Lights #writephoto

Sue’s #writephoto prompt.

lights

 

It was on nights like tonight that Percy regretted his day job.

You see, his day job meant that he was out on the streets every night too.

He sat there looking out at the snow covered ground, ice forming on the river surface, feeling the chill seep through his skin and deep into his bones.

It wasn’t like he could even buy clothes or a blanket even, to keep warm. The shopkeepers, the customers, children, well, everyone actually, would look at him and scream in terror, closing doors, windows, curtains…

Lights twinkled from the windows of houses. Percy could make out the silhouettes of people, families getting together during this festive time, all merriment and cheer. They were eating and drinking, singing and dancing, and all he could hear was the crack of ice, the howl of the winds picking up.

He settled down to eat his festive meal, well actually it was his usual meal, breakfast, lunch and dinner.

Fish.

Sometimes, if he was lucky he managed to catch a duck, but those occasions were few and far between.

If only he had a roof over his head, and a kitchen where he could actually cook a meal. Instead he was forced to eat the food raw. It was so damp, he couldn’t even get a small fire going.

But who would house him? The Landlords were the same as the rest of the world, slamming doors in his face. He’d tried that long ago, before he realised the ‘free fish’ perk of his job was pretty much the only one.

“Great Prospects!”

That was what had caught his eye in that advert 15 years ago.

“Live-in job, own property included. All the fish you can eat. Respect from the community.”

Sounded ideal, especially since he had been struggling, since the wife left him…

“Strict manner required, adherence to rules.”

Oh yes, he was a man of honour, and knew exactly how to stick to rules, and how to enforce them too.

He’s gone off to the address at the bottom of the advert, and without any interview, or checking of references, the strange woman had given just looked at him, nodded and given him the job, and sent him on his way to a specific location.

Reaching the bridge, he looked around. No house here, but maybe that property across the way was the promised home he would have.

A little wizened old man had beckoned him under the bridge, “Percy? You took your time, I have been expecting you. It’s time to pass on my duties to someone else. He took off what looked like a fur coat and draped it over Percy’s shoulders.

Things started to tingle, and Percy felt a funny turn coming over him. He must be getting hot with this coat. Trying to take it off, he pulled at the sleeve, but it seemed to stick to him. It was like pulling a fistful of hair from his arm.

The old man turned to him, with a little smile, “25 years, that will keep you company Percy. My time is up now, just be guardian of the bridge, it made a great home for me, it will for you too.”

And with that he had disappeared.

Percy looked at his hands, which appeared to have sprouted extra hair. He looked at his reflection in the flowing river.

A hideous face looked back at him, not his own. What was happening to him? And what was his job? Guardian of the bridge? He looked around for the man, who was sure to explain in more detail, but there was no sign of him.

But it didn’t take long to find out what he was meant to do.

“Aaaaargh!” a scream sailed through the air. Percy looked up to see three figures running away. They were shouting as they ran. The words slowly reached him, and it dawned on him what he was now destined to be…

“Troll! The Troll is back!”

#writephoto

Beacon #writephoto

Sue’s #writephoto prompt.

beacon

I am here for you
Ready and at your service
Whether wind or shine
From all danger, protection
A beacon to guide always

Ritu 2015

 

writephoto

 

 

Thursday photo prompt – Gate – #writephoto

Sue’s photo prompt this week…

gate

The Gate

Every day we walked to and from school past this gate. Large, foreboding, and always locked.

The walls surrounding the house were of a high stone variety, offering no more glimpses of what was inside, so we would peer through that wrought iron clad entrance, imagining who lived there, and why we never saw them.

The garden appeared unkempt, but someone definitely tended to parts of it, so we knew someone lived there. Grass overgrown, hedges taking over, but stray branches clipped to leave a clear path.

One morning as we trod our regular path, something appeared different.

The perpetually locked gate was… open!

My friends and I stood at the open mouthed entrance temptation so strong to go in, but a fear much greater as to what we’d find inside.

We decided to err on the side of caution. Our parents were always harping on at us about safety, stranger danger and sticking to the paths we knew, so we turned towards school and made off in that direction.

I couldn’t help it, I had to turn back, just once, to glance at the, for once, clear view of the grey mansion that rose up at the end of the path. My eyes were drawn to a window upstairs.

I stopped.

Someone was looking back at me.

A small figure, a child, with what appeared to be blonde curls stood at the window, staring out at me.

I called to my friends to come and see, but when they turned to look, the figure was gone.

We went off to school, but my mind kept wandering back to that figure at the window.

On our way home that evening, the gate was closed tight. I peered through and looked up at the window where I had previously seen the figure but the curtains were drawn tight.

Over the next few months, we noticed that the gate remained steadfastly shut, and the gardens were more unkempt than usual. The path was no longer visible. Those curtains never opened again.

Then, one day, as we neared the gate, there appeared to be a hive of activity surrounding it. Men bustling in and out with boxes, and furniture. Large gardening machinery was digging through the forest that the garden had become.

I overheard mum and dad talking over dinner that evening.

“”I can’t believe anyone would want to live there,” Mum was saying. “what with all the rumours and stories attached to that place.”

“Nothing but rumours Claire,” Dad replied “The Smythes left ages ago, after all that nasty business with their little boy, poor child. I imagine the memories were too much to bear.”

“But what about the ghost! I’ve heard so many people talk about the face they see at the window, when no one is meant to be living there. I know Old Jim still went there to tidy the garden up a bit, out of loyalty to the family, and he pooh poohed the idea, but after he passed away, they can’t get anyone to tend to it. Pauline’s boy went for the job, and he said he got chased out by something, and when he looked back all he saw were these two little eyes looking back at him from an upstairs window, the eyes of a little boy. Apparently Little James, rest his soul, loved old Jim. I heard he was named after him too!”

“Oh stop your nonsense Claire! There is no ghost, the place was just going to rack and ruin, Poor Old Jim couldn’t cope with looking after such a big property. It’s a good thing the house is sold now, hopefully the new owners can restore it to its former glory. Now you keep your nose out of others business, and stop filling our boy’s head with silly stories.” With a shake of his newspaper, Dad signalled the end of the conversation.

I excused myself from the table and went to my room…

So who exactly was that who I saw at the window….?

 

#writephoto

#writephoto -Broken

For Sue’s #writephoto prompt.

broken

Crumbling, but beautiful
A shell of its former glory
Yet still a symbol
Of my love for you
Though the years have been unkind,
Though our light has dimmed
It’s still there, glowing gently
Celebrating a love that’s true

Ritu 2016

 

 

#writephoto

 

Reflection – #writephoto

When Sue posted her prompt this week, I was overwhelmed by ideas. But the biggest one was the fact that to me, the photo showed the shape of an eye, and the reflections you see within one.

reflection

So, with that in mind…

Love’s Reflection

In me I see you
In you I see me
Is that not what love’s
Reflection should be?
Two bodies one soul
You make me feel whole
With you by my side
We’ll achieve every goal
I search deep in your eyes
Every thought do I feel
Lucky to have
A love that is real

Ritu 2016

A little romantic poem for you this week!

#writephoto

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