less heat.
| Author Notes | Just a little update. But there is more. This is only the start of the festivities. Just wait for the bulls! |
By Ulla
I'm a bit sad this evening, as I've just learned that one of my oldest friends passed away earlier today.
Harold was special. He was tall and broad shouldered, and looked a lot like Sean Connery, or Sean Connery looked a lot like him. It was difficult to decipher between the two.
But never mind Sean, this is about Harold. He was an institution on to himself. He would walk into a room and his strong baritone voice with its strong Midwest accent, would render the room to be quiet. Then, of course, all hell would break loose.
He was always controversial, but so likeable at the same time. It doesn't make sense right? No it doesn't, but that's who he was and he didn't give a damn what you thought about him. But he's one of the most fair and down to earth guys I've ever known. He always knew what was wrong and what was right and stood up for it.
And now he's gone. He had the life he wanted and at ninety years old, I would say he lived up to that prophecy. God bless his heart and rest in peace my dear friend.
| Author Notes | He was never ill. I've just learned today from his wife, that he was admitted three days ago with some breathing problems and that was it. |
By Ulla
And then the change in the weather we'd all been looking for arrived. What we hadn't counted on was the explosive way it presented itself.
You may ask, what can this possibly have to do with the topic required by the contest. But please indulge me for a few minutes, and it will all become clear.
I woke up at four in the morning, not quite sure why that was. I waited for a few minutes, but sleep soon took over. I thought I'd probably had a bad dream. So I nudged under my flimsy sheet, and was about to enter the world of no knowledge, when the whole room lit up in a sharp orangy light, followed by a huge clap of thunder.
<><><><>
Now, I live in the mountains inland from the Mediterranean. My valley is between 1200- 1800 feet/ 400-600 metres above sea level. It's surrounded by taller mountains on three sides opening up to the lower valley leading down to the sea.
The valley consists of three villages each having a population of roughly 250 souls, so we are a small community, but a very lively one. As you can imagine, everybody knows everyone.
We are a great mix of age groups and backgrounds. The majority of the population are natives of the country, but a few of us are from abroad. I'm obviously one of those, but I came here more than twenty years ago.
I speak the language fluently, and I have long since been accepted into the community. I will always be the outsider, though. That can never be changed. And why should it? But what is understood is that I contribute to the flavour of the life here as much as they flavour my life and outlook. I feel so much richer for it. As you can read between the lines, I simply love to live here.
We are also a valley, which used to be famous for its cherries. People would come from far away in the country to have a chance to buy some. I have sold hundreds and hundreds of kilos of cherries that my ex-husband and I used to harvest on our land. But the climate change put paid to that. There's not been a cherry to be had for the last six years. It's not only very sad, but also a great loss to the whole valley.
As for festivals, we have a few. In the summer, each village celebrates its festival. The Saints of the village determines when the festivities take place. My village has just celebrated its yearly festival, the running of the bulls being the crown of it all.
Right now, the village down the way has just started to celebrate their festival. But there's a dire outlook for that. Hence we've gone full circle.
Remember where this story started? Well, we're in for a major shift in the weather. From Saturday, we will be inundated by severe rain and thunderstorms, which will last until Tuesday. It doesn't bode well for the village and its festival. The only good news is that it will still be warm. The summer is far from over.
| Author Notes | 'put paid to' is a UK English term: it means, thwart |
By Ulla
This is quite banal, I know. Some would say, how can this make a story, even. But I think it's worth mentioning, because to me it showed a unique gesture of kindness.
As most of you know, I live in a little village in the mountains with a view down to the Med. 250 souls we are, not counting the surge of visitors we see almost every weekend.
As is my habit every morning, I take my dog across from my house, so she can do her business. We then have our breakfast and then it it's time for her walk.
Now, the other day on our daily walk, she stopped right in front of a piece of land sniffing around. As I waited for her, I looked at the view of which I can never tire. Just then, and to my great delight, I caught sight of the most beautiful pear tree. The branches were hanging low by the most delicious looking fruit which were light green with rosy cheeks.
I was wondering how on earth this could be possible with all the heat we'd had and still are having. I was just about to carry on with my walk, as Tasha had finished doing whatever had taken her fancy, when I saw one of my neighbours waving at me.
I waved back and shouted. Que preciosas son! ' (how beautiful they are) and walked on.
'Ah, so they also own this piece of land,' I said out loud, and thought no more of it.
A couple of hours later, the same neighbour turned up at the gate to my little garden. "Hola Ulla, tengo un regalito para ti", (Hi Ulla, I have a little gift for you).
I looked up in surprise, and there was Natalia, handing over a bag full of the most delicious pears.
Speechless I gave her a hug, as I felt my eyes filling with tears.
| Author Notes | This only happened four days ago. Such a sweet gesture. |
By Ulla
A little while ago, the whole world learned about the fatal submarine journey down to the Titanic wreck. At the time, I didn't want to comment about it, as it could be seen as drawing attention to myself. But I have a very personal angle to all of this.
Quite a few of you have followed Lorenzo Dow Baker's story. My great-grandfather and my Father's granddad.
Now, my father followed in his footsteps and sailed all his life. First in the Merchant Navy and finally as a captain on the ship, which, hold your breath, found the wreck of Titanic.
| Author Notes |
100 words exactly. Hand counted
Google my father and you will find the story about the discovery of the Titanic. His name was Reuben Rich Baker. If all fails, contact me and I'll take photos of the articles and interviews I've got and make them available to you. . Thanks to cleo85 for the use of the stunning artwork. |
By Ulla
This is my daughter, Amelie, and my eldest granddaughter, Liv, at an important football match in Copenhagen, Denmark. In America that would be called a soccer game. It's important because it's a qualifying game for the European Championship. And Denmark won by a whopping 3 goals.
No wonder the smiles were bright and the feelings of celebrating were everywhere to be found. What more could the wee country of Denmark wish? I think the picture speaks for itself.
I just wanted to share this with you all. I love that photo. it's only four days old.
| Author Notes |
The win doesn't mean Denmark has qualified yet, but they are on their way.
Beyond Redemption will be out next Sunday. I have just learned that wee Denmark has qualified for the championship. I have three countries participating I will be rooting for: Denmark, Scotland and Spain. Now what? |
By Ulla
Sally fell to her knees, her legs finally giving in. She'd been lost for more than 36 hours, presumed dead. Nobody was looking anymore.
The plane had come down, she didn't know where. She was miraculously alive and crawling through thick forest.
Then, as a mirage, the house suddenly appeared.
| Author Notes |
50 words exactly, hand counted.
The story is based on what happended back in 1972. The Jat flight was leaving from Stockholm, Sweden, with a stopover in Copenhagen, Denmark. The final crew took over there for the flight to Czechoslovakia. En route, a bomb went off mid air, killing almost everyone. But miraculously, one flight attendant survived. She fully recuperated only showing a slight limp. It's believed the thick forest saved her life. She never had any recollection of the tragic incident. |
By Ulla
I'm a woman through and through and, make no mistakes, I've also never ever wanted to be anything but a woman. In fact, I've always loved
being a female.
So how can I say this so confidently in an environment that is largely suppressing women? And if that suppression can't be easily achieved, then other crimes are committed against the females of this world. They can be as subtle as they can be violent.
I do realise that I grew up in a part of the world where women are, for the most part, seen as equal to men. And for that, I am privileged and grateful. And yet, during my life I still came across signs of inequality. I'd only been in my first job for barely a year, when that came to the fore. This was 1975 and I knew my male colleagues earned more than I did. I just didn't know by how much.
So it was with astonishment that I and my female colleagues had been paid a wobbling 25% less than our male counterparts for doing the exact same work. The European Court of Justice had ruled, and all companies had to comply. And so they did. So I didn't only get an amazing pay rise in my next paycheck, but it was also going to be retroactive. In other words it was going back almost a year. That was a lot of money.
I have been lucky to travel all over the world, and I've seen how tough life can be for a lot of women. They are often poorly educated and sometimes don't get any education at all, as men will suppress that. Just look at Afghanistan and the Taliban. In many societies women are seen as a man's chattel with which he can do what he likes. She's there to serve him and him alone. He takes his pleasure from her and basically doesn't give a damn. If she doesn't comply he'll beat her or worse.
But that is the extreme. Unfortunately, it still applies to millions of women around the world. The crimes against women manifest themselves all the time. They even get murdered by their partners or they get murdered by their husbands, if they don't live up to what is expected of them, or worse, if they dare to rebel because they've had enough and want to break free.
So I have now shown the two opposite worlds of a woman's life.
Then, of course, there's everything in between, which is more common and which largely goes unnoticed or gets ignored.
In today's world it can be hard work to be a woman. We have come a long way, but still far from what would be ideal. Why men still suppress women is because deep down they are afraid of them. To them it's unimaginable that we could be equal and possibly more intelligent than they are.
Will it ever change? I honestly don't know. Countries in Scandinavia and other Western world countries have come close to treating women as they should be treated with equality and respect.
But the world is changing and not for the better. Our female gender is coming under serious threats in many parts of the world where things are going backwards rather than forward.
Yet, I wouldn't want to be a man. Not in a million years. I'm a woman and proud of being one.
By Ulla
I am old, and I am lonely, and I still keep on waiting for the letter I know will never arrive. I think about you every single moment of my waking hours. My longing for you never ceases, and there is nothing I can do to alter that. Only death would relieve me from that inner ache, the pain which haunts me without letting up. All I can hope for is the eternal sleep, which would ultimately swallow me up in its dark void.
So here I sit, in my old and worn out chair, and I look out to the postbox, sitting high on its pole. Every day is the same, and I never make any effort to change any of it. Nor do I wish to. I just dream of you, waiting for the day when I can join you once more.
Once in a while, I do look away from the driveway, thinking about other things. My sons and only daughter have taken it upon themselves to phone me on alternative days. The first thing they ask me is always how I am doing. And I always answer the same way. I am doing well, thank you very much. But what else can I say? I am doing okay. I eat well, I sleep well, and I still walk up and down the stairs without much difficulty. But their repeated questions are starting to get a bit tedious, but they mean well. Deep down I know that. And maybe it is
difficult for them to speak of much else.
After all, what do I have to offer? Not a lot. I can't mend the world which is all broken. Everybody seem to be fighting each other. Why old men still have the urge to rule everyone else is quite beyond me. Why we can't live in peace with each other, I do not understand either and never will. But such is the world. It goes round in a circle and inevitably ends in hatred and war. It, the world that is, somehow seems hellbent on a self-destructive path. So that's another reason why I really don't want to be here for much longer.
Of course, I fear for my children and grandchildren, but it's a useless sentiment, really. There is nothing I can do to keep them safe. I let out a big heavy sigh, somewhat surprised. I hadn't noticed I'd been holding back so much air.
I once again let my eyes travel down the wide entrance, leading to the postbox sitting high on its pole. Spring and summer have come and long gone, and the tall trees lining the alley have turned into their most splendid autumn colours. It is as if they are saying; "Look at me how beautiful I can be, before I go into this big slumber when you will hardly notice me." I had to smile at that thought. I think I'd been at that stage for quite a while.
I closed my eyes and must have fallen asleep because, when I woke up, the shadows had become longer and so much darker. I reached for the lamp on the table next to me and, in doing so, I noticed something which was not as it should be. I squinted in the half dark and that's when I saw a shadow in the shape of a person standing in the door frame leading out to the hall. My arm, though, was still suspended in midair as if it had forgotten what it had been about to do. I never lit the light but, at the same time, I didn't dare to bring my arm back to my side.
Had I really seen something or was it all in my imagination? It was hard to tell but, for the first time, I was grateful for the emergency band I carried around my neck.
My daughter had insisted on it. "Dad," she'd said, "it's all very well that you move around okay. We know you get your food delivered ready to defrost, and your house cleaned once a week. But it's a big house and quite isolated. No-one would hear you if you had a fall not being able to get to your phone."
I hadn't argued the issue and merely accepted it in silence. At the time, I'd found it too much of a bother to dismiss the case. I was now glad I hadn't refused it.
I slowly brought my outstretched arm back from the lamp and rested my finger on the panic bottom. I dared another look at the door. There was nothing. I started to relax, thinking I must have been imagining things. I even thought it would be safe to turn on the light again. And that's when I heard it.
The creaking of the floor board in my bedroom above was an immediate give away. Someone was in my house and for no good reason. I hit the button and sent a silent thank you to my daughter. Strangely, the sheer act of having called for help calmed me down. If I was to die in the hands of this intruder then, at least, I would soon be found. I got no further in my reasoning, as a heavy blow landed on my head. Then my world went dark.
<><><><><>
The next thing I knew, was a strange
feeling of heaviness followed by a crushing sense of sadness washing through me. Was this what it was like to be dead? I waited for something else to happen, and that's when I heard someone speaking in a hushed whisper.
"I think Dad is waking up" the whisper said.
Why would someone talk about me waking up? I thought, desperately wanting to say something. But before I could do so or make any sense of what was happening, I once again fell into a big black hole.
But something was different. The big black hole didn't seem so black after all. Because there you were in your green dress, your face lit up by a lambent smile, your eyes dancing from sheer merriment.
I reached out for you, but I couldn't quite catch up with you. Your teasing laughter both mocking me and challenging me to try harder. And did I try harder? Oh, yes I did. I was focusing on nothing else but to reach you and embrace you in my arms. Something I had wanted to do for such a long time.
I thought I heard someone calling my name from a great distance, but I decided to ignore it. I had to concentrate on my task. The most challenging thing I'd ever come across. Again, I heard someone calling my name somewhere behind me. I half turned but didn't see anyone. Even if I had, I think I would have ignored it.
Turning back, I hoped I hadn't lost you, and to my relief, I saw your green dress fluttering, albeit a distance away. The wind had come up quite a bit, making your running away from me that much harder. But you were teasing me, your smile as inviting as ever.
Again, I thought I heard my name being called from a great distance, but I couldn't be sure if it was true or not. And I wasn't that interested either. If anything, it was holding me back. All I wanted was to catch up with you as the distance between us had widened. I cursed as I made a last bit to catch up with you, and at last, you were in my arms, my face buried in your silken hair.
And then, only then, did I let out a long breath of air . . .
By Ulla
I got up early. I had a lunch date with my best friends and I didn't want to be late.
It had been fun, with great food and much banter.
As I headed towards my car to drive home, a bus came careening towards me. I screamed, knowing I had nowhere to go. . .
"Wake up, Jane," Peter gently said, as he shook me awake. It's only a nightmare.'
"I know, but I was almost killed!"
| Author Notes | Exactly 75 words, hand counted. |
By Ulla
The night is near and the moon is full. The inane sentence kept churning in my head as I stood hidden behind the curtain, watching the shadows growing darker and darker as the light retreated through the window behind me.
The room, by now, had taken on a gloomy aspect, just perfect for what I was going to do. The only thing missing was the object of my desire. But he was not there. Or, should I say they were not there, at least not yet.
"Patience," you'd often said. A concept I didn't understand at all, to begin with. But as time went by and after a few black eyes and assorted bruises spread randomly across my body, I started to understand that particular aspect. What you didn't realise, though, was that I was a fast learner.
The double bed, I knew so well, was immaculately made up. Something you had always taken great pride in. I just wondered whether your latest toy could live up to those standards of yours before you grew tired of her.
What I was about to do would make that particular question rather redundant. I would have liked to spare her, but she'd become the collateral for what I was about to do.
While I waited, my thoughts started to wander. They would always end up in the same place or on the same topic ending with what you'd done to me. However, there'd been a time when everything was good and the world was a fine place to be.
I would always remember the first time we met. It had been one of those warm summer evenings when the air embraces you like soft velvet.
The sun had barely set, leaving a rosy shimmer of light to its lazy dance across the ocean all the way to the horizon. I had ventured down to the water edge and was so engrossed in the view that all other sounds had regressed into the background.
It was only when I sensed a presence at my side that I turned around, finding a man standing next to me. I should have been startled but, for some reason, you didn't come across in a threatening way. Oh, how I wished I hadn't been so naive.
"I hope I didn't scare you? That was never my intention," was all you said.
You were handsome in a rugged sort of way and, your charm combined with an honest face took me in. As time went by and we got to know each other more, I appreciated your respect for me and my ways and I gradually learned to trust you.
So, we dated, and you were patient to the point that I decided to move in with you. It all went well for the first few months, or so I thought. I was too naive to perceive how you manipulated
me to your way of thinking. And that's when the abuse started. At first it was subtle, but it gradually became more violent.
What you hadn't counted on was that I would eventually break away. And I should have left it at that, I know. I'd had a lucky escape and I should have forgotten all about it. But I couldn't. I wanted revenge for all the pain you'd inflicted on me both physically and mentally.
So here I was, hiding behind the curtain waiting. Waiting to inflict the ultimate punishment for all your sins. In your arrogance you'd never changed your locks and I still had a key, which was going to be your undoing.
Just then, I heard someone coming up the stairs. I tensed hoping beyond hope that the next part of my plan would come off as smoothly as it had begun.
You entered the bedroom and, to my surprise, but also to my relief, you were on your own. That meant I only had to deal with you. You sat down on the bed, mumbling something incomprehensible to yourself. Then, all of a sudden, you stood and walked towards the window as if you wanted to draw the curtains.
How I got through the next few moments, I will never know. All I know is that when you arrived at the window I raised the knife and plunged it into your body and, in a frozen moment of time, we were caught up in a silent pantomime of incredulity.
<><><>
My nightmare was over. I was free, at last, and Venice Beach had never looked more beautiful.
By Ulla
I'm in tears.
Fifteen students have been killed by a fellow student in Prague, The Czech Republic, today because, he was inspired from such actions from abroad. It's anybody's guess where abroad is.
He has also killed his father, and wounded 24 other students. All this because he was inspired and, I repeat, from such actions abroad.
Do we want to adopt that kind of behaviour here in Europe? No, we don't.
Our medical care here is free to anyone so, saying that it's due to lack of care for the mentally ill just doesn't wash.
Guns are not readily available. Only to hunters and law enforcement after vigorous scrutiny.
Please, let's not adopt this trend of random killing.
By Ulla
I will not be posting this Sunday. Too much is going on at the moment. I just can't concentrate. My brother is in hospital having a big whole in his heart being closed. It should be a fairly straightforward procedure, but being so many miles away doesn't help. I'm worried.
And then there is our Sandra, of course. I hope she will make a speedy recovery.
To cap it all a very close friend of mine has just had Covid, for the very first time and she's struggling to shake it off.
So, I simply can't concentrate on anything much.
I wish you all a Merry Christmas.
By Ulla
The snow had fallen hard and thick for the last few days, and a deep frost had descended on the land and the vast sea surrounding it. Everything seemed to have come to an abrupt halt, and Christmas was only a few short days away.
It was also the Christmas I was to fly to Nice in France, spending eight hours there, before flying back as a passenger. I was scheduled to be back in Copenhagen at 7:30 pm. A bit late for a Christmas eve. But no matter. A Christmas eve was to be celebrated however late. My husband would be in the airport picking me up, and then we'd make the drive up to his parents for our Christmas Celebration. Our three year old daughter was with them already only waiting for us and the evening to begin.
I visualised her eying the presents under the tree, and how difficult it would be to contain her impatience. Little did I know how much her patience would be tested that night.
However, everything ran to schedule during the day. I flew in to Nice spending my eight hour lay over, buying some late but well planned Christmas gifts. I indulged myself in a late lunch, with a glass of red wine. I was flying home as a passenger, after all.
The flight was on time. It had just arrived from Barcelona, Spain, with only a few passengers. Hardly anyone would fly on the 24th of December to Copenhagen on a Christmas eve. Our most important night of the year.
So I settled happily into my seat. We took off, and everything went smoothly. I had another glass of wine, it was Christmas after all.
I think I must have dozed a little, when something brought me abruptly back to the here and now. "Are we turning?" I murmured to myself not yet as startled as I would be in a few moments later.
By now, I was fully awake. I looked out the window, and to my astonishment, I saw the port wing on an angle that would steadily take us away from our north bound course. "What the heck is going on?" I said out loud to no-one in particular. We were slowly but surely, changing our course to a south, south westerly direction. We kept our altitude though, so the plane was not in any kind of trouble. What the hell was going on?
It didn't take long before l had my answer when the captain's voice rang through the cabin. One of our flights, arriving in from Rio de Jainero, Brazil, was stranded in Lisbon, Portugal, and we had been asked to bring the crew back for Christmas.
I couldn't help but hear the collective groan travelling through our cabin.
I reckoned it would be well after midnight before we would be back in Copenhagen, but so be it. Of course, we couldn't leave our stranded crew behind. They had family waiting on them, as we all did
It was twelve thirty, when I finally entered into the arrivals hall, finding my husband waiting patiently for me. We fell into each other's arms. I think the poor man was as tired as I was.
"God, Ulla, it's good to seeing you at last. But we better get going. We'll have at least two and half hours drive to contend with."
"What do you mean by two and half hour?"
"You'll see." Tommy said in a quiet voice, and ten minutes later, I knew what he meant.
The country was covered in a thick layer of snow. Huge tree branches were bent low with snow. No sound could be heard as we made our slow and silent journey through a white and icy night. Occasionally a church spire lit up a small village in an amber light against the dark but starry sky.
Sometimes I fell asleep, only to wake up with a guilty sigh but, Tommy, bless him, assured me I had nothing to be ashamed of.
At three o'clock in the morning, we finally arrived to a sight I will never forget. Two fir trees were lit up with small amber lights, framing the house. In the doorway stood my parents-in-law with Amelie, our three year old daughter, a big welcoming smile lighting up their faces. As I stepped out of the car, I could smell the goose in the oven and the next thing I knew, my daughter was running into my arms.
| Author Notes |
In Denmark we celebrate Christmas on Christmas eve, with a big and prolonged dinner. Then we light the Christmas tree and sing some carols. Only then do we get the gifts. One at a time.
The Christmas eve I've just described is the best I've ever had. It was a magical night and morning. We also had a very long lie in the next day. |
By Ulla
"Ulla, there you are."
I had to smile, as I watched my colleague and close friend coming through the revolving doors leading into the hotel lobby. She was almost out of breath, so nothing new there. She had asked me to join her for breakfast at our usual place, but I had declined.
The night before, we'd been late in on our flight from Copenhagen and all I wanted was a good night sleep with no commitments for an early morning breakfast. We had the whole day in New York before the flight back the following afternoon.
"Yes, Laila," I answered, laughing at her somewhat silly exclamation. "Here I am and on time. And so are you. You had a good breakfast, I hope?"
"Great, busy as usual, and no wonder."
And, she was right. The food was great, reasonably priced, and the coffee flowing freely. Not surprisingly, it had become the favourite hangout for our crews' breakfast.
"Now, so where is it you're taking me?" I asked. "You said something about a camera you wanted to buy, right?"
"Just follow me," she said with a grin, touching the side of her nose.
We exited our crew hotel, weaving our way through the crowd heading for Times Square. We, of course, were heading towards the Park, when Laila suddenly made a sharp turn to the left up 59th. Before long we were on 8th Avenue walking south.
Here, there was no throng of tourists, the Avenue mostly consisting of anything from small supermarkets, groceries and the occasional gadget shops. They were renowned for selling anything from watches, cameras and other assorted items, I didn't much care for. But Laila had no such scruples. She knew exactly where she was going, and she was on a mission.
I actually liked this part of the city, with it's mix of people coming from all walks of life. It was a far cry from the mainstream upper Manhattan, and during this time of the day it was usually safe.
As we hurried along, I noticed the fresh vegetables and fruits on display outside a grocery shop, a closed liquor store next to it and then we came to an abrupt halt. We had arrived at the gadget store my friend wanted. It looked like everything I associated with this kind of shop. What on earth possessed Laila to shop in a place like this was beyond me. But who was I to say?
We entered the shop and a man with a sleazy smile greeted us from behind the counter. He undoubtedly thought he would make the profit of the day and he was probably not far off.
"Are you sure you really want to do this?" I asked my friend under my breath.
"Yes, Ulla, I am sure."
Meanwhile, the shopkeeper had brought a variety of cameras which were spread along the counter. Laila was busy examining each one very carefully, having finally decided on a particular one. She asked me to have a look as well and, out of duty, I did what was asked of me.
The make was a Nikon, or so it said. I was busy looking through the lens, when there suddenly was a loud knock on the entrance door, startling us all. I dropped the camera somewhat unceremoniously onto the counter as we turned to see what was going on.
What met our eyes was a man lying on the pavement knocking vigorously on the door to the shop, shouting something neither of us quite caught. Before I knew it, my friend and I were ushered behind the counter after which the owner slowly made his way towards the door.
"What is it you want?" he said to the prostrate figure outside. "And could you stop shouting or I'll call the cops."
There was a little pause where we all held our breath. And then the man on the pavement held out his hand, a silly grin on his face.
"I just wonder if you have a dollar to go. The liquor store, next door, opens in five minutes."
.
| Author Notes |
This took place in the mid eighties. New York being, well, New York. We all gave the poor man a dollar or two.
'to go' is 'take away' in British English |
By Ulla
Jonathan let out a deep sigh. He was nowhere nearer getting rid of the wife without being charged with murder.
That he wanted her to go was not up for discussion, but how to achieve it was the problem. He didn't want a nagging divorcee. He wanted her dead, gone for good, but how?
<><><>
"Still mulling over the murder plot?" His wife asked, placing a steaming mug of coffee on the table.
He smiled. "Yes, this story is going nowhere."
| Author Notes |
8o Words and hand counted.
Thanks to simonka for the use of the artwork. |
By Ulla
The phone call brought me abruptly out of my deep sleep. However that didn't mean I was completely coherent when I finally managed to answer whoever had woken me up.
"Hello," I heard my voice croak into the phone as if it came from a great distance. It was only when I recognised Carol's voice that I finally found my senses and sat up straight, now fully alert.
"What's up? Is something wrong? No strike that. You wouldn't be calling me at three in the morning, if everything was okay."
Instead of an answer, I got one of Carol's soft laughters. "Just get dressed, my friend, and come here as quick as you can. You're about to become a mother of sorts."
"Oh my God," I said rather lamely, "I'll be there in half an hour."
In truth, I made it in twenty minutes, breaking all speed limits on the way. There was not a car in sight which, of course, was rather helpful. When I arrived at the farm, I skidded into the courtyard where I came to an abrupt halt.
Everything was in darkness except for one of the stables. From there a soft light floated, leaving an eerie pattern of light and shadows in its wake. The main house, though, was in complete darkness but that didn't surprise me. Morton was at least thirty years senior to Carol who was in her late forties. He needed his sleep. However, in his waking hours, you wouldn't know he was closing in on eighty. But enough of Morton.
I jumped out of the car and ran towards the stable. As I approached, I could hear the whinny from a horse who was clearly in distress. It was then that I realised this might not be going as it should do.
I hurried inside and, in my haste, I hardly noticed the heady smell of horse, hay and manure, a smell I absolutely loved.
The mare was lying down, nothing unusual there in the circumstances, but Carol's posture and expression had the effect of sending a chill down my spine.
"Oh, Jessica, there you are. I'm so glad you're here. The vet should be here any minute now."
"But what's gone wrong since you phoned?" I asked, not only worried, but also a little puzzled. This was my first horse birth, after all.
"I can't see the hind legs and something else is bothering me as well ..." But what it was, I would never know because, at that moment, a car came to a screeching halt outside in the courtyard.
The next, I knew, was a blur of running feet and high voices all interspersed with the obvious distress of the mare. I made sure to stand well out of the way, never uttering a word as I watched the spectacle taking place in front of me.
It was only when I noticed the vet pull on a pair of hind legs that I knew a new foal was entering the world. "Oh my word" I mumbled, or maybe I'd shouted it, for Carol turned to look at me with a tired but happy smile.
"Oh my word, indeed," she said, as she came to my side. For a moment, neither of of us said anything as we watched the foal struggling to get on to its four spindly legs, its mother gently nudging him along.
"Congratulations, Jessica," my friend, Carol said. "He's a fine little fellow and a lucky little horse. It was a close call for both of them, but they will be fine. Our vet made sure of that.
"In that case, I think it's time for some coffee," I said, wiping away some happy tears.
| Author Notes | Thanks to Brendaartwork 18 for the use of the artwork. |
By Ulla
There was a knock on the door. My first reaction was surprise closely followed by a sense of panic. My right arm somehow stopped in middair, paralysed in shock as if it was readying itself to ward off a blow. The rest of my body was completely still, frozen to the spot for lack of a better word.
How could someone be at the door, but more to the point, how had John found me and so soon? I'd done everything to cover my tracks yet, somebody who wished me ill, was out there in the snow knocking on my door. Of that I was sure.
I looked about me wildly, as if by some miracle, I could find an escape route. But of course, there was none. What the hell was I going to do? How could I possibly be in this impossible situation?
Just then, there was another knock, but this time there was a voice accompanying it. A voice that was quite friendly, which sounded nothing like the one I had run away from. So who could that be then?
I lowered my arm, letting out all the pent up air. It sounded as a huge sigh of relief, and it was music to my ears. I laid down the brush on the palette and quickly made my way to the door.
But I didn't just open it on the strength of a friendly voice. I stood listening for I don't know how long, almost believing that whoever had been out there had turned away leaving me alone.
However, instead there was another knock on the door. Not so strong this time but, all the same, it made me take a few steps back. "Are you okay in there?" came the same friendly voice.
I swallowed back my fear, deciding that this time I would answer. "I'm fine thank you," I said in my most decisive voice. "But who are you? And how come you're out here in the middle of nowhere knocking on my door?"
There was a small pause and then the voice said, "I'm Peter... Peter Vaughan. I own this cottage and rent it out occasionally. I live further up the way. I saw light last night and was wondering who would be here at this time of the year." Then there was another small pause, before he continued. "But hey, are you going to open that door or what? It's mighty cold out here."
I looked around me, knowing that I had to do something or at least say something. Not sure I could trust this man, I did the only thing I knew how. I simply asked him to leave me alone. I had rented the cottage for a couple of months and as far as I was concerned, he had no right to intrude on my privacy. Also, if he rented out the cottage how come he didn't know it was occupied? None of it made sense to me.
"Please, just leave me alone. I'm not going to open the door. I don't trust you or anyone, for that matter. Just go away and if you don't, I'll call the police." I could hear how hollow my threat sounded. He could break down the door in minutes. But maybe that would be time enough to defend myself, lest he carried a gun.
But, of course, I hadn't counted with the Peter Vaughans of this world. He was having none of it.
"You'll probably find that you have no signal here," was all he said.
One glance at my phone told me the man was right. Dammit. What to do next? I resigned myself to the fact that I had to open the door, but I was not going to do that without some sort of protection.
I quickly went to one of the kitchen drawers. I selected the sharpest meat knife I could find and slipped it up my sleeve. Only then, did I turn towards the door. Feeling slightly better, I eased the door open.
Outside stood a friendly looking man. Someone I'd never seen in my life. He was tall, of a solid build, his dark hair starting to show signs of grey at the temples. I gathered he was somewhere in his forties. All at once, some of my tension went away, but I was still not prepared to fully trust this person.
"So what do you want?" I said, without preamble.
"First of all," I heard him saying, "could you put that knife away you're hiding in your sleeve." I looked at him in astonishment, taken totally my surprise. "Next, please let me in. I mean you no harm, but I need you to listen to me and listen carefully. We don't have much time as it were. I don't know you, but I have a feeling you might be in great danger."
"But . . . but how would you know any of this?" I asked feeling more confused than ever.
"I talked to my agent this morning and he said that someone called John Hill called yesterday asking for a Lisa Hill. He said he was your husband and needed to get hold of you as it was an emergency. My agent then proceeded to tell him your location."
I blanched, feeling faint from fear. I reached out for a chair to hold onto but, in doing so, the knife fell from my sleeve, clattering on to the floor. I briefly looked at it, but neither of us bent down to retrieve it.
"He's abused you, hasn't he and you thought you escaped?" Peter Vaughan looked at me in sympathy. "Right, no more time for talking. Pack all your things. I'll take care of the food and then we'll be out of here."
This time I didn't argue. There would be some explaining to do, but now was not the moment. In fifteen minutes flat, we were ready. I followed Peter up the track, until we hit the main country road. We turned right and for the next forty minutes or so I followed Peter's truck. He suddenly indicated right and we entered another track which we followed for some time.
A big log house suddenly came into view, overlooking the expanse of land that made up the valley. It was only then that I realised we'd been driving in a big soft circle. The cottage we'd left behind was out there in the distance, hence the light he'd seen the night before.
I stopped my car right behind Peter's and let out an elated sigh and, for the first time in a very long time, I felt I might be safe.
By Ulla
snowflakes knit
a pattern of perfect white~
cosy nights ahead
| Author Notes |
Thanks to Jack Moore for the use of the artwork.
This is a 3-7-5 haiku |
By Ulla
Peace,
Now long forgotten ~
Do you even remember?
| Author Notes |
I Wish
Thanks to Cleo85 for the use of your beautiful image..it says it all. |
By Ulla
She,
she's soft, she's stubborn,
but omnipresent ~
Love defines how she embraces grief.
By Ulla
heat on the attack
steals away
any sense of cool
| Author Notes | Thanks to bunkie for the use of the artwork. |
By Ulla
How many children have to die, before you act?
| Author Notes |
Again, another senseless school shooting has taken place; this time in Nashville.
When will a nation of almost 400 million people wake up to the reality that this is not the wild west? How many children are you prepared to sacrifice? And that is not counting all the adult victims. I'm beyond angry, wasting my tears on a country who doesn't care. |
By Ulla
"Will you marry me?"
I looked around the stall, thinking the words I'd just heard were directed at someone else. But as I let my gaze wander, I realised that Peter and I were quite alone. As alone as you can ever be at a busy Saturday market.
What the hell was the man getting at? It didn't make any sense. I looked down at the cheap goods which were displayed in any such way to entice the gullible tourist to make a purchase, and all I wanted was to run away and as fast as I could.
My mind was in turmoil. No, I didn't want to marry Peter or any other man for that matter. So what could I do? My gut reaction was to ignore his question, pretending I never heard it. And that's what I decided to do.
I rummaged around the cheap stuff and quickly bore down on the next stall which didn't display anything more exciting as the former one. If anything, the goods were of even poorer quality if that was possible. I was holding up an imitation of an old pocket watch when I heard the same four words. Only this time, they were said in a much louder voice:
"WIll YOU MARRY ME?"
And that's when I panicked. The bloody man was serious. Not for the first time, I asked how I'd managed to get myself into this situation. But of course, I knew the answer. I had only myself to blame.
We'd met a little over a year ago at a local pub not far from where I lived. I'd been dismissed from my job earlier in the day and I was in a foul mood. My company had run into financial troubles and they'd made me redundant. I was not the only one, but it didn't make it any easier.
Then out of nowhere there was Peter, after I'd sought solace in a few glasses of white wine. He'd seemed fun and good company. Just what I needed. Or so I thought.
So we started to see each other. We would meet up for the occasional drink which soon morphed into dinner dates. I enjoyed his company and an added bonus was that he helped with my CV which soon landed me in a new job. I made him laugh and, as for me, I was never bored in his company. He was a great friend and that's where it ended as far as I was concerned.
Granted, we had shared the odd kiss, and I would be lying if I tried to say that I didn't like it. But from there to get married? Absolutely no way. Just then his voice rang out again, only this time even louder if that was possible.
"Will - you - marry - me, Victoria?"
This time though, I did panic. People had stopped doing whatever they were doing looking at us with quiet amusement.
"No, I won't bloody marry you," I shouted with a vicious hiss. By now, I was beyond angry. I abruptly turned on my heel and started to run towards the exit. I just wanted to get away and as far away as I could from him.
Whether I would live to regret this never occurred to me. At least not at that moment in time. I just felt an immense sense of relief as if I'd escaped some great danger.
By Ulla
I was all but thirteen years of age and I was in love. Never mind that the object of my affection was entirely oblivious of my infatuation. Who cared. As long as he spoke to me, my world was on an even keel and I was happy.
The night I fell in love had started out as any other day of the week. Eva, my best friend, and I had spent our afternoon training with our swimming club. School, back in the day, finished at two in the afternoon, when I made my way across the city to the only olympic size pool in Copenhagen.
I was a serious swimmer, intent on being good. I had already won a couple of competitions, but the big ones were a few years down the line and still way out of my reach. I knew that and it didn't bother me in the least. I just swam, did my homework and had fun with my best friend, Eva. Life was simple and straightforward.
Until one winter evening when my life turned on its head. I had been training in the pool for a few hours and, finally, my trainer called it a day. It suited me fine because I was going skating with Eva. The skating rink was just next door and we had agreed that an hour or so on the ice would be fun. We were sure our friends would be there and we were not disappointed.
We had a great time on the ice as we behaved like the bunch of kids we really were, chasing each other from one end to the other. That is until I literally crashed into a big boy, the outcome of which sent us both flying. It wasn't a pretty picture, as I landed squarely on top of him, not unlike a big sack of potatoes.
We were both rather winded, but fortunately neither of us was hurt. We both got back on our skates, and I muttered some halfhearted apology as I tried to hide my embarrassment.
"I better be leaving. I have a bus to catch," I said. "And I'm sorry I knocked you over like that."
I abruptly turned away, making my way towards the entrance, where I spotted Eva waiting for me.
<><><><>
Three days later, we were back at the skating rink, and the first person I noticed was the boy from the other night. "I think, he's been waiting for you," Eva said with glee. "He's actually quite good looking if you like that sort of type."
I glared at my best friend, wondering what she could possibly mean, but before I got any further, the boy, in question, suddenly stood next to me.
"Hi, my name is Peter ..."
I fiddled with my scarf until I finally said, "and I'm Ulla ..."
This was not going very well. I didn't have a clue what to say next. At thirteen, I had no idea how to handle this. All I knew was that I was with a boy who must have been some three years older than me and who actually wanted to speak with me. I was not only shy but also fascinated.
He bought me a cup of hot chocolate and from then on everything seemed a bit easier. We met up every other day. We skated some and talked some more and, one night a couple of weeks later, he walked along with me to the bus stop, taking my hand in his. He never let go of it until the bus arrived, and waved as we left the curb.
I waved back and smiled, a warm feeling of happiness washing over me.
Little did I know that I would never see him again.
| Author Notes | I have sometimes wondered what happened to him. We spent some tender moments together in our own innocent fashion. |
By Ulla
I groaned when I finally woke up, realising that I was painfully late. School started at eight, and, for some reason, my alarm had let me down. My parents had already left, but that wasn't a big deal. At twelve, I was old enough to make my way to school without one of my parents being around.
I leaped out of bed in one swift movement. I grabbed my clothes and made it to the bathroom in record time. Fortunately, I'd had a shower the night before so a few splashes of water onto my face, washing my hands and brushing my teeth did the trick. I dressed and I was as ready as I would ever be.
I hurried downstairs, knowing that breakfast would be waiting for me on the kitchen table, my lunch being in the fridge.
After I gulped down some fruit and a yogurt, I grabbed my lunchbox, and quickly stepped into a pair of shoes. I slammed the door behind me and ran to the bus stop. With a little luck, I could make school within ten minutes, and nobody would be the wiser.
The bus was on my side, and I made it to school with a minute to spare. It had been a close call, and I let out all the pent up air as I entered my class. I was so relieved.
But my relief was to be short-lived as I was met by silence, a silence I didn't quite understand. I looked around not knowing what was going on. All I saw were fingers pointing down towards my legs, before the whole class dissolved into a fit of laughter.
I gazed down and, to my horror, I saw my right foot clad in a blue shoe and my left foot in a red shoe.
| Author Notes |
I was mortified and it took a long time to live that down.
Thanks to avmurray for the use of the artwork. |
By Ulla
Nouns:
Revenge
Facts
Conflict
Reality
Irony
Verbs:
Profiled
Recall
Freeze
Slither
Contact
Revenge and facts
Frozen recalled
The story
It was almost ten in the morning, and I was annoyed because I'd overslept. It was something I very rarely did and, to add insult to injury, my coffee was at best lukewarm, not helping my mood.
I pulled the report towards me and skimmed through it for the umpteenth time. It should have been a simple case of revenge and facts, frozen in time.
But as I recalled nothing was as simple as that. I'd built up a profile of the perpetrator based on all known facts. Anyone who'd been in contact with him over the last few years, would have said the same thing. He was a likable bloke and never seemed to be in conflict with anyone let alone getting into any confrontation. And yet, we knew for a fact that he'd killed at least five people. How could that be and how come we couldn't get to the bottom of it. I slithered further down in my chair and shook my head from the irony of it all.
A few arrests had been made but nothing had come of it. The police had concentrated on the vagrants populating the area where most of the killings had taken place. I had repeatedly said that I thought their focus was too narrow. But nobody had given me much attention and I gradually withdrew from the case, not offering any further advice.
This had been some months ago, and I had quite frankly forgotten about the whole thing. That was until three days ago, when another body had turned up. A mutilated corpse, left in a bin for the poor refuse people to discover. Like all the others he'd not been a pretty sight.
The problem was that neither I nor the police were any futher in figuring out who could possibly have done this, let alone catching any perpetrator.
| Author Notes | Words selected from, Doctor Death , Jonathan Kellerman, page 269. |
By Ulla
At the time my life took on a whole new direction, a few major changes had already taken place. I had separated from my first husband and we were well on our way through our divorce when I met and fell in love with another man. That in itself was maybe not so unusual, but, what complicated matters was that he was from another country.
My ex-husband-to-be didn't like that at all. He truly believed that I would move to another country taking our daughter with me. Nothing could have been further from my mind. But then he forced the issue.
As my work often took me away for a day or two, he was looking after our daughter when I was away. There was nothing strange about that as he'd always done that. But this time was different. When I came home from work late one night, no-one was there to meet me. That in itself was maybe not a worry. But when I switched on the light, a strangled gasp emitted from my mouth.
At first I thought I'd been burgled, but I soon found out that my ex had removed any valuables I still possessed including our daughter. A note was left telling me so in no uncertain terms.
I was devastated, as you can well imagine. I tried to get hold of my daughter's father, but that proved impossible. I even phoned the police, but they didn't want to know. It was a domestic dispute, nothing they could do, so I did the only thing I could do. I phoned my work and called in sick. I told them what was really going on and they accepted it right away, telling me to take as much time as I needed.
So this was the first major change to my life at the age of 41. I simply moved to another country to stay with my boyfriend. The beauty was that I could still work, although I was living in another country.
It didn't take long, though, before my ex-husband realised his error. Instead of keeping me close, he'd pushed me away. Now, our daughter missed her mother, and within a year she came to live me and my new partner. A total defeat for my ex-husband, if I may say so. She did see her father almost every weekend. We shared the cost of that to happen.
So that was my first major new shift which took place in my forty-first year. Meanwhile, I left my job in my native country. I managed to take a few years off, travelling the world with my partner, my daughter being lucky enough to come with us.
Now, that eventually had to take a backseat, and that's when I embarked on another major shift of direction. I applied to study for a law degree, and the University of my choice accepted me. I was 45 at the time, and I embarked on yet another direction in my life. Don't forget, I was still in another country and all this was happening in my second language. Three years later, I graduated. I was now a lawyer.
The third shift of direction in my life took place a few years later, but that will be beyond the scope of this contest, though. It will be a story in it own right.
By Ulla
I'm a monkey of sorts, and I'm in chains. They say I'm evil, but I know better.
My captors are looking for the key to my chains, and I have to chuckle. Unbeknownst to them, I'm sitting on it and soon I will be free to create havoc --my speciality.
| Author Notes | 50 words exactly, hand counted. |
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