Reena’s Exploration Challenge #127 – Deja Vu


Déjà vu

The house at No. 18 always gave me a weird feeling whenever I walked past.

It was a dark and foreboding place. A high fence sheltered it from the outside world, and the house itself appeared to be sunk into the hill.

If I happened to pause as I went by I could feel a familiarity.

I had never been inside the front gate as far as I knew. My mother had told me to keep away, to not venture inside the gate as bad things had happened there.

When pressed, she would say it was best not spoken about.

The inhabitants of No.18 were a collection of aged sisters. They dressed in black, they shuffled in old age, one was a gardener and was often seen weeding or pruning, another could be seen each Wednesday, on pension day, pulling her shopping cart to the supermarket, head down, ignoring all that surrounded her.

On a bright Sunday morning, I found one of the sisters, Miss Florence, out in the street. She looked troubled, disorientated, she signalled for me to help, I ran to tell my mother, it turned out one of the sisters was ill.

I met my mother as she came out, the ambulance had been called, and the ill sister taken away. Mum looked at me and said: “I’m glad you didn’t go in there, it’s not a pleasant place. I’m glad you don’t remember what happened.”

My mother years later told me what had happened. How I had been caught in the house, the sister’s brother was an unpleasant man, he frightened me, wouldn’t let me go home, I must have been terrified as when I was let go, mum called the doctor and dad went and spoke to the brother who protested he was only being friendly.

It explained the feelings I had walking past.


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Tale Weaver – #267 – Fairytale – Fairyland – 19th March – Clert’s Garden.


Clert had been head gardener at the Fairyton Garden for as long as anyone could remember. His family had been gardeners for several generations since great grandfather Dlert had been caught pilfering secret herbs from Madam Floss’ garden and his punishment was to look after the fledgling town garden. To everyone’s surprise, he found he liked gardening, and so it became a skill passed on to future generations.

Now it was Clert’s responsibility, and he took it all very seriously.

He had enacted no-fly zones to preserve the flora, had designated other areas as picnic space and in one far-flung corner of the garden had made a lover’s section, with quiet and solitude much to the thanks of some and the ire of others.

Fairyton was, for the most part, a bit of a back water, it was off the major fly paths, the fairy highway that linked the major cities, but it possessed a bustling community, it had everything you needed in a town, every shop imaginable and on Sunday’s a thriving market selling everything a fairy might need to live more than comfortably.

It was Fairyton who built the first Retirement Home for Aging Fairies. Clert’s mother was a resident there, and he had therefore spent time working on the Home’s gardens with his mum who despite her advanced years still loved to get her hands in the dirt though nowadays she didn’t know the difference between a dandelion and a ruby rose. However, Clert didn’t mind as his mum was out in the sunshine and she still knew who he was, well somedays at least.

As the day drew to a close Clert took his mother’s arm and guided her back into Retirement Home, she thanked him for the gardening and said she was expecting his father at any minute. Clert rolled his eyes and told himself to humour her and said he was looking forward to seeing his father too. “You look a lot like him,” said his mum as he headed out the door.

He returned to the garden in the centre of Fairyton and spent a good hour admiring the colours he had propagated, he flitted from one to the other, his heart full of pride.


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Crimson’s Creative Challenge #71 – Art and Crisp

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Crisp, my aged companion had very definite opinions as to what constituted art.

She was especially biased against graffiti. She saw it as a desecration.

“They should be made to clean it off,” she said her tone laced with distain.

“I’m sure the artist thought it was his best,” I remarked.


I could sense she was getting hot under the collar.

“My uncle Harvey liked to draw on the walls of the barn back home. He claimed it was artistic license, my Aunt called it obscenity and was forever wandering the farm with a bucket of paint and a brush covering over the images he drew. Uncle Harvey had a fixation on the penis. My Aunt explained her husband had never gotten over his arrival at puberty.”

That memory seemed to return Crisp to a time she’d rather forget as she’d been confronted more than once as a young girl by her Uncle’s art work.


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Sunday Writing Prompt “Diner” – Hell’s Kitchen


When it came eternity, there was only one eatery worth talking about, Hell’s Kitchen.

Located inside the gates of Hell and run by a very large soul called Bruno, the Kitchen served the most delicious food. In particular, it was famous for being the only place in eternity you could get decent sushi.

Bruno had lived an interesting life as a florist. It seemed unlikely that a man such as Bruno would possess culinary skills like he did but as he said on more than one occasion: “It’s amazing what you pick up dealing flowers and stuff.” By ‘stuff’ it was known he learned his trade growing a variety of plants and fungi that resulted in many a lost evening in one way or another.

Today the Kitchen was humming as it always did. For many of Hell’s inhabitants, the kitchen provided a short break from the endless repetition that was all things Hell. Admittedly Bruno was tarred with the same brush, for his menu was the same, day in and out but that never bothered his customers as everything tasted more delicious than anyone imaged and after the day most of them had the Kitchen was respite like no other.

The unique aspect of Hell’s Kitchen was that it attracted both dark angels from Hell and a few white feathery angels from upstairs, so to speak.

It took a bit of convincing for a heavenly angel to gain admittance, but as it was well known, where there was a will, there was a way, even if angelic deities didn’t really have wills as such.

For most heavenly entities, there was a sure-fire way to gain entry, (no pun intended). Heaven was the only place you could get a decent ham sandwich, and no matter how hard Bruno tried, and as simple as the whole process appeared to be, he was unable to make a sandwich like they did in Heaven. So, any angel wanting to eat in the Kitchen, and usually Bruno’s sushi, they would arrive at Hell’s Kitchen with a ham sandwich wrapped in a brown paper bag, present it to the doorman and gain entry.

The angels when eating in the Kitchen were usually placed in a back corner as they had a nasty habit of emitting a light so bring it took all the fun away from the locals enjoying their chosen repast.

Bruno was busy preparing his fiftieth sushi for the day, Dolores, his waitress, was waiting tables, floating from one to another, leaving a trail of ash where ever she went. Ralph his drinks man was concentrating on his drinks counter, getting it wrong more often than not but such was his reputation the worse it tasted, the more challenging, and his customers, after another rough day looked forward to any sort of challenge.

Bruno was on his third ham sandwich when there was a commotion among the cess-pit cleaners. They were often at each other throats, never happy and always smelling foul. As there was no waste in eternity, Bruno wondered how and where their work place was, but somethings he figured weren’t the trouble of asking about. They were an obnoxious bunch of riff-raff, for obvious reasons.

All and any disputes were settled quickly by Bruno, you could easily be banned from the Kitchen, or made to eat what you didn’t order.

With order restored, Bruno went back to what he did best, munch on a ham sandwich and roll some more sushi.


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Reena’s Exploration Challenge #126 – Isolation


I live in a rural part of the country where isolation is easy to come by and one that is readily chosen over the crowded city.

I do go to the city, it’s a nice place to visit, but I wouldn’t want to live there.

Where I live, my house sits on the edge of a flood plain, I have what I consider an ‘ocean view’ as I look out across fields rich in crops at this time of the year.

In this present time of rampant virus’, there’s an advantage in living where I do. I can shun society if I need to, though I do still need to go to the shops, which I did early this morning to stock up on all things necessary, bar toilet paper of course.

I like my own company a lot of the time, though I do find like company very rewarding, especially when it’s as enjoyable as I find it these days.

Having children ensures you can never live an isolated lifestyle, yesterday a sick grandson came for the day, and it’s good to know my kids can call on me when the time comes, and they need my help.

Years ago, I read that, ‘no man is an island’, and John Donne’s words are true today. We need other people from time to time, but occasionally being alone is ok too.


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Three Things Challenge #172 – The Sticky Key



Sometimes it was difficult to place just where the key fitted. After all, it was sticky with honey, the bees having incorporated it into the place of residence, and for the most par,t the honey was enriched by the magical qualities of the key.

Added to that if you could extract it, and attempt to clean the key by licking off the honey, you felt a warmth within you that could at best be only described.

Maybe that was why my grandfather called his place, ‘The Sticky Key’, and sold honey from the hives at prices only the rich could afford.


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Crimson’s Creative Challenge #70 – Crisp’s Physical Self.


Crisp, my aged companion, was feeling a bit the worse for wear after a long day hiking the countryside and stopping to admire yet another ancient ruin.

We were looking at the collapsed footings at the side of the Church of Righteous Love and Devotion when she said:

“I know how these steps must feel, sometimes it just gets all too much, and you want to give up, sit down, let everything go around you and thumb your nose at the world and say, its all come to this.”

“That’s a bit pessimistic,” I replied glad to take the weight off my legs as well.

“It’s like you’ve served your purpose in life, and you come to the realisation you’ve not much more to give so feel yourself breaking down, bit by bit.”

“Good thing there’s still some spark left in you,” I added.

She took some strength from that comment for she added: “There are times when I realise you do serve some purpose. Help me up and lets get on.”


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