‘Your life doesn’t get better by chance, it gets better by CHANGE.’

‘Your life doesn’t get better by chance, it gets better by CHANGE.’

She turned her mobile phone off and sighed. If she saw one more of these ‘life affirming’ uplifting motivational quotes on Facebook she may just have to scream. How many times could you create these pieces of sugary drivel just by changing a letter.

‘Learn to give to learn to live,’ she mused. Not bad for an instant thought.

‘Live life to the full, take no one’s bull.’ Not as good but it still worked.

‘It’s others fears that bring you tears.’ She wasn’t even sure what that one meant and where in her head it had come from but she wasn’t going to waste any time thinking about it.

‘In every day make room for play.’ Nice.

Her train ground to its final stop and a mutilated voice informed the crushed passengers that they had arrived at their final destination. Squeezing through the soggy coats and umbrellas she fumbled for her railcard.

‘Enjoy your friends before journey’s end.’ OK it wasn’t a single letter but the rhyme still worked.

Sitting at her desk she took a sip of the scalding coffee through the small gap in the plastic lid.

‘Pain I know as I stretch to grow.’ That one was just rubbish and she should be concentrating on her day.

She gathered her files for the first meeting. Another two hours to get through without losing too much more of her soul. There should be quotes that truly reflected real lives she thought.

‘It’s a dull old life so hide the knife.’

She looked across the table to the selection of faces all masking their expressions of world weariness with a smile. Only one person seemed to have any genuine joy in their eyes. What do they know that I don’t she thought.

As the meeting started the ‘smiling eyes’ spoke.

“I just wanted to let you know that I am resigning. I know this will come as a bit of shock but I suddenly realised this morning that I hate this job and it’s no good just sitting here hoping things will get better. Your life doesn’t get better by chance, it gets better by change.”

‘Believe the quote or miss the boat’ she thought quietly to herself

Original Features

David and Elaine Stephens smiled at each other as they crossed the threshold of the house they had chosen to retire to. Number thirty-seven Argon Gardens would be ‘perfect for them’ the Estate Agent had pointed out.

Shops nearby, the community centre, a reasonable sized garden and a number of original features made the house ideal. Both enjoyed gardening and David was a dab hand at DIY. That, coupled with some illustrious previous owners and guests, made this house their perfect home. This was bliss.

After a particularly fruitful day in the garden David and Elaine sat, with their dinners on lap trays, and watched the six o’clock news. Neither of them really enjoyed watching all the bad things that were happening in the world but it did allow them more time to reflect on the happiness in their own lives.

David took his serviette from its bamboo hoop, shook it out and wiped the corner of his mouth. Before he took their trays back to the kitchen he would take a few moments to enjoy one of those ‘original features’ that the house boasted. He placed his tray on the floor beside his chair and stared at the gaping abyss in the middle of the living room floor.

This was a chasm so deep, the Estate Agent had assured them, it was reputed to go down to the ‘very molten core of the earth’. Jules Verne, a previous owner had used it as inspiration for his book ‘Journey to the Centre of the Earth’ and Arthur Conan Doyle, who had stayed as a guest in the house, wrote ‘The Lost World’ in the box bedroom. Sir Edgar Rice Burroughs had lived in the house for many years penning his most famous work ‘The Land that Time Forgot’ in that very room.

David stared with contentment at the astonishing hole. That, and the original architrave and picture rail, made their home quite unique.

Pookie, their rather overweight and pampered cat, sauntered into the room. Sitting on the edge of the fissure it lifted its back leg to clean itself and toppled gently over. The sound of its screeching went on for some minutes to be replaced by the sound of what David and Elaine could only, with their limited knowledge, surmise to be a large carnivorous lizard of the Jurassic period.

Elaine leaned back in her chair. After a while she spoke. “I know you love the hole David but I did tell you that would happen. It will have to go, we can’t have the Grandchildren staying round with that.”

In his heart he knew she was right but it didn’t help assuage the feeling of sadness that losing the hole would bring. The only thing that brought any positive glimmer was that tomorrow was Wednesday and that meant 10% off for pensioners at B&Q.

At 10am the next morning David backed his blue Honda Civic into the drive and spent some time carrying his purchases into the house. “Saved a fortune,” he shouted to Elaine who was in the kitchen making macaroons.

He spent the next ten minutes shaking cans of expandable foam before starting at the edges of the hole. He had to leave each application to dry before he could fill a little more but by Sunday morning the hole was completely covered. Obviously he would have to put a false floor across and one structurally capable of taking weight but that was a task for another day.

“A good job jobbed,” he sighed contentedly as he eased back into his chair with a cup of tea and the last of the violet coloured macaroons.

Later that night, after they had finished their dinner, or ‘tea’ as Elaine called it, David Attenborough came on TV. They were too tired to switch over and so began to be drawn in by his slow drawl as he explained the start of the world. As his commentary reached the point when “Scientists believe that a monumental event killed off the dinosaurs,” David let a smile dance across his lips.

Was B&Q’s own brand of expandable foam filler really a ‘monumental event’ he pondered, particularly with 10% off.

Shadows

Easing back into the chair he lifted his book from the coffee table and sat back. The light from the single reading lamp threw shadows across the room. He glanced up at the clear dark shapes cast against the wall. Something jarred, and it took him a few moments to notice that their were shadows of ornaments he didn’t have upon the mantelpiece. He stood up and switched on the main light to drive away the demons.

Each evening over the next week more shadows of things that were not in his room began to appear. He tried moving the light, tried standing where the object should be, tried masking the shadows source with his body. Nothing would diminish them them.

He could no longer sleep. The shadows began to fill his head in the daylight. A normally happy and outgoing person retreated inside himself. Weight was lost, greyness filled his pallor.

One evening she appeared. The shadow of a woman quite beautiful in her profile. She went about her business in the shadowed room picking up and cleaning the objects that were not there.

Suddenly a man appeared and a shadow was dropped to the ground. He watched them argue as you would a Victorian silhouetted sideshow. The man pushed her to the ground and turned. He wanted to get up from his chair and lift her from the ground to comfort her but she was on her feet before he could move.

The shadow of a knife appeared. As she plunged it into the shadowed man’s back he let out his own scream from the armchair.

When the Police found him he was dead. It appeared that it was from natural causes but it didn’t seem right for a person of his age. The Detective Inspector asked his friends and colleagues if they knew of anything that might have been worrying him. No one knew a thing but they all agreed on one point. He had become a shadow of his former self.

A thorn between two roses

A rose. A single rose left on the doorstep same as before. The slight wilting of the leaves suggested that it had been there for a few days. She bent to pick it up and some petals fell to the floor. Quite a few days. Probably placed there just after she had decided to go away for a break.

She put the rose back and took her phone from her bag. She took two photos of the scene. One close up and one of the doorway. It’s not as though the Police were going to do anything about it unless she could prove it. “You should be pleased Luv, someone fancies you,” was the comment after the last time.

She put her key in the lock and pushed open the door. She turned and picked up her bags and then purposely pressed her heel into the rose head as she stepped over the threshold.

By the time she had taken her bags to the bedroom and been to the toilet her phone was ringing. It was unusual for anyone to call the landline apart from computer generated offers or her mother. She picked up and before she could say hello a voice spoke.

“You’re back then. I hope you saw your present. I’ve missed you.”

“Who is this?” she screamed, “who the hell are you?”

The silence was unnerving. She held her breath. Finally, the voice,

“I’m your friend. I want to care for you.”

“Leave me alone, leave me alone.”

Then nothing. The line had gone dead.

She checked at the flashing red light on the phone base. Yes, the conversation had been recorded.

Two days later returning from work after a stressful day her eyes saw the roses. The heads cut off and petals strewn, the stalks snapped in the middle. She took out her mobile and took picture after picture.

As she opened the door the phone was already ringing. She snatched it up and started shouting immediately.

“Why, why are you doing this to me? Who are you?”

There was a long pause and then finally the voice spoke,

“I just wanted you to see what would happen to you if you speak to me like that again.”

The phone went dead. The flashing light showed the call had been captured. She dialed the number the police had given to her from the mobile that was in her other hand.

“It’s happened again, it’s happening again.”

Later that evening the two police called again. She showed them the photographs on her phone and asked them to listen to the recordings on her phone.

They sat with notebooks ready as she pressed play.

Just one voice, hers

The nicer of the two police officers leant forward and held out a piece of paper.

“Do you recognise this? It’s a receipt on your credit card from the florist at the end of your road.”

Two lives

What a night. Another disturbed sleep filled by so many 

(a)
nightmares.

By the time she made it into the bathroom her head was filled with hate for the man who had occupied her head through the dark hours.

(b)

dreams.

By the time she moved into the bathroom her head was filled with images of love for the man who had filled her rest.

It was then she saw the toothpaste. Brand new and squeezed in

the middle. Why did he always do that? What was it about him? 

(a)
She could feel her blood beginning to boil. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t mentioned it. It was as if he was doing it to deliberately wind her up. Well today was not the day to play with her

(b) 

She held it gently in her hands. He was still a child. Selfish, stupid, slow to learn. She squeezed from the bottom and the tube took shape again. It was like life on the good days.

           She walked through the to kitchen. There he was, half dressed, slumped in a chair. 

             He didn’t even bother to look up from his paper. “What’s for breakfast?” he mumbled from his sedentary position.

(a)
Slowly she turned to stare at him. Who knows when the final straw will come.

(b)

Affectionately she gazed at him remembering his soft caress in her dreams

She reached forward for the knife.