• Short Stories

    Wibbly Wobbly Oak Tree

    Wibbly Wobbly Oak Tree

     

    © Peter L. Barnes 12th June 2019

     

    Victoria sat under the ancient oak, enjoying the warmth of the summer sunrise, marvelling at the twisted, turning boughs above her head. A gentle breeze rustled the bright green leaves, swinging the outstretched boughs about, like an upside-down octopus.

    Something dropped into her lap, and opening her eyes, expecting to find a fallen twig, she marvelled at the exquisite flower laying there. A pale pink flower lay on her dress, dotted with a pink pattern, drawing her eyes to the long bright stamen topped with a purple head.

    “Oh, how lovely.”

    A shadow loomed over her.

    “Morning princess,” said an instantly familiar voice.

    Looking up, she recognised the expected figure of Thomas, son of the head gardener, the sun forming a halo around his head and twinkling in his unruly mop of golden hair.

    “Step away from the sun or I shall freeze.”

    Thomas stood to the side.

    “Thank you for my morning flower, Thomas,” she said. “You know I love the rhododendrons.”

    “They are particularly beautiful this year,” said Thomas. “Sadly, it will be the last I’ll bring you.”

    “Why, has the tree died?”

    “No, my father has been transferred to your father’s estate in Scotland.”

    “That’s terrible,” said Victoria. “Who will I talk to each morning?”

    “I think our little talks are part of the reason.”

    “I don’t understand.”

    “Lord Stanstead feels that we have become too close over the years.”

    “But there’s no-one else to talk to here,” said Victoria. “We are so far away from everything.”

    “And everyone,” said Thomas.

    “I will be bereft without you,” said Victoria, trying not to cry. “I have learnt so much from you about the plants and animals.”

    “But I do think it’s for the best,” said Thomas.

    “No, it’s not,” said Victoria, standing up and brushing the grass off her dress. “I’m going to talk to father right now.”

    “Pleased don’t do that Victoria,” said Thomas. “Otherwise he might fire my father and then we’ll become destitute.”

    “Oh, I hadn’t thought of that,” said Victoria. “But we’ll still keep in touch, yes?”

    “Of course, I’ll send you letters when I can,” said Thomas. “You’re reading and writing lessons won’t be wasted.”

    “Are you leaving today?”

    “I’m afraid so. Bye.”

    “No hugs then?”

    Thomas looked up at the window of the mansion on the hill to see two faces watching them closely. “I don’t think that’s wise.”

    Victoria gazed after his disappearing form, as he slowly made his way down to the farmhouse and out of her life. If he did write then they were intercepted by her parents and she was worried that if she did bring the subject up, it would have repercussions for Thomas.

    You will have to wait for the short story book to read the rest, sorry but copywrite doesn’t seem to be honoured these days

     

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  • Short Stories

    Unicorn in the Attic

    Unicorn in the Attic (A Christmas story)

    © Peter l. Barnes and Peter Barnett

     

    A Unicorny story.

     

    “Can you get the tree down, please,” called Jamie’s wife, Susan.

    Another trip up into the dusty attic, he thought. He never remembered where he had put the tree or all the lights and decorations. Christmases never lived up to their expectations since the family split up across the globe.

    He dropped the attic hatch, pulled down the ladder and climbed up. He switched on the light, which created a series of bright spots and many dark shadows. He had never explored some of the shadowy areas, not that he was worried about what he might find, in fact he imagined hidden treasures, tucked in ancient trunks. But there was still enough space in the lit areas, for some suitcases, toy boxes and old soft furnishings that they stored up here.

    Climbing up and stooping low to avoid the low beams, he began his search, sweeping the tiny torch across the humps and lumps of cloth covered boxes and small furniture discards.

    “Hello.”

    “What,” exclaimed Jamie, spinning around and hitting his head on the rafters, expecting to see her pretty head over the top of the hatch.

    “Did you say something Susan,” he called down.

    Not a peep from below.

    “That’s strange, I’m sure she called. It must be my imagination.”

    “Figment?”

    “What?”

    “Am I a figment of your imagination,” said the voice, from the black depths of the attic.

    “Who are you?” Jamie asked, swinging the beam of his small torch around the dark recesses.

    “Me,” said a creature, appearing out of the shadows.

    A beautiful Unicorn with a glistening golden horn in the middle of its forehead appeared from the gloom. The  exquisite Unicorn, only two foot tall, was adorned by red and blue ribbons in its perfect white mane, stood in front of Jamie, swishing its feathery tail, stirring up dust and sweeping it from the rafters.

    “Careful,” said Jamie, hiding his eyes from the perilous dust. “How did you get up here.”

    Because of copywrite in fringements, you’ll have to buy the book once published to read more.

     

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  • Short Stories

    The Eruption Acrylics. Short play on words

    The Eruption Acrylics.

    All that is noun of the Eruption land gauge has been found from a Ceres of marks and punt uration on a Rose Petal Stone, found by a conqueror called Napoli Man as his troops searched for ancient replicas.

    This was a long time Before Calendars (BC) but the Stone was found 1800 years after decimalization (AD). Jean-François Champollion was a great puzzler and pretended he could read it, but he was mocked by many of his pears, so he created the Cross Word to put them in their place.

    Apparently, names were put into baffoons, which is where we get comics from, and they were called carte blanches. They had no skools and were very bad at their ABC, so they drew pictures instead.

    These people were called the Walking Dead, as they were never seen alive and many movies have been made of them. They were frightened of the dark, living in their Tomes, wrapped in sheets to prevent being swept away in the floods of the river Nail.

    Tutti Carmen was a great leader who to help them escape from their underground Tomes by building huge Pyrites, towering into the sky, with tiny shafts, to get them used to the light.

    It is no wonder that these night people were afraid of humans as they often had heads of birds or dogs and were ridiculed by the river Nail Krockodile people, who lived under psalms.

    Many mysts surround the Euruptions, especially that they were sun gods which were only misspelled when I Car Us flew too close and was frazzled, unlike the rock which survived.

    Which is why I have a fairy on top of my Christmas Tree.

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  • Short Stories

    A Vet’s Nightmare – short Story

    A Vet’s Nightmare

    “Hello. Welsh Hill’s Vetinarian practise.”

    “Yes, hello. Do you look after all animals?”

    “Oh yes, all creatures great and small, we do them all.”

    “Excellent. Can I get an appointment, please?”

    “What seems to be the problem?”

    “He’s gone off his food.”

    “Can you come over at 3?”

    “Great,” said Susan. “Do you have a helipad there?”

    “What?”

    “A Helipad, or a flat roof?”

    “Ah.. yes, we have a flat roof,” said the receptionist. “Why?”

    “Okay we’ll drop in about 3pm.”

    Susan guiding her pet down onto the flat roof and then climbed down to the front entrance.

    “Hello. I’m Susan. I have an appointment for my pet.”

    “Oh yes,” said the receptionist. “What’s his name please?”

    “Nogard”

    “And what is he?”

    “A dragon of course, although he’s a little backward.”

    “And where is this dragon,” said the receptionist, trying to humour her.

    “He’s waiting outside a bit big for your doors.”

    The receptionist looked out to see that indeed there was a dragon waiting patiently, out in the car park, taking up a large disabled bay.

    “Oh yyyyyes,” she stuttered. “I’ll get the vet to come out.”

    The vet appeared form his room stethoscope around his neck.

    “Hello, Dr Little,” said the vet, holding out his hand.

    “Susan, Nice to meet you Dr Little.”

    “Call me Doo please,” said the vet.

    “Doo?”

    “Short for Donald, or maybe because I’m always up to my eyeballs in it.”

    “Oh Right.”

    “So, where’s this ‘dragon’ then.”

    “Nogard’s outside.”

    “Is he trained. I don’t want him biting my head off.

    “Oh yes,” said Susan. “That’s his favourite film, always watching it.”

    Because of copywrite in fringements, you’ll have to buy the book once published to read more.

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