A PICTORIAL PRESENTATION

Photo Credit: Susan Spaulding

A PICTORIAL PRESENTATION

by John Yeo

Expectations were high throughout the school. The esteemed artist was arriving at precisely 14.00 hours to judge the pupils work. A prize was on offer.

The headmistress. Miss Elaine Smithers, and Luigi Pescasso had both attended art college in London. Elaine had encouraged her brightest, creative pupils to do their best to produce some pictures along the same lines as the great Luigi.

Tommy Dawkins was favourite to win and his painting of a donkey took pride of place among the exhibits. Entitled, ‘The Ass,’ it was hung on the wall alongside, Mary Green’s, ‘Dog with a Bone,’ And Elaine William’s, ‘Girl leading a Pig’. There was an interesting painting of a headless horse, painted by Mary Tomkins. The classroom wall was covered with a variety of paintings The moment arrived and there was a hush as the great man walked along the line of pictures. He took a deep breath then said.

‘I find there are four paintings equally good and I award four first prizes. ‘The Girl leading a Pig to the Dog with a Bone, leads to the Backside of a Horse that finally ends up as an Ass.’ Well done you four talented young people.’

© John Yeo ~ All rights reserved

(199 WORDS)

This story was written for Sunday Photo Fiction hosted by Susan Spaulding.

IMAGINATION

FLASH FICTION (WRITING PROMPT)

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IMAGINATION

by John Yeo 

It was just a year ago I first came into contact with Jessie, a forty-five years old divorcee. Jessie had long, blonde hair that obviously came with the aid of a bottle. She had a pair of sultry bright green eyes with long black eyelashes. A cute, full pair of kissable lips, rested under a tiny turned up nose. She wore a pair of designer glasses when she was shopping or at home, however she preferred to use contact lenses socially, in the interest of her vanity. All-in-all, she was the complete woman of my dreams.
My name is Norman Jones. I’m an eighteen years old student at the local Polytechnic College. At six feet two, I was tall for my age and a good all-round athlete. My grades in college had been excellent and it looked as if I was on my way to a glittering career in Science.
My best friend Matt, a fellow student, was lucky enough to live at home while I resided in student digs. Matt was a kind, cheerful sort of a bloke, who was a bit on the short side, at roughly 5 foot 5 inches tall, he was extremely sensitive about his height. He had a shock of red hair that prompted our cruel fellow students to call him Ginger. Matt hated this nickname for various reasons not the least being the extension to Ginger Beer.
Nevertheless there was nothing he wouldn’t do for his friends.
Then one fateful day I met Matt in town.
‘Hi Norm! How’s it going?’
‘Fine thanks Matt, I’m just off back to the digs to open a can of beans and feast on these takeaway chips.’ I replied.
‘No mate, really! Why don’t you come back to mine? My Mum won’t mind and you’ll get some decent grub.’
I was taken aback by this generous offer.
‘Thanks Matt! You sure your Mum won’t mind? It’ll certainly beat beans and cold chips.’
’Sure thing mate: Come along with me now.’
We made our way to the bus station and caught a bus to the city suburbs back to Matt’s place.
Little did I realise this was going to be a life changing experience for me. My life was about to take a totally unforeseen and unexpected turn. Nothing could have prepared me for my meeting with Matt’s Mum.
As we entered the house he called out, ‘Hi Mum!’
There was a muffled response from upstairs as we entered the house together.
Then I stopped and couldn’t help myself from staring, as a mature, glamorous blonde lady appeared from the hallway.
‘Mum,’ said Matt, ‘Meet Norman, my best friend from college. Is it OK if he stays and has some dinner with us?’
‘Of course he can darling, come inside and make yourself at home Norman. My, what a tall handsome lad you are!’
I blushed and stuttered, ‘Thththank yyyou’
Matt laughed as she said to me, ‘Don’t be shy, I’m only joking.’
Matt then said, ‘Take your shoes off Norm, as Mum’s just had a new carpet laid.’
I kicked off my trainers and followed Matt into the lounge where he picked up a remote and switched on the TV; flicking through the channels until he found a football match in full swing.
Matt’s Mum, bustled in smiling as she asked, ‘You two guys want a drink? Juice or a cold beer?’
I nodded and replied, ‘Thanks Mrs Peterson, I’ll have a beer.’
‘Please call me Jessie, Norman.’ My insides were churning up with some strange sensations as she sweetly said this. I had heard of the effect some women have on a man but this was puzzling to me.
‘Do you like your steak well done or rare?’
‘Well done please Jessie’ I replied. as I savoured the sound of her name.
‘OK!’ She said as she headed towards the kitchen.
I badly needed to use the toilet as I said to Matt. ‘Which ways your bathroom mate?’
‘Just through the kitchen.’ he replied.
I entered the kitchen and noticed Jessie preparing the meal. I suddenly felt strangely light headed.  In that moment, I felt my knees give way from under me and I just fell to the ground.

©️John Yeo~ All rights reserved.

heart

 

ELVIS ALMOST ELVIS

IMG_5712-1ELVIS ALMOST ELVIS

by John Yeo

  We enjoyed a wonderful show for our final night of this festive break at Gunton Hall in Suffolk. We soaked up the music and magic of Elvis Presley, performed by Mark Summers, backed by the Memphis Sons; an excellent tribute band,
Mark Summers, the Elvis Presley, lookalike and sound-alike was magnificent, full of the energy and sophistication required to pull off brilliant renditions of legendary song after legendary song; bringing many pleasant dormant memories to life. The audience were mainly from the age that experienced these massive hits when they were performed by the great man himself.
Mark Summers had his audience waving their arms in the air while singing along to the well-remembered words of these Elvis Presley classics. With the help of an attractive lady backing singer and the brilliant sounds of his backing group, the Memphis Sons. Margaret and I enjoyed this show enormously and we finished the evening dancing pleasurably to the music as this enigmatic singer performed the encores demanded by his smitten audience.

INVISIBLE DESTRUCTION

 

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Photo Credit: Anurag Bakhshi

INVISIBLE DESTRUCTION

by John Yeo

  Old Alexander always took the new recruits to the top of the high hill overlooking the small coastal town. This was part of their initiation and orientation into the elite fighting force that protected the townspeople from sudden attack.
  Old Alexander would always begin by relating the story of the vicious war that broke out in the area 30 years previously. The enemy had sited their guns at the top of this hill and continuously blasted the valley until the town below was reduced to rubble; heaps and piles of accumulated concrete everywhere. There was a loss of many lives but by far the greatest number of people escaped by climbing aboard the many fishing boats and assorted vessels moored in the bay.
Our people returned in force and drove the invaders out. Every building you see before you are brand new; some have never been occupied. After the reconstruction was almost complete, our enemies returned and showered the area with devastating lethal chemical weapons. There was an immediate exodus over the sea and most of the townspeople escaped, many leaving everything behind.
The war that followed was devastating. Our people can never re-occupy their homes.

© John Yeo ~ All rights reserved.

Written as part of Sunday Photo Fiction. Write a story of around 200 words based on the photo prompt given (above). Hosted by Susan Spaulding. For more details visit..
https://sundayphotofictioner.wordpress.com/

coastal town

Photo Credit: Anurag Bakhshi

 

 

(200 WORDS)

RED LIGHTING

Welcome to Sunday Photo Fiction! Each week I will post a new photograph, taken either by myself or donated by a member of the community. The challenge is to write a story using 200 words or less based, on the prompt. When you are done, post your story and the photo prompt on your blog. Please make sure you give proper credit to the photographer. Use the InLinkz froggy icon below to add your story to the SPF collection. While you are there, take time to read and comment on some of the other stories. I know you will not be disappointed.

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Photo Credit Susan Spaulding

 

RED LIGHTING 

by John Yeo

  Billy and Mary were lovers. From the moment they met, it was a flash of lightning that lit up the fires of longing.
Billy was at a crossroads when he first met Mary. He’d just left school without any qualifications and without any chance of a job. Dyslexia was the funny word his English teacher had used. Billy hadn’t a clue what that meant. A stocky lad, with a shock of shoulder-length red hair, that hung loosely on his shoulders. Again his English teacher, Mr. Sykes, had a theory that red-haired people were renowned for being short-tempered and irritable, easily distracted without the means to apply themselves to the task in hand. Billy had his own opinions on bitter, bigoted, world-weary, self-opinionated English teachers who were swayed by popular prejudices against anyone who appeared slightly different.
Billy had a business in full swing with his Uncles who were fishermen.
He managed to change the colour of the harbour coast lights by inserting cellophane paper to warn the boats not to approach shore whenever there was danger. Smuggling was helping Billy get the funds to marry Mary and take her away. Billy was a genius.

© John Yeo ~ All rights reserved

 

Meditation

Gunton Lake

I thought I would like to share this beautiful picture of Gunton Lake again. Margaret captured this image from under some trees using her iPhone. I like the way the gold Autumn leaves on the trees are reflected in the blue surface of the lake. The deep blue colour of the water gets increasingly lighter as the water flows beneath the direct sunlight. With a scattering of wind-transported golden leaves floating on the surface of the water this picture is a magic carpet ride into meditation.

 

STARLIGHT

person sky silhouette night

Photo by Snapwire on Pexels.com

A prompt response for Inspiration Monday: Quiet Light

STARLIGHT

by John Yeo

I always relish the night shift at the hospital. The administration has all gone home, that leaves the professionals to fully take over and we can do our jobs without too much interference from the budget boys. Too many fingers in the pie if you ask me!

I remember once when a patient was in pain and there was some argument over whether we should use the latest methods to ease the pain. The poor patient was pumped full of morphine, while three admin men discussed whether the hospital could afford the very latest miracle light rays that have just been introduced.

This is a brilliant, bright new starlight, that mimics the rays of starlight that have streamed unused and ignored by scientists until a very powerful computer picked up the almost silent sound of the starlight rays bouncing off the Earth’s surface. Professor Modesty then hooked the starlight to a machine that generates a beam of fantastic intensity, that has proved to be the most powerful painkiller ever known. One gentle bathe in the purifying quiet starlight and pain is instantly a memory that allows time for medical specialists to identify and cure the causes.

This wonderful new technique is very expensive to use as it is difficult to generate starlight in the daylight hours.

Now on the night-shift, we are able to freely use this painkiller, without any interference or repercussions from these admin ignoramuses. The quiet light eases the pain of the patients and ensures a drug-free, pain-free night.

What these budget conscious, penny-pinching idiots don’t seem to realize is that the stars come out at night and the quiet starlight is free to use without the necessity of expensive machines.

I do love the night shift.

Copyright © Written by John Yeo ~ All rights reserved

THE RELENTLESS SEA

I wrote the following piece of Flash Fiction for our Church magazine in response to this months theme of WATER..

 

The Relentless Sea


by John Yeo
  

  Driftwood, bobbing and bouncing on the top of the waves, was the first clue that Old Tom had claimed another unwary, unsuspecting victim. 
 Our hearts sank whenever large spars of wood came drifting in on the foamy, relentless, rough waves in exceptionally stormy weather. 
 Old Tom was the name given by the locals over many centuries to a line of cliffs that were hidden at the entrance to the harbour. Obscured from the sight of incoming vessels by the high waters. There was a large rock, shaped like a giant, hence the name and the well deserved ugly reputation. 


Several battered suitcases and wooden barrels arrived bobbing into the waiting arms of the people lining the shore. These wrecks always drew a crowd of locals searching for the remains.
 This wreckage seemed to be different than the usual detritus that floated into shore.
  

    “I wonder if there were many lives lost out there this time. Last time Old Tom claimed twenty-nine. I hear we must be thankful for small mercies, the rocky arms of Old Tom have embraced many of our enemies in the past and saved us from invaders.” Billy Martindale said to his wife Josie.
  

  Josie looked pale and drawn, dragged from her customary hard routine of caring for their home, she had always accompanied her husband to lend assistance if there was a shipwreck.


   “I sincerely hope not!” she replied.
  

Billy and Josie had lived on the cliffs of this perilous coastline for thirty-five years, a harsh way of life, that both of them had learned to accept the hard way, as they knew no other. They had two sons Bert and Jack, who had long since left the safety of their home and gone to sea.
The first of the dead floated in.
  

    Josie gasped, “It’s a baby! Oh no! Look, Billy.”
  Then another group of bodies was washed up on the shore. These were families, and the horror set in as the extent of this tragedy began to slowly unfold.
The Coastguards and the Lifeboats returned to shore after a fruitless search for survivors. 
The newspapers reported another boatload of refugee asylum seekers had been drowned that day off the rugged, rocky coast.
 At the final tally, Old Ben had claimed another forty-nine lives. 
Sadly the horrors that drove these people to seek sanctuary, seem so ongoing and insoluble that we can only pray for future peace and goodwill in this world.


Copyright © Written by John Yeo ~ All rights reserved 


DOUBLE IMAGE DILEMMA

A return to copious Flash Fiction

Saturday 28th July 2018

https://www.creativewritingink.co.uk/

You are invited to write a piece in any genre using the picture featured in the post as your inspiration.

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Double Image Dilemma

By John Yeo

 Anastasia was not succumbing to the nasty remarks her alter-ego insisted on bombarding her with. The obnoxious, evil-tongue ghostly apparition somehow always seemed to take her unawares, wherever she happened to be.
She had always been an intelligent girl. During her first years in school, she had finished at the top of the class in all the subjects she had studied. A brilliant passage through University led her to gain first-class degrees in Psychology and Social Science. Following these honors,
she went on to take further honours in her chosen field of Psychiatry.
 One earth-shattering day her world had been turned upside down by the sudden death of both her parents in a car crash. Anastasia was devastated, she had been extremely close to her Father, who was an eminent Professor. Her sadness at the deaths of both her parents was almost unendurable. She had always had an uneasy relationship with her Mother who had sought to dominate her in many ways.
 Shortly after the funeral while she was enduring the terrible effects of the grieving process the onslaught began. The vicious out of character remarks and innuendos slowly built up to an unmerciful crescendo. She was always alone when the tirade began. At times Anastasia would glimpse, a shadowy figure of herself standing alongside wildly mouthing unbelievable nonsense. Never a solid figure, just a hazy representation that flashed quickly away revealing a figure she knew intimately.
Anastasia didn’t feel threatened by this outpouring of filth and before long she began to analyse some of the statements. When she cut away the obvious rubbishy descriptive remarks, she realised this was a monologue of her thoughts and feelings over the years she had directed towards her bullying, domineering Mother.
 As part of her training, Anastasia was in therapy with a Dr. Jean Waters. A close friend she had known for years who had come through University with her.
Dr. Jean was a short, overweight, bubbly; auburn-haired person. A senior lecturer, somewhat unconventional who relished in solving mysterious unexplained occurrences.
As soon as Anastasia had outlined the situation, Dr. Jean came up with her opinion; this alter-ego needed to be disposed of as quickly as possible. Anastasia agreed and both women put their heads together to find a way of disintegrating the foul-mouthed apparition.

   ‘I think we need to consider the relationship between you and your Mum, I have a feeling if we can work through her influences on you in your early life we will get close to an answer.’ Dr. Jean remarked.

   ‘Oh! Do you think she is haunting me?’ Anastasia laughed.

   “No, I think you are haunting yourself with your unspoken thoughts and feelings towards her while you were growing up.’ replied Dr. Jean.

  “What! That can’t be right! I would never use the foul language and disgusting words she uses. Sometimes I could scream at her to shut up.’

   ‘Ah!’ replied Dr. Jean reflectively. ‘Your unconscious picks up many things from around you during your lifetime and although you would never express them; they are still there filed away.’

  ‘What can I do about it?’ asked Anastasia.

   ‘We’ll work through it together and somehow we will have to clear your mind and bury your Mother once and for all. It will be hard and may take a long time, but I’m sure we will be successful as you are quite level-headed and logical. Make an appointment with my secretary and we can begin to explore it further’

  ‘Thanks, See you next week, Dr. Jean;’

‘Goodbye!’

 

Copyright © Written by John Yeo ~ All rights reserved

 

BURY THE SEEDS ~ SPRING

 I wrote the following piece of Flash Fiction for our Church magazine in response to this months theme of SPRING.

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SPRING

by John Yeo

To the gardener, Spring is an exciting season of birth-rebirth and renewal.

 Seeds are planted in the sure hope that new life will spring from the ground in the form of food and flowery sensations. Some plants in the borders appearing dead and past resuscitation suddenly spring back to life from their Winter dormancy. The cacophony of birdsong and calls that is known as the dawn chorus begins as wild birds build their nests laying numerous eggs, nurturing and helping them to develop into chicks.

Spring always a season of new life has been extra special for us this year as Margaret and I have been presented with a new Great Grandson, a Spring baby. I wrote this poem which I have dedicated to him and I am delighted to share here as a tribute to all concerned with our grateful thanks to God.

 

BURY THE SEEDS

by John Yeo

 

Bury the seeds in the minds of the young,

Nurture and take care of their fertile minds.

Allow them the freedom to think things through

Watch the growth of ideas spring forth.

Harvest the results of future growth

In technology, the arts, and science.

Enjoy the improvements in life.

~

Bury the seeds of peace and freedom,

Nurture a caring, sharing empathy for all.

Allow a mixture of cultures in life

Promote a feeling of self-worth with thought.

Harvest the feelings of peace and love.

No more war, free speech with equality.

Enjoy sharing the feeling of a natural life.

~

Copyright © Written by John Yeo ~ All rights reserved