Trapped

Anna stared at the huge, forbidding face that was peering down at her. The broad shoulders and imposing male figure was waiting, impatiently, she knew; but she could not speak, she was dumb-struck. She glanced, helplessly around, panic rose in her throat and bile threatened to choke her. Her chest felt tight, constricted and she struggled to breathe, she felt as though she was going to faint. Anxiety filled her body and she turned on her heels and fled; running as fast as she could, almost hysterical, with a feeling of such foreboding that she scattered all in her path.

Ignoring cries of concern from bystanders, she flew through the open door and out into the golden sunlight of an autumn day. On she ran, gathering up the skirts of her long gown as she sped through the streets and down to the sea. Ah, yes, the sea; the beach; she would find freedom on the shore.

The narrow streets of the little, seaside town were almost deserted, the busy throng of Summer holiday makers did not care for autumnal visits, coming only when the sun was hot and the amusement arcades open. But the unusually warm weather had coaxed out a few people; retired couples, dog-walkers and the occasional solitary soul, drifted along the promenade, taking in the sea air. Anna was oblivious to these startled on-lookers as she ran across the road,

" Marine Drive ", she thought to herself and smiled at the grand name. It was just an ordinary little road that ran alongside the coast, but previous Municipal dignitaries had given it the pretentious identity, in an effort to make the town more "up-market". The same, misguided townsfolk, no doubt, who had ordered the rather garish repainting of the band-stand; an attempt to make the town "sexier", more appealing to a younger, wealthier, generation. Various colours had been tested, but some crazy person had decided on a hideous, lime green, which, over the years had, thankfully, faded to the pale, peeling colour it now wore. Pale and peeling and quite neglected, as the rich clientele had never materialised and the town had remained; unremarkable, unexciting and strangely oppressive. A little town, on the edge of the sea, surrounded by vertiginous cliffs, that seemed to threaten to fall into the briny waters at any moment.

Anna leaned over the railings and looked down onto the beach, then, glancing nervously behind her to see if she had been followed, she made for the steps, changed her mind and raced down the nearer, handier slope; the slipway for the fishing boats. The first few yards of the shore was mainly shingle and Anna hurried, unsteadily, past small rock pools that glimmered with the shells of spiral volutes, molluscan seashells and horseshoe crabs. But then the shingle and pebbles gave way to pale, golden sand and here Anna paused and kicked off her shoes. Spreading her arms out wide, she twirled slowly, lifting her face to the sun,

" Oh, how good that feels, " she sighed and she felt her spirit awake, as though from sedation. She walked to the water's edge, where the surf foamed and frothed, feeling the ripples around her ankles, then, briefly turning round to survey the beach, she watched as a lone, brightly painted, paper kite; it's tail streaming out like a banner; tugged at it's string and broke free. No longer fettered and restrained, it floated high up into the clouds, leaving the child, it's would-be master, staring, wonderingly after it.

" I will not be gaoled ", whispered Anna, " I, too, will be free. I will not be trapped."

She felt the incoming waves washing over her legs, soaking the hem of her dress; the layers of her skirt billowing out, heavy with water. Pulling at the tiny pearl buttons on the bodice, Anna discarded the garment and stood, in her silk petticoat, knee deep in the sea. She knew she must flee, find safety , they would be here soon, they would find her; take her back; persuade her ....no, no !

Then she saw it. From the little cove, out by the headland, it galloped towards her. Faster and faster it came, until she felt it's breath on her cheek, She raised her arms and the white horse dipped it's head. Anna twisted her fingers into the pure white, silky mane and hauled herself onto it's broad back, she leaned her weary head on it's neck and whispered,

" You have saved me".

The puzzled child wandered up to the shore-line and gazed up at his kite as it drifted and glided freely in the blue sky and then he looked quizzically at the wedding dress, floating in and out on the swell of the tide, along with strands of seaweed and one pink godetia from a bridal bouquet. _____________________________________________________________________________________

This is my entry for this weeks Countdown Word Game, the marvellously entertaining game, invented by Matt Mascarenhas. If you would like to take part please visit Matt's blog at http://miblodelcarpio.blog.co.uk . You can write a story, an article or even a shopping list (oh, wish I had thought of that earlier !!) anything at all as long as you include the prescribed words. This week those words are;

SEDATION, GODETIA, VOLUTES, FEELS, FOAMED, GAOLED, HANDIER, TASTED, BANNER, WASHING, SEXIER.

GOSSIP

The fancy-dress party wasn't really my 'cup of tea', but my cousin, Kate, had insisted that I accompany her as the '+1', the invitation had requested. Since her divorce, Kate has been rather at a loss, so I reluctantly agreed. Kate has always been a 'social climber' and, since moving to "The Close", a development of large mock-Tudor houses for the nouveau riche, she had become even more 'upwardly mobile' and was thrilled to be included in her pretentious neighbours' activities.

However, I think she was beginning to regret asking me along. There were many wonderfully lavish outfits on display; 'Henry VIII', 'Marie Antoinette', even a couple dressed as 'Anthony and Cleopatra'. Kate, herself, was dressed as a sparklingly pretty 'Titania' and was basking in the approval of her hosts ( they had settled on Tristan and Isolde ), so I suppose my 'Tigger' costume, complete with 'tiger' face-paint, was not really up-market enough ! But it was the best I could do, all the extravagant costumes had been snapped up by the time I found time to go to the costume-hire shop, it was this, 'Kermit the Frog' or 'Ghandi' and I didn't think that the sight of me, topless, in a loin-cloth, would have been acceptable !

Kate had abandoned me almost at once and so I hung around, leaning on the bar in the dining room, listening to two 'Firemen' discussing the power-nailers that they had recently purchased from B&Q. They were swiftly joined by an aging 'Elvis', who had about half a pound of pomade on his hair. He goosed me as he perched his ample back-side on a bar stool and I wondered how he could tell I was female in my all-enveloping costume, then he winked and the thought occurred that he actually imagined I was a guy !

A shrill laugh; a sound that could curdle milk, crashed through the general party noises. The laughter and clinking of glasses was coming from the direction of the conservatory and through the French doors I could see that, there amongst the expensive cane furniture, overblown, festoon blinds and reclaimed quarry tiles, our hostess, Jocasta, was holding court. I cruised through the throng, wondering what witty comment had warranted such an outburst of hilarity and took a seat next to Kate, who was still chuckling softly. Jocasta continued in her affected, cultured voice and I began to get the drift of the conversation. Some poor woman in the village was being talked about; misused and abused, verbally, by these grinning harpies. Apparently, the lady in question was of a 'certain age' and, to the horror of the snobs in "The Close", she was having an affair with a much younger man.

" Old enough to be his Mother, if not Grandmother !!" screeched Jocasta and they all tutted and shook their heads and sniggered behind their hands.

" I mean, she is not exactly discreet, either ..........." and a dozen heads leaned forward to hear the scandalous details.

I learned that Jocasta had been to the hairdressers the day before, probably for the weekly shearing of her over-bleached mop of hair and the 'Jezebel' was the sole topic of conversation. Of course, now the story was being bruited to all and sundry. Every detail had been gleaned by rumour and hearsay, but that didn't stop Jocasta. She reported that the lovers usually met in the city, but that the young man had been seen entering the lady's house under cover of darkness. I was going to point out that, to my knowledge, they were both free and single, but I held my tongue as our hostess continued. It seems that even the poor woman's laundry-line had been inspected. The lady wore the sexiest underwear. Tiny little panties, apparently, mere wisps of lace and her bras and camisoles had to be seen to be believed,

" Sheer chiffon and Belgian lace, expensive silk ! I suppose her young lover likes that sort of thing. Probably the only way she can keep him interested " Jocasta snorted, as she skewered a tiny, roasted cherry tomato from the hors d'ouvres platter.

"Mutton dressed as lamb ", added another, elaborately coiffured woman.

" I've heard he is still at University, in the city. Some sort of athlete too......" said Kate, with, I thought, more than a hint of wistful envy in her voice.

" Well I think it is disgusting" continued Jocasta, in her most outraged tone, " Not the sort of thing we want in the village, thank you very much. She must be driven out, she is not OUR type at all. We don't want our children corrupting with that sort of thing "

And they all shook their heads violently and pursed their mealy mouths as they sipped their cocktails.

I leaned back in the capacious wicker chair and toyed, idly, with my 'Tigger' tail. Glancing around, I smiled as I surveyed many photos of Jocasta's pretty daughter and handsome son. In some of the photos, displayed on the grand piano, her son was in his cricket whites, smiling happily for the camera. Ah, that smile, that slow, easy, sexy smile, that I knew so well. I sipped my drink and made a mental note to be more careful and also to avoid hanging my Ann Summers knickers on the line, I would dry them indoors instead. ______________________________________________________________________________________________ Yeah, this is my entry for the weekly Word Game ..... a cautionary little tale ! heehee This game was invented by Matt and rules and regs. and anything else you need to know, can be found on his blog at http://miblodelcarpio.blog.co.uk/ The words this week are; FIREMEN, NAILERS, COUPLE, ROASTED, CRUISED, MISUSED, BRUITED, GOOSED, SHEARING, POMADE, ATHLETE.

The Magical Pool

Gather round, children, oh and you curious adults; for fairytales are not just for the young. They are for the open-minded, the romantics, the dreamers among us. The young at heart and the free of spirit. So, are you seated comfortably ? Then we will begin, in the time-honoured way ........................ Once upon a time, in a land far away, there lived an Elf named Lyari. He was a hardworking, loyal Elf and the Elven King, Aulauther, decided to reward his endeavours by appointing him as Guardian of a magical pool. This pool bubbled up out of the ground as a spring in the middle of a beautiful glade at the edge of a small village. The spring water flowed gently outwards, forming the deep, mysterious pool. The glade was an enchanting place, surrounded by Willow trees and sweet Briar roses. Slender Rowan trees, that trembled in the slightest of breezes; Honeysuckle, clambering over Laurel bushes , the heavy scent hanging in the air. Foxgloves , wild Hyacinth and delicate Harebells grew all around the shimmering pool. Bloated frogs hopped in the damper areas of grass and tiny Sticklebacks darted to and fro in the clear, sparkling water. Lyari took his task very seriously. He tended the pool and kept it clear of any weed that threatened to starve the waters of oxygen and he ensured that the animals and plants were safe and well cared for. The glade was well known in the land and people came from far and wide, on tours, to throw their pennies into the crystal water and make a wish. It was rumoured that the pool was enchanted; that it would grant wishes. No-one knew for certain, but they were willing to take a chance and so they came and tossed their hopes and dreams into the depths and closed their eyes and wished. Lyari watched them from his hiding place and smiled his Elvish smile, but as for granting wishes, that was his secret. One day, Lyari was working by the pool, when a cloaked figure wandered into the glade. He watched from behind a clump of Bull-rushes, as the figure knelt down beside the water and removed the hood of the enveloping garment. Long auburn locks tumbled out and fell around the shoulders of a beautiful girl; the most lovely human Lyari had ever seen. The maiden then removed her cloak and the Elf gasped in wonder at her perfection. Surely she must be a faerie, no mere mortal could be so exquisite. But mortal she was and her lovely brow was wrinkled in distress, her green eyes brimmed with tears and her heart was sad. She tossed a coin into the pool and the gentle splash startled a nearby rabbit, who ran, in haste towards a transfixed Lyari, almost colliding with him. The girl sat beside the water for some time and, fascinated, the Elf tinkered about, trying to complete his tasks, but completely distracted by her beauty. Then, as suddenly as she had appeared, she rose and was gone and Lyari felt, for the first time in his life, empty and alone. To his delight, she returned, day after day and each time Lyari fell more in love with her. He listened to her whispered wishes and discovered why she was so sad. Her one true love had gone off to seek his fortune, so they could be married, but a long year had passed and Mairwen, for that was her name, feared that he would never return. She thought that something evil must have taken place and that she would never see him again, so she resolved to come to this spot every day and toss coin after coin into the pool, in the hope that the Guardian would grant her dearest wish and return her beloved Cadfael to her arms. Well, dear ones, this state of affairs went on for some time. Day after day, week after week, Mairwen came to the glade and Lyari began to neglect his duties as he sat and gazed upon her beauteous countenance. He delighted in her presence, especially when she sang love songs, her soft voice trilling and echoing around the clearing and the woodland creatures looked up from their grazing and listened to the lilting tunes. Lyari forgot about the weed on the pool, forgot the weekly dosing with Elvish dust; the magical dust that made the waters sparkle and fill the glade with a million crystals. Mairwen had taken his heart hostage and he was in no hurry to have it returned. The neglect of the enchanted pool came to the notice of King Aulauther and he was greatly displeased. He chaired an emergency meeting of the Sylvan management committee and Lyari was summoned to appear. Now, the King was very fond of this Elf and so he treated him gently, tried to understand the problem and pointed out the pitfalls of loving a mortal. But Lyari was adamant and would not be moved and so the King said that Lyari would have to think of a solution, resolve the problem, one way or another and gave him permission to use any magic at his disposal as long as the glade and the pool were restored to their former glory . Lyari flew home, full of excitement .... he could use any spell ....oh yes !! He could bewitch the lovely Mairwen and make her his. She could stay with him forever, help him tend the glade, never leave him. Oh, they would be so happy ! Mairwen was sitting by the pool when he returned and he was startled to see how thin she had become. Her hair lacked it's lustre and her beautiful eyes were clouded and dark-ringed. He had not realised that she was slowly slipping away from life, dying of a broken heart. Lyari paused and looked at her and he was torn. He could cast his spell and make her love him, forget Cadfael. What should he do, what spell should he use ? He took the velvet pouch from his silken belt and tipped out a handful of Elvish dust, then, closing his eyes, he stood behind the forlorn figure and sprinkled the dust into the air. Mairwen woke up, as from a deep slumber and there, standing beside her, was the muscular outline of a man. She shaded her eyes from the bright rays of the sun and a face swam into focus. It was her Cadfael, he had returned, his pockets full of gold. The handsome youth bent and lifted her into his arms and they embraced happily. Lyari watched from behind a toadstool, as the colour returned to Mairwen's cheeks, her hair shone in the sunlight and her eyes sparkled with joy. He had realised that his love transcended his desires, he loved her so much that her happiness was all he sought; he loved her enough to let her go. Mairwen and Cadfael walked, arm in arm, out of the glade, but just before she reached the path to the road, she turned and looked at the magical place that had granted her wish. She was sure that she saw an Elvish figure gazing after them, but looked again and it was gone. " Goodbye ..... and thank you !" she whispered, and blew a kiss. The kiss flew on the gentle breeze, flitting hither and thither, through trees and grass and sweet-smelling flowers, until it reached Lyari, who caught it and touched it to his lips. Then he dropped it into the cloudy pool. Ripples radiated out and the waters became clear once again and the sunlight sparkled and the glade was filled with a million crystals. _____________________________________________________________________________________ This is my entry for this week's Countdown Word Game, Invented by Matt. This week the rules were slightly changed and , although all the words had to be incorporated into a story as usual, the story had to be in the form of a Fairytale. The words this week are; DAMPER, DOSING, TINKERED, HOSTAGE, TOURS, CHAIRED, PENNIES, BLOATED. This was first published on on 21st August 2012

Autumn Mist.............. A Seasonal Tale

Catherine loved this time of year, when the dawn brought mists and watery sun, or sometimes crisp coolness, the leaves began to fall and the berries began to grow plump and inviting on the hedgerows and amongst the trees. Now was the time she foraged far and wide, seeking out blackberries and elderberries, crab apples and all types of mushrooms, to make her special chutneys and preserves. It was the sale of these, along with the occasional drawing or watercolour, that enabled Catherine to stay in the quaint, thatched cottage bequeathed to her by her Grandmother. Catherine instinctively felt at her throat, for the heavy gold locket that had once belonged to her Grandma. It was Catherine's most treasured possession, a tangible memory of the dear old lady who had been her strength and comfort when her parents had died. Catherine, a little 5 year old, heartbroken and forlorn, had come to live with her only remaining relative. At first she had been stubborn and resentful, not understanding why she had to live with this old lady. She missed her parents dreadfully and cried herself to sleep each night. But Grandma, who was also grieving for the loss of her beloved daughter and son-in-law , was understanding and kind and gradually they helped each other through the dark days. That was now 15 years ago and this was the only home that Catherine could remember. She had had a blissful childhood, playing in the garden and running through the deep wood at the rear of the cottage. Her Grandma had taught her all about nature and the wonderous bounty it provided. Of berries and flowers, of nuts and mushrooms and about all the creatures and the beauty of nature. Together they had walked through the woods, with their wicker baskets, picking the abundant harvest, but never taking it all. Her Grandma had taught her to always leave some for the animals and "the wood". "Look after the wood and it will look after you !" she had said. Grandma used the berries and nuts to make delicious preserves and also some sort of mixtures and medicines, which the villagers bought to cure their coughs and colds, cuts and bruises. "Tonics" Grandma called them and Catherine could picture her now, stirring the huge preserving pan and smiling her kindly smile, while rows of gleaming jars and bottles stood on the kitchen table, waiting for their magical contents. Catherine opened the locket and saw the smiling face of her dear Grandmother gazing back at her. She stroked the lock of white hair that was nestling in the lid and could hardly believe that it was now almost a year since the old lady had passed away. At first Catherine had been inconsolable and would not leave the house, but gradually the villagers had coaxed her out. They encouraged her to go foraging once more and continued to call at the cottage for their chutneys and jams and bottles of "tonic". Her Grandma, it seemed, had been well loved and respected and considered to be a "kindly witch". Of course, Catherine had laughed at this notion, but agreed to continue her Grandmother's "work", although she thought the idea of witchcraft was totally ludicrous. She gently closed the locket and tucked it under her thick sweater, pulled on her woollen wrap and, grabbing her basket, she went out into the misty Autumn morning. Taking the path round the side of the house, she soon found herself in the wood. Today she was searching for mushrooms and went ever deeper into the trees. The mist seemed to close behind her and, stooping every now and then to gather the juicy fungi, she wandered on through the trees until she found herself in a small clearing. In the centre of the clearing was a standing stone, with a flat top and Catherine placed her basket on the stone and looked around. She thought that she knew every inch of the wood, but had never been here before. She slowly walked around the grassy circle on a well worn path, people had obviously been here many times, how could she have ever missed it ? Catherine heard a rustling sound coming from the trees to her left and there, in the mist, was the outline of a figure moving slowly towards her. She fled, leaving basket and mushrooms and all. She sensed the figure was following her, floating through the mist, chasing her and so she ran and ran, in blind panic, never daring to look around, stumbling through the undergrowth until she found herself in sunlight at the edge of the tree-line. Quickly turning, she peered into the trees, but there was nothing; nothing but the glint of sunlight and the sounds of birds. It was then that she thought of her basket, full of plump mushrooms and chided herself for being so silly. It had been the mist, hanging in the trees, playing tricks on her eyes and now a whole day was wasted. She put her hand to her chest to still her beating heart and, to her horror she noticed her precious locket was missing. She must have lost it somewhere in the wood during the fearful flight. Oh, she would never find it now, in all the tangled undergrowth and dead leaves, and now a storm was brewing. Catherine went indoors and tried to busy herself, while the rain lashed down and the sky grew dark.She went to bed late and spent a fitful night, full of weird dreams and woke early, determined to try to find her locket. She set off and carefully retraced her steps, searching on the ground as she went. She could clearly see the path she had taken, in her panic, as there were broken twigs and flattened ferns and threads torn from her wrap, hanging on branches and caught up in brambles. On she went, poking with a stick, among the detritus of the wood, but failing to see the precious glint of gold. Deeper and deeper into the wood she went until, suddenly, she was in the mysterious clearing once again. There was the standing stone and there was her basket, still perched on the top. She lifted it down and, to her amazement, she saw that all the mushrooms were gone, but nestling in the bottom of the basket was her gold locket and a small bottle of something labelled "Tonic". A mist clung to all the trees and bushes around the edge of the clearing, but slowly, through the mist, two old women appeared, black hooded capes drawn tightly around their bodies and willow branches woven into staffs in their hands. They stopped about 5 yards away from Catherine and smiled and nodded. Catherine felt no fear, she sensed that they meant her no harm. Then, the wrinkled old ladies lifted their gnarled hands towards the sky and there was a flash of blue and the clearing filled with light and there, floating above the standing stone was the figure of her Grandma, smiling and nodding.

SKIDBY SCARECROW FESTIVAL.

Today sees the start of the annual Skidby Scarecrow Festival .... which takes place from Friday 13th July to Sunday 15th July.

Now in it's 3rd year, this was the brainchild of Kelvin Young; the Secretary of the Skidby Village Hall Committee. Kelvin has friends in the village of Wetwang and knew of their very successful, annual Scarecrow event, which has been held for many years. He thought that Skidby had equally talented and enthusiastic residents and so the seeds of the Festival were sown.

Starting in a small way, it now encompasses the whole village and, this year there are over 100 amazing Scarecrows on display ! 62 entries are actually registered and appear on a map, in the Festival Programme, but many more pop up, overnight, and add to the fun.

Walking round this beautiful, picturesque, East Yorkshire village, I was astounded by the ingenuity and creativity, of the entries. From 'Spiderman' capturing a 'felon' in his web, to 'Peppa Pig' off to the Olympic Games and 'Grandad' with his trousers round his knees, in his 'out-house'; the Festival caters for all ages and also includes environmental 'messages', such as the tableau highlighting the need for clean water in Third World countries.

Much time and effort must have gone into the creation of these wonderful Scarecrows, not to mention the weeks, if not months, of planning. Even the ones that have, supposedly, been 'made overnight' are brilliantly executed.

There are five categories:

1. Traditional Scarecrows
2. Celebrity Scarecrows
3. Unique Scarecrows
4. Scarecrows made by a Group
5. Scarecrows made by a Business/Trade

and a winner is chosen, in each category, by two designated judges.

However, the general public have the final say, as they have voting slips and can choose their favourite of all the entries and pop their choice into a Ballot Box. I know which one I shall vote for ..... but it's a secret !!

The Festival has become quite an attraction in the area and the three day event now has a Falconry Display on the Church Green, on Saturday. Dancing Demonstrations on both days; and on Sunday, incorporates a Car Boot Sale and a performance by the Beverly Brass Band. Tombola and sweet stalls, refreshments and souvenirs, are available in the Village Hall. This is manned by the tireless ladies of the Committee and other village residents, who have kindly given up their time to make this event such a success.

And the object of all this activity ?

Well, apart from a desire to unite the residents of the village and promote community spirit, it is the main fundraising event for Skidby Village Hall ! This Hall was originally a very small building, but in the early 1920s it became obvious that it was not adequate for the needs of the growing village. Land was kindly given to the General Management Committee and, after years of fundraising, the building was completed in 1928. Nowadays, the present Management Committee work throughout the year to maintain the Hall. As it receives no funding from the East Riding of Yorkshire Council, it relies entirely on fundraising events and bookings to raise income.

I think that a huge CONGRATULATIONS is due to both the Committee and the residents of Skidby, who have worked together and produced such a fun-filled weekend. It is so refreshing to know that such wonderful community spirit still exists and, as a new resident, I look forward to being involved next year.

If you are in the area, please do come along and join in the fun. I have included just a few photographs to whet your appetite, but I shall post some more throughout the weekend.

It just remains for me to thank Mary, Trish and Kelvin for indulging me, answering my silly questions and for being so kind and welcoming.

Superstition

The mighty Mississippi has travelled many hundreds of miles by the time it reaches Louisiana and meanders on down to the City of New Orleans and the Gulf of Mexico. Many tributaries criss-cross the marshlands and small communities have grown and flourished amongst the bayous and creeks.

Cypres-Blanc is one such place, tucked away on the edge of the Creole Nature Trail. Surrounded by Olive and Pecan trees, Willow Oaks and Cottonwoods, hung heavy with Spanish Moss; the small community is almost cut off from the outside world. Here, the Creole ways and customs are strong, the modern world does not venture here. Tourists, on their way to Lake Charles or Lafayette and Baton-Rouge, never notice the bend in the river and the long overgrown trail beyond.

The creek here has provided a living for the community for many a year. The Creole folk have merely to sit on the slope of the river bank with their fishing poles and Cat-fish and Rainbow Trout practically fling themselves onto the hook. The little wooden shacks of the village come down almost to the water's edge and one or two are even built on sturdy wooden stilts and jutt out into the deeper parts of the bayou. Teaming together, the people have created a decent living, but it is finely balanced, the water is the life-blood of the community.

About 20 miles North, a fish cannery factory has opened. It provides much needed employment for the dirt-poor people in that area. It also spews it's effluence into the river that flows on down to Cypres-Blanc; contaminating all it touches. But the people here know nothing of this .... they are uneducated in the ways of the industrialised world. All they do know is that the fish are suddenly dying, and they think they know the reason why.

No-one remembers when Shelby came to their hamlet. It seems as though she has been there for years.

"Mad as a bag of varmints!" opines Eulalie, her golden, hooped earrings shaking as she adjusts her 'tete maw'e', "Poor white trash .... trailer trash" she continues and the other women, in their brightly coloured 'jupe', nod and murmur and roll their eyes and continue preparing the jambalaya.

It's true, Shelby is a little 'touched', a little different. She lives in a world of her own and appears to be oblivious to others. She has lived here for such a long time, begrudgingly accepted by these poor folk, who, at first, felt sorry for her in her tattered clothes and wild hair. She looked as though she had been wandering through the marshlands for days and when she stumbled upon their group of dwellings, she collapsed from sheer exhaustion. They nursed her back to health and could not help but notice a strangeness about her, a madness which made them a little afraid of her. Perhaps she has the 'evil-eye'. Best not rile her, let her stay, but keep our distance. And so she stayed, the mad white woman, living in a little shack and doing no harm ..... until now.

But Shelby cares nothing for this, knows nothing, does nothing. Shelby just loves to dance! She hears the music in her head and she can create a whole new world, another life, far away from the poverty of Cypres-Blanc. A distant memory of a grand house, of a white veranda, overlooking Bald Cypress and beautiful fragrant Southern Magnolias. A fiddle plays in her head and she tangoes with a handsome lover. In her imagination, she is no longer old and wrinkled and in her tattered dress. She has donned a gown of white, with lacy petticoats. She is young and beautiful, she is a bride, dancing on her wedding day.

The women watch the swirling figure as she dances across the stepping stones to the far side of the bayou.

"It's her, it's a curse, she has bewitched the river," murmurs Eulalie, "The fish are dying because of her, the old witch!"

Deeply superstitious, the Creole women nod and mutter in agreement. They know their menfolk have returned day after day, with barely a fish between them. Life is hard enough without Black magic.

Shelby's memory recalls a ballroom, music, laughter .... and she skips and pirouettes across the flat, slippery stones. But .... wait .... what is this? A candle flame, a blaze, the world is burning, orange-red ! Shelby falters on the stones and slips. Calling out, she falls into the deep water that lies under the over-hanging trees. She reaches out to the women, but they just stand, stoney-faced and offer no assistance. She sinks beneath the surface and is lost.

Twenty miles to the North, the Health Inspector closes the cannery until further notice. They are under orders to 'get their act together' or 'asses will be whupped'!

The Spanish moss drapes over the branches of the Willow Oak. The Magnolias are in bloom and their huge, cupped flowers spread their delicate scent across the emerald lawn. The large house is decorated with garlands of flowers and the white, floor-length, curtains float softly on the gentle breeze that blows in through the open French windows. Gardenias, in huge vases, fill the room beyond and, from somewhere deeper in the house, sweet music drifts on the air.

Two figures, clasped in each other's arms, dance on the veranda. A tall, handsome man and a beautiful, young woman.

"I have waited for you for so long," sighs Jackson.

Shelby smiles and twirls the skirts of her white, organza, bridal gown and they dance across the lawn and into eternity.

---

This is my entry for Matt's word game. Details can be found on Matt's page at http://miblodelcarpio.blog.co.uk/
This weeks words are;
TEAMING, CREATE, DONNED, SLOPE, TANGOES, BRIDE, THINK, OPINES, TRAILER, FIDDLE, CURSE.
Note; I have used authentic Creole names and details of clothing. I have also used indigenous trees. The Bald Cypress is the State tree of Louisiana. Cypres-Blanc exists only in my imagination.

Going Home

Looking back I suppose it all started on Armstrongday. There had been a visit from the Valerian Ships just the day before and these wandering merchants had brought all kinds of goodies. Zarod and I had gone on a picnic. We had waited eons for permission to leave the city dome and many of our requests had failed, but this time we were lucky.

We had donned our suits and packed the buggy with the juiciest yarobs and the nuttier slices of the Valerian's nutcake, along with the usual rehydrating tablets and dessicated banyan fruit. We set off, over the bridge to the Glen Satellite-Island and erected our personal, climate controlled Pod when we saw strange lights in the sky.

It was just a few green flashes at first,
"Some sort of meteor shower !" Zarod said.
But then the whole sky was green and huge lumps of rock, weighing at least 100 lunar-pounds began to rain down upon us.

Zarod helped me into my suit and then put on his own and packed our things. It was obvious that we were  not safe in our Pod, cracks began to appear in the air-locked shell as heavy blows hit it with frightening regularity. We set the buggy to 'Mega-speed' and drove to the bridge back to the mainland. All around us there was chaos as people rushed to leave the Satellite-Island and headed towards the nearest City and safety. I could imagine this happening on all 5000 Islands around the planet. In fact, being a bit of a dreamer, I wondered if it had been like this all those years ago when the Great Evacuation  began. When our Great-great-great Grandparents had realised that their Birth Planet was dying, the life squeezed out of it by pollution and the destruction of the environment and the fragile eco-system. The Great Project began, the rush to find a refuge for the Earth- Planet's population. The colonisation of the Lunar base, the building of huge cities, contained in transparent bubbles, protecting the inhabitants from the deadly atmosphere.

There had been civil revolt and great unrest when the Earthlings had realised that there would not be room for everyone. The situation was desperate, their Birth Planet was turning brown, vegetation was withering, soil was poisoned and the seas turned to sludge. All the animals were sickly and many of the poorest nations were perishing through lack of food. Huge triage Centres were set up, where people were assessed as to their suitability for space travel and meanwhile, on the Lunar Planet, the Satellite Islands were constructed to help accommodate more and more folk once they had been triaged and shipped out.  It was an enormous undertaking, but it was truly a matter of life or death. soon the Earth Planet was left alone, just a dried up, husk of a planet, orbiting the sun, lifeless.

An loud explosion brought me out of my reverie and back to the present and our perilous predicament. A meteor had hit a section of the bridge, behind us and pieces of titanium were floating off into space. Zarod switched the buggy into 8th gear and we almost flew the last few Lunar-miles to Aldrin City.

Everywhere folk were talking about the meteor shower and also about the strange green light , that had now moved away and was beginning to envelope the Earth Planet, far in the distance.

The Info-phones were calling for all Science experts to convene at the City Forum and, as Zarod teaches Physics at the University, he set off immediately. The meeting lasted a Lunar-week. People rushed in and out, the giant telescopes were deployed ..... all trained on Planet Earth and an exploratory ship, manned by Androids, was sent out.

This all happened 6 Lunar-months ago ..... oh, I have got to get used to a new way of measuring time, haven't I ?  The meteors stopped showering down on us but the green light stayed around the Earth Planet and gradually, through some sort of Space osmosis, vegetation began to return. Air began to freshen, grass began to grow and the sea became clear and blue once more. No-one has been able to explain the change in the Earth, probes have been sent out, all returning with the same story. The Earth Planet is alive once more.  Humanity has been given a second chance !

I loosen my suit as I enter the Ark ship. Zarod is by my side as we join the hundreds of eager colonists. We are among the first wave of Lunars, going to a new world, a new life, a free way of living. Without survival Pods, without space suits, without the hard grey rock and dust of the moon's landscape.  Back to the Birth Planet of our race ...... we are going home.

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This week's piece of nonsense has been brought to you courtesy of Matt's word game, details on http://miblodelcarpio.blog.co.uk/

This weeks words are
Triage, loosen, juiciest, dreamer, revolt, pounds, blows, teaches, failed, nuttier. This was also published on my other blog page at http://tearose.blog.co.uk