Saturday Sample: A Most Amazing Zoo by Linda Flynn and Linda Laurie, lemonade

 

 

 

 

Find your copy here 

Saturday Sample: Santa's Supersonic Sleigh by Linda Flynn and Linda Laurie, jam sandwiches

 

Find your copy here  

Saturday Sample : Playing Together by Lind Flynn and Caroline Casali, hot chocolate,

 

Death Duties by Linda Flynn, water in a crystal glass

                                               20^th March, 2020

Nothing in life prepares us for death.

            “Open the window to let the soul escape,” calls Dad’s carer. I shake my head, but do it anyway, figuring it’s about as useful as the crystal she’s hung up by the curtains to catch negative energy. Shrill bird song sweeps into the room, swirling with his stertorous breathing. The garden is showing a mocking enthusiasm for spring-time with billowing blossom and sharp green leaves ready to unfurl. His frail body stirs a little under his brown blanket, so I fuss at tucking him in.

            My rib cage rises and falls in time with his, as though this will assist his breathing. He raises his arm as though clawing at a handful of air.

            “Dad,” I murmur, “listen to the birds outside.” I wince at how ineffectual that sounds, when he can identify all of them by their songs. “Mum’s favourite –  blue tits are on the feeder outside,” I add, looking for a flicker of his eyelids, but the shutters remain down, closing him off from the world.

            I don’t feel equal to the task, the decisions. When I phoned the GP surgery the receptionist wearily assured me, “If you’re worried you must send him to hospital. The staff there can most effectively and responsibly take care of his needs now.”

            “But he hates hospitals!”

            “Medical intervention might become necessary.”

            “His doctor, why won’t he come out to visit?”

            “Doctors won’t,” she told me smoothly, “when an elderly patient is at the end of life stage.”

            “Surely no-one needs a doctor more than when they are dying!” My voice rose into thin air.

            “The hospitals are full,” sighed the paramedic after examining my father. “Staff have to make difficult decisions and there’s not enough equipment for the elderly. They can’t allow visitors in. He would spend a lot of time alone, which is how he would die.”

            I look at the diminished figure lying in the bed, with wispy hair, his mouth forming words that I can’t interpret. When did he become so fragile? This once powerful, even intimidating man, who had followed a strong sense of direction all his life. But left no dying wishes.

                        I open the patio door and allow a rush of air in. A framed photo tumbles onto his bed. As I return it to the shelf, another life opens up: the fizz of champagne, laughter and sea breeze, as my parents celebrated their Golden Wedding anniversary. When my mother died, he sunk into himself, his robustness collapsed and he became a haunted shadow.

            In his garden I take great gulping breaths of air. I refill the water in the bird feeder and pick some early daffodils to go in jam jars. Dad loves nature, so I try to bring it into his room. Lately his mind has been wandering down the lanes of his childhood, the tiny cottage with peaty smoke out of the chimney, curtains fluttering in front of the forest and primroses lining a rocky path.

            The echo of a distant siren pulls me up. My father would have been at the hospital by now, with calm, efficiently strong arms laying him out on a stretcher. He would have been left in a sage green ward which smelt of antiseptic.

            How do you stay strong enough to let go of the person who protected you all your life?

            Then I remember a piece of advice from Dad’s carer, “You must give him permission to die.”

            I lean forward in the armchair and stroke my father’s hands, the same ones that had built, designed and mended; now the skin is as thin and dry as an autumn leaf.

            Our breathing is synchronised. “Dad,” I whisper, “you don’t need to worry about us, we’re fine.” I brush my tears off the bed cover and take a deep breath. “It’s time for you to meet Mum again. The family is doing well. We all value the security that you have given us. You’ve made us strong.” I swallow. “We can manage, everyone is happy.” I can’t help looking at the white line where my ring used to be. “We all love you, but you no longer need to protect us.” He didn’t stir.

            A moment later, he shuddered, followed by four sharp gasps and a grimace. I realise that I have stopped breathing too. There’s a heavy stillness.

            I force myself to stand, ready to find the carer. As I do so, I see a movement in my peripheral vision. A blue tit has flown in through the window and landed on his bed. It looks straight at me. A ray of sunlight slants through the clouds refracting off the swaying prism by the curtains. It sprays the walls, ceiling and bedspread in shimmering arcs of blues, purples, yellows and greens. The bird spreads its wings as though bathing in the rainbow of iridescent light. It flutters in a fan hovering over my father, lifts upwards and flies outside.

            When I return with the carer she checks his body for any signs of life and pronounces him gone. Outside two blue tits fly off, unfettered and free.

            I nod in heavy acknowledgement.

About the author

Linda Flynn has had books published for children and teenagers, six with the Heinemann  Fiction Project, as well as over thirty short stories, mainly written for adults. In addition, she has written for a number of newspapers and magazines, including theatre reviews. Her anthology of short stories, I Knew it in the Bath was released in September 2022 with Bridge House. She can be found at: www.lindaflynn.com

Did you enjoy the story? Would you like to shout us a coffee? Half of what you pay goes to the writers and half towards supporting the project (web site maintenance, preparing the next Best of book etc.)

A New Dawn by Linda Flynn, mead in horn

“It feels like the end of the world!” Astrid slumped her yarn over the spindle whorl.

            The wooden bench shook as Asgerd sat beside her and began combing out Astrid’s hair. The movement was soothing alongside the earthy smell of the flickering firepit and the gentle baying of cattle settling at the other end of the longhouse. “Thorberg has been more of a father to us, and he’s a better farmer. Our grandparents didn’t know this when they arranged the match and now our mother is entitled to reclaim her dowry and get a divorce.”

            Astrid shook her head. “Why does there have to be a change?”

            In the glowing firelight Asgerd’s eyes glinted, her hair curling around her face like smoke. “Change brings transformation. And rebirth. Have you heard about Ragnarok?”

            “What’s that?” Astrid leaned against her sister.

            “It’s the end of the world, when even some of the gods will perish.”

            Astrid turned to look at her, “Even the gods?”

            “It’s true,” Asgerd nodded. “Once there was a man called Lif and a woman called Lifthrasir. They travelled through the nine worlds to the sacred tree in Hoddmimis Holt woods to escape the Ragnarok. There they stored up food and fuel, sipping on the sweet morning dew.

            “The heaviest snow storms began on earth, with the deepest drifts and harshest frosts ever seen. Snow piled upon snow, thicker, colder, higher. People fought for scraps of food. Swords mercilessly clashed with the crashing axes, igniting sparks of rage.

“Spring did not ease into her season to offer any release, only another winter, followed unrelentingly by another winter, with nothing in between. Rivers and lakes froze solid, dagger-like icicles hung from trees instead of fruit.

            “A sad, sonorous horn summoned the gods to fight a valiant battle, which for all their strength they knew they could not win.

            “Valleys echoed with howling. The silhouettes of the wolves Skoll and Hati ascended the sky as they chased and devoured the sun and moon. Darkness dropped. Stars stopped their glimmering lights.

            “The earth trembled. Streams of rocks gushed down mountains. Trees toppled on top of each other.

            “Jormungandr, the sea serpent coiled his body inside the swollen sea. He reared his pointed head above the frothing foam and spat venom. The writhing sea turned putrid green, the soil and land leached colour to a sickly yellow.

 

            “Amidst all the crashing and smashing, the sea roared. The swelling waves reared up, cascading over the land. The ship Naglfar, made of finger and toenails from the dead, tugged against its mooring, until at last it wrenched itself free. The frost giant Hrymr stood straight and proud at the helm. With a toothy grin he steered the vessel across the flooded land.

                        “As the water devoured the fields, the wolf Fenrir escaped from his chains. He flung himself forward with flashing blood red eyes, nostrils ablaze and his tongue lashing fire. The faster he ran, the greater his anger, the louder his growling. His mouth opened wider and wider, like a deep, dark cavern so that his upper jaw swallowed the sky and his lower one gouged out the earth.

            “In a thunderous explosion the sky cracked in two, shattering the rainbow bridge into shaken, fallen droplets of colour. Ridges of fire snaked up the mountains, spewing out cascades of burning, frothy bubbles that charred the ground. Steam rose, wrapping the earth in a cloud.

            “Silence. All hope had been drained from the land, its strength seeped away. Lif and Lifthrasir crawled weak and shivering into the stillness. They pointed upwards at a pale halo, the sun daughter, as she began to rise in the sky. Dark pools appeared in the snow from the dripping branches, revealing grassy tendrils below.

            Asgerd stroked Astrid’s hair back and laid her on a soft sheepskin hide along the bench. She watched her gentle breathing and whispered, “When you wake Astrid, it will be a new dawn.”

About the auhtor 

Linda Flynn has had books published for children and teenagers, six with the Heinemann  Fiction Project, as well as twenty-nine short stories, mainly written for adults. In addition, she has written for a number of newspapers and magazines, including theatre reviews. Her anthology of short stories, I Knew it in the Bath was released in September 2022 with Bridge House. She can be found at: www.lindaflynn.com 

https://www.amazon.co.uk/I-Knew-Bath-Linda-Flynn/dp/1914199286

 

Saturday Sample: Audio book A Most Amazing Zoo by Linda Flynn, Linda Laurie and Rob Townsend

 

 

What happens when the Queen visits Zedgate Zoo? Well she meets a lot of amazing animals and finds out a lot of amazing facts about them. This delightful story is told through a series of colorful and entertaining pictures and a lively text. 

 

 Listen to a sample.

 

Saturday Sample: The Script Challenge, craft beer

 

INTRODUCTION The challenge was to the authors we have already published to turn one of their short stories into a ten minute script. And here they all are. We looked for: 

•  Effective adaptation of the origin text 
•  Ease of production 
• Something that could be Covid safe

 Here’s what we said about them: 

The overall winner 

This has to be Tony Domaille, Star Gazing. Tony’s script has the best balance of everything: 

Superb adaptation of short story script 

Covid-safe 

Ease of production 

Clear presentation 

Highly commended 

Margaret Bulleyment: Green Grass of Home 

An effective adaptation of an already effective story. This would also be easy to stage. 

Linda Flynn: Unseen Eyes I

Immersive Theatre An innovative piece and an innovative presentation in dramatic form. Covid-safe certainly.

Janet Howson: Cinderella’s 

Ex-drama teacher Janet has a good eye for the dramatic and much of this was already there in the original story. This is a skilful adaptation. 

Dawn Knox: The Stag Do

This is a competent adaptation of an already quirky and much-loved story. 

Neta Shlain: Total Loss 

A very detailed and innovative adaptation of a short story that has already gained a lot of attention. 

Dianne Stadhams: Sheep be Damned 

An effective dramatic monologue (mainly) and with ease of production, possibly as a film or a “stage” production. 

Read more and find your copy  here 

Bland New World

 

by Linda Flynn

tap water

                                                       

Ours is a world with the sharp edges polished off; as smooth and as round as a sea pebble.

                How strange to think that only one hundred years ago life was rough with sharp edges, as jagged as one of their books. Yet I find myself riveted, as I once again become drawn to the diary entry. It is so odd that the pain and lack of symmetry radiating from the pages should pull me in, all the things that our society has erased.

I nearly stumbled in the fading light, but I didn’t care. My heart was thumping in my ears as I clattered along the pavement. I kicked the loose stone out of my way and stubbed my foot, I was so angry.

                Due to strict health and safety regulations, all pavements are padded and provided with proper illumination.

                Yet another blazing row with my sister. I hate her smug smile! I hate the way she keeps taking my things! I hate her!

                Although we are all single children, (as multiple breeding is not permitted,) we refer to each other as sister or brother. We all conform to a standard look of idealised beauty.  There is no rivalry. Consequently we are all wrapped in a cotton wool contentment.

                She gave that silly superior grin that she has, then went on and on about my low grades. Our parents have never forgiven me for dropping out of university and she loves to rub it in because she knows it annoys me.

                We enjoy a virtual classroom environment with attainable targets and no recriminations. We are all respected in equal measure.

                I hadn’t realised where I was running to that night. I was nowhere near my home. I was nowhere near my friends. I had no idea how much my life was going to change.

                All of our social interactions must be positive, so they tend to be on the portable net. I am fortunate that I have a number of virtual friends, all of whom endorse my positive self-image. We meet on cyber play dates displayed on multi-dimensional screens. No-one ever feels lonely.

                My only thought as I crashed through the door of the Red Lion was of the anger pumping through my veins.

                For the mind we benefit from core centralisation. If a negative emotion impinges on our rational thought we can literally whisk it away until our central balance has been restored.

                Muscle relaxants are used to dissipate any tension from our bodies.

                There he was, nonchalantly leaning with his back against the wall, as though he didn’t care about anything, although I knew that wasn’t true.

                I grabbed a chair nearest to the door. How many years ago was it that we last met? It must be at least five. But I’d know him anywhere. The way he slouched into his leather jacket and just let his clothes hang off him. The way his hair kept drooping across his forehead, the curve of his nose, with his slightly crooked smile. And I loved every part of him.

                Due to prettification we are now all entitled to surgical enhancement. We are all identically, symmetrically beautiful. An affinity has filtered through society as we all look so similar to each other.

                I allow myself a second to look between the shoulders of the other drinkers. I fix my gaze upon him and I take a gulp. My once childhood friend, older and always looked up to, my first real crush.

                Then there was that moment. His eyes flicked in my direction and I felt the flash of recognition. My heart stopped beating. Slowly his smile spread across his face and he sloped towards me. I wished that I didn’t look such a mess.

                I remained clenched to my chair, unable to breathe.

                An image adjustor helps us to regulate our self-perception with actuality.

                At first, all I was aware of was the exhilaration and the blur of the shadowy landscape, as we flew along on his motorbike. Roaring with power we sped along the lanes, making the countryside our own. I pressed closer to his back and nuzzled my face against his neck. He smelt of shampoo. I felt a surge of anticipation, knowing that when we stopped we would kiss.

                We are in such self-contained units now that we have little need for transportation. When we do, we climb into a Link Compartment which is constructed like beads on a necklace. Providing we press the right buttons, we reach our destination at incredible speed.

                He was late. The rain streamed down in a metallic grey curtain. It seemed to splutter and spurt onto every surface.

                I paced the room. Waiting. The only sound was of the incessant drum beat of the rain as it thrashed on the roof.

                There must be a reason. I checked my phone. He has not called. I tried again. Answer phone.

                Still the rain hammered down.

                We have temperature and meteorological regulators which ensure that we never have to face any adverse weather conditions.  Consequently we often have a gentle shower of rain at around four in the morning.

                I could not wait any longer. I rounded the corner in the direction of his house. Black iridescent puddles of oil seeped across the road.

                Sharp jagged edges of metal leaned against the wall. A road sign drooped in a crooked curve.

                I didn’t hear the screeching brakes. The sharp intake of breath. The clunk of splintering metal. Sirens.

                Only the silence and the splattering rain.

                I noticed the words were smeared on the page, as though by rain. My own eyes felt as hard as marbles.

                I got a paper cut from the page and a speck of blood dropped down.

                For the first time ever I wanted to experience tears, not from my emotions, but from the lack of them.

 

Linda Flynn has had books published for children and teenagers, six with the Heinemann  Fiction Project, as well as twenty-two short stories, mainly written for adults. In addition, she has written for a number of newspapers and magazines, including theatre reviews. I Knew it in the Bath, an anthology of short stories, will be released in September 2022with Bridge House. She can be found at: www.lindaflynn.com