Short Stories

[silky]

GARDEN POLITICS

“Not only do we grow to be the tallest in the garden,” said the runner bean, “but we also have leaves that are a most attractive shade of green that highlight our pretty red and white flowers, and the crowning glory of our beauty lies in our long succulent bean pods.”

“You are nothing but a braggadocio,” announced the leading cabbage, as he stood at the top of one of many regimented rows, “where would you be without our protection? At least we don’t need canes to support us.”

“Quite right,” said the cauliflower. “Those beans are always trying to rise above their station.”

“Thank you white heart.” answered the cabbage, as he unruffled his leaves, “and furthermore, without those long canes to help support...”

“For climbing on.” interrupted the runner bean.

“For support.”
“For climbing on.”

“For support.” insisted cabbage. “If you didn’t have that scaffolding to cling to, you’d be like...like...”

“Us!” muttered the peas quietly.

“Yes, like the peas,” continued the cabbage. “All gangly and...and...”

“Sweet and pretty?” suggested the peas shyly.

“Quite right.” agreed the cabbage.

Over by the compost heap, the gourds were sobbing quietly. “We are so ugly,” they lamented, “Look at us, we grow to be so knobbly and misshapen.”

“Hey Inglese.” shouted the calabrese, his green beret sitting at a rakish angle. “Look at whata you do now. You no savvy?”

“Savoy, actually.” interjected the indignant cabbage.

Kale, who had been observing the whole proceedings from behind the beetroot, snorted in disgust.

“What! Did you say something curly?” enquired the cabbage in an authoritative voice.

“I think.” said an elegant sweetcorn, “that curly was expressing his complete disapproval of such senseless arguments. Why, everyone has their own elements of beauty within themselves, even the gourds are handsome in their own way.”

“We are?” chortled the elated gourds, who began to cheer up and comfort the tearful onions.

“Yes, you are,” continued sweetcorn with an almost ecclesiastical reverence. “I have to concede that the runner bean is also beautiful.”

“You all heard that,” called out the runner bean. “I told you that we are beautiful.”

“Be quiet!” commanded sweetcorn.

“Humph.” said curly, in total agreement. While cabbage almost turn red in anger.

Sweetcorn continued. “Cauliflower has a heart that is pure and white, therein lays its beauty. The cabbage has a hard heart...”

“Hold on there a minute...” interrupted the leading cabbage.

“Please let me finish,” said sweetcorn.

Cabbage mumbled angrily under his leaves, disturbing a slumbering potato.

“What’s all the commotion about?” inquired the potato, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

A cacophony of voices engulfed the garden.
“Please, please everyone.” said sweetcorn. “Sire, we were discussing the beauty of each individual plant.”

“Oh!” said the potato.

Sweetcorn continued. “Yes, even you sire, are beautiful.”

The potato remained silent, but appeared to be keeping an eye on the proceedings.

“You are the king of this garden and beautiful in your own right. If I may be so bold as to say so. Your flower though small, has a childlike beauty that transcends all of our ambitious displays. Its petite golden crown surrounded with small white petals is magnificent.”

King Edward approved and promptly resumed snoring.

“As I was saying,” continued sweetcorn in a hushed voice, so as not to disturb the King again. “The cabbage does have a hard heart, but his beauty lies in its courage. Where would we be without their staunch support which protects us from the cold north winds?”

The Cabbage appeared to be content with the explanation and settled down again.

“So you see,” continued Sweetcorn. “We all have beauty, hidden or otherwise. We are all equal within the garden.”

There was a general murmur of agreement, before everything settled down in the garden again.

“I’m still good looking.” muttered the Runner Bean.

No one answered.

[madmum]

LOVE IT MADE ME SMILE OUT LOUD

[silky]

Thank you, it’s always nice to know that people like your work.

John

[silky]

Another of my silly short stories

CASE CLOSED

While George sat at his desk reading the lead story of London Bridge falling down. His office door opened and he gazed over the top of the paper to see a dame entered his office.
His trained eye looked her up and down. His other eye, which hadn’t been trained, looked her down and up. Both came to the same conclusion. She was one hell of a dame. Her long blond hair hung in ringlets to her bare shoulders, and her thirty-six, twenty-four, thirty-six figure left little to the imagination.
Tearing his eyes from the flesh attempting to escape from her bodice, he said, "Yes Miss, what can I do for you?"
"I need your help! I've been shrustled."
What a pity, he thought, a gorgeous dame like that and she's has to have a lisp.
"Don't you mean rustled?"
"No, I mean shrustled. They're sheep, not cattle!"
As a Private Detective, he should have gathered that information from the shepherd's crook she was holding in her right hand.
"What's your name sister?"
"Peep," she said, "Little Bo Peep."
"Okay Bo, your sheep have gone missing, right?"
"Yes, but not only mine, Baa Baa Black sheep is also missing."
Without blinking he mused. Two lots of sheep missing, this case could be harder than I thought.
"Right, sister, before I take the case I'd better inform you of a few facts;
number one, I don't come cheap;
number two, big case, little case, they're all the same to me;
number three, it's fifty pounds a day plus expenses, two days pay up front."
Her two white mountains quivered, as from their valley she pulled a roll of notes and counted out five twenties.
Well at least I can eat for a while, he thought. "Thanks sister. I'm on the case as of now."
She left her card and the office.
In five minutes George was on his way down town to the 'Cupboard'. Once it was a corner shop run by a kindly old lady known as 'Old Mother Hubbard'. One night she was burgled, and the place was left empty and bare. So bare in fact, that the poor old dog had to go without a bone for his supper. She reopened the place as a boozer. cockerel was her head-barman, and he was George's main snitch.
"Come on cockerel, you know everything that's going on in the underworld, who's stealing these sheep?"
cockerel continued polishing glasses. Placing them across the bridge of his nose, he whispered. "Well, George boy, I don't rightly know, but ahhh!"
A look of pain spread across his face as he slowly slid below the bar clutching at the arrow that was sticking out of his chest. As he hit the deck, the door imploded to reveal London's finest detective, Chief Inspector Wolf, and his side kick Sergeant Sparrow.
"Hello, hello, hello! What have we got here then? George Porgy In trouble again?"
"Who? Me? Not this time Inspector, you can't blame this one on me, I've got witnesses." He swung a thumb over his shoulder to point at a table in the far corner, where a game of dominoes was in progress.
"So they're your alibi, are they? They saw it all, did they? Well George my boy, I think you'd better look again. That lot there are the infamous ‘Three Blind Mice Gang’. They were lucky to get away with only loosing their tails on their last job. So you can bet your sweet life that they didn't see a damn thing. Ain't that right boys?"
"Sure is inspector, we ain't seen nuffin."
The inspector peered over the bar at the body. "Right Sparrow, arrest him for the mur.der of cockerel Robin."
This is crazy thought George. I'm being framed. If anyone killed cockerel Robin it would be Sparrow, no one's better than him with a bow and arrow. He was the school champion five years running.
Forensics couldn't find any bow resin on George's coat sleeve and so were unable to prove that it was he who fired the arrow. After an hour in the cells they had to release him, but that hour gave him time to eliminate most of the main suspects. ‘Humpty Dumpty’ was out of the frame; he'd fallen off the wall and injured himself. As for ‘All The King's Horses and All The King’s Men’, they were still trying to put Humpty together again. ‘The Grand Old Duke of York’ couldn't have done it. He was far too busy marching his men up and down the hill. Though George did suspect him of being the one who knocked down ‘Jack and Jill’. Mary Mary just wasn't the type to go rustling, though she could be quite contrary at times. Then again, she spent most of her day supervising her Pretty Maids all in a row. As for ‘Little Miss Muffet’, she was so frightened by a spider that she ran a mile in under three and half minutes. A new world record I might add. Coward, yes. Rustler, no. Then it hit him like a right uppercut from ‘Little Boy Blue’. It had to be them ‘Three Little Pigs’!
"Right you three, I know you rustled the sheep. I also know that you don't have the brains to run a bath, so who is Mister Big?"
"We can't grass on the boss, George, he'd have us killed."
"Well boys, lets put it this way, either you squeal, or I'll give you the biggest roasting you've ever had. It will be that bad even the famous ‘Doctor Foster’, who went to Gloucester, won't be able to help you."
The three Saddle Backs were so terrified they began to look like Chester Whites.
"Please, George, don't hurt us, it was Chief Inspector Wolf and his mate, Sparrow. Wolf threatened to blow our houses down and Sparrow said he would burn them with fire arrows."
"Right then you three, as you were forced into this, I'll ask the court to be lenient."
"Court! We can't go to court! Sparrow's killed once, we could be next."
"You won't need to go to court boys; I've got all the evidence recorded on this here Tape Worm. Now get those sheep back to their rightful owners. This case is closed."

[kate egg]

Silky - where do you think them up?????

[silky]

I just love to write, Ideas come and go. Some I finish while other are half done because I’ve moved onto something else.

Still trying to get my stories published, it appears you have to be famous or infamous.

[Meanqueen]

I have been writing about my house sit this week, it's called 'What Will Henry Do Next.' It's all in a note book so I will put it on the computer when I get back. I didn't have to make it up, it's all true,

Ilona

[kate egg]

Can we read it first Ilona????

[Meanqueen]

I'm handing the house back over tonight, I can't believe what a stressfull week I've had. I have been popping home each day, with the dread of What Will Henry Do Next. I've got to take a roll of cellotape back with me now because he has chewed up the instruction book for the new barby they bought, I need to stick it back together again.

Ilona

[Meanqueen]

Still writing this, but here is an extract.....

I had my first taste of dog training classes last night. Henry sat very still while I fitted the harness around his body, and happily climbed into the back seat of the car where I secured him in with the seat belt. He is used to car traveling, as this has been his routine for several weeks of puppy training classes. Who would have thought that he shows no interest in chewing his way through the car interior, a new personality emerges as he seems to enjoy his journey.

He grew excited as we pulled into the car park, an emotion that escalated when he found a field full of dogs and their owners. Of course Henry wanted to say hello to each and every one of them, and pulled me in every direction as I fought to hang on to his lead. People turned to look at us as I battled to stay upright on my own two feet, veering first in one direction then another.

We were a few minutes early, a chance for Henry to exchange pleasantries with his class mates before the task ahead. At one point I thought that this task was one that Henry was going to have great difficulty completing, as his attention levels were nil. His only interest was to meet and greet as many of his new friends as possible, sniffing first at the front end, then the rear. The little dog next to us was a particular distraction as it spent the whole time barking, or should I say yapping, with no sigh of it ever giving up.

I listened closely to the teachers instructions, she was very precise as to how the relationship between dog and owner should develop. We practiced some simple exercises, and when Henry finally began to concentrate, it was clear that he has remembered a lot from his puppy classes. The teacher borrowed Henry to demonstrate some of the moves, surprisingly he co operated with her, perhaps this proves the point that it is me that needs to be trained.

The class proved to be exhausting for both of us. Henry, because he yearned to be off the lead to run amok, playing with everyone, and me, because it took an enormous amount of strength just to stay upright. The cuddly puppy is turning into a powerhouse of meat and muscle.



I will put the whole thing into my blog, when I have finished it.

Ilona

[kate egg]

Have to smile Ilona - so reminds me of taking Dino to training classes - and the bit about the trainer using Henry is so familiar - why do they do exactly as they should for her but not for you They seem to sense the authority I guess

[wendy]

Great to read Ilona.
I had two new classes start this week. One Monday and one Tuesday both had 8 dogs in. Also in the puppy classes we had 10 start this week !. I have three assistants who run that so they split the classes.
But it is good to hear it from the 'other' side LOL
Wendy

[silky]

I wrote this a few years ago using words as people.


REGIMENTAL BALL
By John A Silkstone

Music filled the air as the Regimental Ball moved into full swing. General Dogsbody sat at the top table with his officers and their ladies.
“I say Major Catastrophe; things are going rather swimmingly are they not?”
“Yes general they are, this Regimental Ball was a splendid idea.”
“And you Miss Haps, are you enjoying yourself?” said the General to the young lady at the Major’s side,
“Oh yes General, it was so kind of the Major to invite me. This is my first Regimental Ball and it’s wonderful.”
“Very good my dear, very good, I believe you know Major Contribution and his ready made family over there.” said the General, nodding to a table on his left.
“That’s correct General; I went to school with his stepdaughter Miss Shapes. Her nick name was Belly Bunter.”

Corporal Punishment, lead singer with the Regimental Band, began singing and caught the eye of Miss Chief, the General’s secretary, as she danced by. He gave her a wink, but she ignored him. Rumour had it; there was more between the General and Miss Chief than mere work but Corporal Punishment wouldn’t believe it, for Miss Chief was his heart’s desire.

In any case, it was that wicked Miss Leads from the typing pool who’d spread the rumour. One couldn’t believe anything she said and to make matters worse, she was courting Private Problems. The two of them together, well, enough said!

After the ball, Mrs. Dogsbody took the lead and walked her husband home. Major Catastrophe said his goodbyes and left with Miss Haps for a discreet hotel down the road, hoping that there would be no little mishaps in the future.

Corporal Punishment went to find Miss Chief, but he was too late, she'd left with a new fellow, Private Means.

[silky]

I’ve not put a short story on line for over 12 months, so here’s one with a twist.

Silky




CONFLICT

The once yellow fields of waving corn now lay ploughed and bare, hedgerows had lost their greenery, and the sweet aromas of summer became the musty smells of autumn.

After spending most of the day indoors, Helen decided to take an early evening stroll around the village lanes.

The dried shrivelled leaves crunched and crackled beneath her feet, their new colour coats of: russet, tan and yellow reminded her of an artist palette splattered with paint.

The Indian summer sun was well past its high spot as it slowly sank behind a copse, its warming light casting long shadows in front of her as she walked.
Rounding a bend in the lane her enjoyment came to an abrupt halt. She slowed her pace on seeing Billy standing at the hedge to Parson’s Orchard. She and Billy had been in conflict for nearly five years; many times she had tried to smooth the troubled waters, but Billy was having none of that, he’d taken an instant dislike to her and that was that.

Seconds extended into eternity as she thought about what course of action to take. Should I turn around and go back? But then again, why should I? Why is it always me that has to give in? I’m always the one to back off. No, damn him! Not this time. I won’t give in. This is one battle that I intend to win. I’ll ignore him. I’ll walk straight on by with my eyes fixed firmly ahead. I’ll show him that he doesn’t frighten me.

Decision made, Helen took several deep breaths; after a final inhalation, she pushed back her shoulders, raised her head, and clenched her fists so tight that her knuckles turned white. Now ready, she opened her stride and moved onward.

A movement on the periphery of Billy’s vision caused him to snap his head to the left. The eye-to-eye contact caused a tingling at the back of Helen’s neck. Her stomach churned and her knee had difficulty in keeping her upright. Slowly she exhaled; taking another deep breath, she said firmly, “This is it.” Ignoring the pain of her fingernails cutting into her palms, she moved forward with purposeful intent.


Approaching Billy, she steeled herself. The warm autumn evening suddenly turned chilly and ice droplets of perspiration formed at the bottom of her spine. Nearly there she thought a few more steps and I’ll be past him.

Trying hard to ignore him, she couldn’t resist a quick glance. There eyes clashed and locked. The contact only lasted for a second, but in that space of time she saw the intense hatred that he held for her.

She passed the gate with thoughts of victory in her head and her whole body relaxed as she gave a long sigh. No sooner had it escaped her lips than a noise behind her generated another intake of breath. Fearing the worst, she spun round to face him with eyes blazing.

With immense relief she saw Billy walking into the Orchard. In her minds eye she saw a smile of triumph playing on his lips, as he defiantly wagged his tail, while walking back to his nanny and kids

[silky]

Time for another short story.

EXECUTE
By John A Silkstone


Gingerly, Richard opens the door and listened. The silence informed him that his wife was not at home. Walking down the hall, he unlocked the door to his study. On entering, he walked over to his desk and cleared the top before returning to his vehicle.
At the rear of his car, he bent beneath the rising door and gathered into his arms his latest purchase. Taking it to his study, he lays it on the desktop and went to retrieve its accessories from the car boot.
Assembling the word processor, his thoughts drifted back a couple of hours to when he saw it in the window of Mister Rice's Antique Emporium. Antique it wasn't, but then again, with only two rooms in his shop, Mister Rice's Emporium was not an Emporium.
“It's from a house clearance,” he told Richard, “in good working order too, but don't forget that sign over there.”
Richard followed the pointing finger to a hand written sign on the wall which read, BOUGHT AS SEEN, NO GUARANTEE GIVEN.
Placing the final lead into its socket, Richard's reverie stopped. Picking up the electric plug he inserted it into the wall-socket and switched on. A small green light glowed, the machine whirred and the screen lit up.
“Wonderful,” said Richard.
Seated at his desk, he placed his hands over the keyboard. Then, sitting back, he slowly stroking his chin and thought, what shall I write? Gazing round the room, his eyes stopped at the wedding photo of his wife. Everything had been happy in those days. When did it all go wrong? Why hadn't he seen this grumpy side of her nature when they were courting? Hands back at the keyboard, he typed, my wife's photo is on my study room wall. One by one the letters appeared on the monitor screen. “Perfick.” he said, imitating farmer Larkin from The Darling Buds of May. He then hit the execute button.
The words disappeared, as did the photo on the wall.
He sat with mouth agape, where had the photo gone? Rising from his chair he crossed the room to where the picture had been, not only had it gone, but the hook it had been hanging on had also vanished.
He stumbled back to his chair, and with shaky fingers, typed; my wife's photo is back on the wall. He waited anxiously then hit the execute button and the photo was back exactly where it had been.
“Good God,” he whispered, “it works.”
Thoughts ran through his head like water from a tap, each one starting with, What if? Sitting up straight, he typed, my wife is now softly spoken and is as beautiful as any woman could be, with long blond hair and a 36 - 24 - 36 figure. When it came to feminine figures, Richard preferred the old Imperial measurements.
He sat back to contemplate what was written on the screen. Guiding his finger forward, he again stabbed the execute button. No sooner had he pressed the button than the front door opened and his wife called. ‘Dickey Darling, I'm home.’
Dickey Darling! She'd not said that in ages. With pounding heart he leapt out of his chair and unlocked the study door. Looking down the hall, he saw a petite figure with long blond hair hanging up her coat. She turned to face him. Her eyes shone like diamonds and above her cupid lips sat a pert little nose and when her lips broke into a smile, tiny dimples appeared in her unblemished cheeks.
Richard was gob smacked; his wife had turned into the most beautiful creature he'd ever seen. In fact, he thought, is that my wife?
“Is that you Caroline?”
“Of course its me silly, I told you I was going for a full-body makeover, how do you like it?” she said, giving a little pirouette.
“Like it! It's lovely; you're the most beautiful thing on Earth.”

* * *

Two week later, Richard sat watching the six o'clock news on the TV when the doorbell rang.
“Mister Talbot?”
“Yes! Can I help you?”
“Evening sir, I'm detective constable Jones,’ he said flashing his warrant card, “may I come in?”
Richard opened the door wider, “Of course, is it my wife?” he asked in a quivering voice, “has she had an accident?”
“Your wife has not had an accident as far as I know sir, but I would like to talk to her.”
“She's out at the moment at the WRVS meeting, can I help?”
"Well sir, it's like this, we've had a few calls down at the station saying that your wife is missing and that you are now living with a young woman. Her friends are worried about her, and as she's not at home, could you both report to me at the police station at 10 o'clock tomorrow so that we can clear this matter up?”
“Missing! What do you mean missing, my wife's not missing, she's just had a full-body makeover that's all.”
“If you say so sir, but the makeover appears to be that good that most of her friends don't recognise her, however, I'd still like to see the both of you at the station tomorrow.”
“Alright officer that's no problem, we'll see you at 10 tomorrow.”
After seeing the officer out, Richard went to his study and typed; my wife is now back to her normal self. Pressing the execute button he spoke out aloud, ‘Well, I did marry her for better or worse.”
The front door opened and he heard his wife calling “Dickey Darling I'm home.”
“Damn and blast, it’s not worked.”
Going to the door he looked down the hall to see the woman he really loved with her face aglow.
“Darling, I've not been to the WRVS, I've been to see the doctor and he's confirmed I'm pregnant. I'm sorry if I've been a bit of a tyrant these last couple of years, but I've been so broody that it made me irritable, but now, all that's over, we're going to be a real family.”
Running down the hall, he swept her into his arms and kissed her. “Perfick,’ he said, “absolutely perfick.”