Showing posts with label Tap Water. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Tap Water. Show all posts

Sunday, 8 June 2025

Sunday Serial: 280 x 70 by Gill James, 66. Act of God? tap water

 

Introduction

This collection is a collection of seventy stories, each 280 words. They were inspired by the first picture seen on my Twitter feed on a given day. 

 

There were still papers on the desks from yesterday's meeting.  The chairs were undamaged. If you tucked your trousers into them you could still get into the office without getting wet. The smell was off-putting though. Had the sewers overflowed? It was most likely a health hazard. Best not to go there.

In this very room the arguments had been fierce the day before. There were more than two sides, it seemed, and every single person was convinced they were right.  As always.

"Climate change is natural. It has happened all the time. Just look at the history books."

"This planet would be better off without us on it."

"People will go mad if they're not allowed their red meat."

"The oil industry and the car industry have a lot to answer for."

"Electric cars are all very well but we don't yet have the infrastructure to support them."

They'd held the vote whether to accept the Union's proposals on how to tackle climate change and those against it had won by a very narrow margin.

Marco watched the workers beginning the clean-up operation. It involved a huge pump. As areas cleared of water the workers began to rip up the damaged floors.

"Have you ever seen anything like this before?" Marco asked a gentleman who looked about as old as his own father.

"No, never." He sounded bitter. "It's an act of God. Because people won't listen. They're too selfish. They just carry on, not caring about the planet." The man stopped working and looked straight at Marco. "So, what are you going to do about it young man? Well?"

Marco guessed it was time to call another meeting.           

 About the author

Gill James is published by The Red Telephone, Butterfly and Chapeltown.  

She edits CafeLit and writes for the online community news magazine: Talking About My Generation.

She teaches Creative Writing and has an MA in Writing for Children and PhD in Creative and Critical Writing.    

http://www.gilljameswriter.com  

https://www.amazon.co.uk/-/e/B001KMQRKE

https://www.facebook.com/gilljameswriter

 

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.)

Sunday, 1 June 2025

Sunday Serial: 280 x 70 by Gill James, 65. A Poppy's Not Enough, tap water

 

Introduction

This collection is a collection of seventy stories, each 280 words. They were inspired by the first picture seen on my Twitter feed on a given day. 

 

At least they'd let him keep the thick duvet. A street light was shining straight into the doorway. That would help him to keep warm. Tomorrow he'd go to the Town Hall again. This would have to do for now.  He buried himself inside the duvet.

He was too cold and angry to sleep. The police had turfed him and the others out of the disused bank. Even he hadn't hit anybody that hard when he'd been a soldier, not even when they'd been at war. The others had been old like him, too. Why would they hit old people like that? He'd been willing enough to move but he was slower on his feet these days. He'd find the others in the morning.  

When Ella had died too suddenly and too young he'd not been able to keep up with the mortgage payments. He hadn't got the patience to fill out all the forms. He'd stayed with his son start with but then she'd got fed up. "I'm sorry Ernie," his daughter-in-law had said. "We can't have you snapping at the kids like that."

He'd stayed with mates for a while. The same problem again.

The old bank had been all right. There was even a shower and a toilet but no hot water of course. There had been plenty of comrades.

He felt warmer. The wind had lost its chill. Suddenly he was surrounded by light. He knew what was happening.  And yes, there was Ella. And then she wasn't. It was all dark. Was this it?

"Thank you for letting us know," said the policeman as the woman fiddled with her poppy. "We'll take it from here."       

About the author

Gill James is published by The Red Telephone, Butterfly and Chapeltown.  

She edits CafeLit and writes for the online community news magazine: Talking About My Generation.

She teaches Creative Writing and has an MA in Writing for Children and PhD in Creative and Critical Writing.    

http://www.gilljameswriter.com  

https://www.amazon.co.uk/-/e/B001KMQRKE

https://www.facebook.com/gilljameswriter

 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.)