OWEN

A very ordinary boy, baby face if anything but he was number five, he hated being number five, his mother hated number five and if she had her way, she would have no kids at all. She said no to sex after Owen and his dad hated him cause he caused the no sex. He was the baby of the family, he cried a lot, everyone gave him what he wanted cause it stopped him crying or they locked him outside. He slept with the dogs at times, the fleas bit him but it was warm. The flea bites caused scabs; Owen picked at the scabs and made them worse but he enjoyed the pain. He wore long sleeves at school to hide the scabs and developed a nervous twitch in his left eye that came and went when it wanted to. It earned him the nickname ‘Twitchy’ and kids made fun of him. He hated school, hid under his bed and had to be dragged out to go there.

Meal times, Owen often ate standing at the bench, there was room at the table but his siblings said there wasn’t. He fantasized about other’s lives and made up worlds that were better than the one he was in. His siblings called him crazy and poked fun at him and when things went wrong they blamed him, twisted things to make it sound like his fault. He hated them and dreamt of ways to make them pay.

Thinking of his family he raised his hand high with the Tomahawk’s blade catching the sunlight and let it fall heavy, chopping off the..........

Nosy Neighbour

Gabby sobbed and cried. Then sobbed and cried again. Took a large bunch of tissues and blew her nose like a trumpet. Pookie flashed the whites of his eyes and a small growl escaped. She had been watching animal rescues, a baby bear had been returned to his mother after being tortured by a cruel master who had captured him illegally. She gave Pookie a doggy treat to calm his nerves. Pookie didn’t need a doggy treat he had too many before but of course he never turned it down. He was round as a barrel and his little thin legs really struggled to carry his robust body, he was 50 years old in dog years.

Gabby went to bed and was sleeping soundly and then she woke, she didn’t usually wake up in the middle of the night but she had this distinct desire to visit the kitchen. On entering the room she saw Pookie lying near his water bowl, on closer inspection, she found that he was dead. Her fist went to her mouth with a gasp! She went to the cupboard and took a nice fluffy towel and wrapped Pookie’s stout body in it and proceeded to the garden shed. The moon was full and provided ample light, taking a shovel she started digging a hole. She put Pookie in the hole wondering why dead bodies always feel so heavy and shoveled the soil over gently.

She returned to bed after giving her hands an extra good wash and was drifting off to sleep when it crossed her mind, it will be six o’clock soon time to get up and let Pookie outside. But Pookie is dead, Pookie is gone! Her body was engulfed with uncontrollable sobs and wailing throwing her head from side to side on her pillow, after what seemed an eternity completely exhausted she fell asleep.

The house was so quiet without Pookie he never made much noise but his quiet presence was a pleasant distraction and he was always pleased to see her. Gabby started day dreaming a picture of a child in a magazine prompted her. Those were happy days, her and her friends, playing with their dolls. The tree fort and the boys next door who came and wrecked it. How she was always the Indian princess rescued out of forts of the brutal soldiers and how Tommy Todd had sworn his undying love for her. They had plans to marry when they had both grown up.

These happy care free days were a stark contrast to the days that followed that is after it all happened. Rat-a-tat-tat a loud knock at the door, Gabby clasped the arms of the chair and her eyes stared at the door as if attempting to see through it. Rat-a-tat-tat it came again, this time accompanied by Mrs.Moore’s voice “coo-ee there Mrs.Price, can I borrow some sugar?” Gabby rose as quickly as she could and answered “just a minute, I’ll be there as quick as I can.”

She let Mrs.Moore in and went to fetch her some sugar. When she returned it was obvious Mrs.Moore was looking around her place with intense interest. Mrs. Moore’s thin red lips braced tight against her teeth as she was feeling full of promise in her role of assistant detective for the local constabulary. Sugar hey, more than sugar I bet thought Gabby. Her nose twigged itself, an unfortunate habit it had when she felt really stressed.

Mrs.Moore spied the dog basket and commented oozing charm “got a little dog I see, such wonderful company aren’t they?” A big glistening tear rolled down Gabby’s cheek. “Yes he died last night” she said and her bottom lip began to tremble. Mrs.Moore’s new found role disappeared and she said “there there dear, you poor soul.” Gabby and Mrs.Moore shared a cup of tea and talked of fond memories they had of past pets and the price of milk. The afternoon passed and it was time for tea.

Excerpt from novel Mystery.

Gabby could still see the door, every detail of it, the grain partly concealed by half stripped paint, sticky paint, making a sandpaper surface. It stuck in bits as she pounded against it with her fists. Stuck in the skin rash’s that formed on her hands, she looked at the old scars, a constant reminder. Ran her fingers over them, tracing their history that gave them their life. Not a good time to remember but it had made her strong, those yesterday years.

She stroked her second chin and twigged her pert little nose, dealing with an early hay fever itch. Raised her now generous frame and shuffled towards the stove, making sure to avoid catching her foot in the threadbare carpet. A greasy, blackened well loved kettle, made a match to chipped, tannin stained mug. An extra large mug, extra heavy mug, it helped her tremor, from the nerve damage from scars.