A Day At The Races (Calliope Experiment #4)

A Day At The Races
by
Jacquie Reaville



They all stood at the top of the hill, Dave, Micky, Zach and Ben. Looking down Burnel Street to the duck pond at the bottom. It was a long way.

“Are you up for it?” Dave said “Not going to chicken out?”

“Nah” said Micky

“It was a dare” said Ben

Zach sniffed and wiped his nose on his sleeve. “Just remember to swerve when you reach the bottom”.

They all laughed thinking of the brackish water and the frightened ducks if anyone went careering into the pond. Not to mention the trouble from their parents.

They looked at each other, these four intrepid racers, then pulling on their cycle helmets each one climbed into his pride and joy, the machines made from their own imaginations and with the sweat of their brows.

At the top of Burnel Street four home made racing cars waited, painted in vivid colours that no vehicle should ever be. But when you only have left over paint found in garages and sheds, then the colours were just fine.

Orange, purple, sky blue and sunshine yellow assaulted the eyes. Wheels of all sizes and thicknesses. Flags and stickers bedecked the plywood chassis and initial letters in deepest black on the bonnets. They had worked hard on this project for four whole weeks, and today was the day.

“Can you see him?” Ben asked squinting down the hill.

“Not yet” answered Micky, “He’s probably forgotten what he’s supposed to be doing”

All four boys laughed.

“Hold on” said Zach, “Is that him?”

Sam, checked up the road and down, making certain there was no one about. Then he moved into the middle of the street. He looked up the hill and saw his four friends waiting. His stomach fluttered. He wished he’d been able to build a racer too, but he’d only just got back from Spain with his family yesterday. He took a deep breath and lifted both his arms in the air.

The four boys leaned forward, watching, their eyes glued to the slightest movement of Sam’s arms, and then he brought them down with a snap and they were off.

Shouting and whooping the four racers trundled down the hill, slowly at first then faster and faster until they were speeding hell for leather down the tarmac.

“Get out of the way!” came a shout as an axle came loose and Zach’s racer collapsed to the ground, the back end dragging, the wheels bouncing freely to the side of the road.

“Loos-er!” shouted Micky as he and Dave sped past laughing at Zach’s expression.

Ben wasn’t so lucky. He crashed right into the side of the sorry cart. He was jolted so hard his helmet shot off and hit Zach on the head. Both boys started laughing, unable to climb out of the wreckage until they had stopped.

Micky and Dave were neck a neck, and Sam stood in front of the pond, shifting from one foot to the other. “Come on” he said “Come on”. Not sure who he wanted to win but caught up in the excitement.

As the two racers sped towards him, Sam blinked, he saw Micky lift his arm and point to the right, pulling on his steering string. Dave did not. Sam closed his eyes unable to move as the sunshine yellow racer passed him, hit the stone edging of the pond and then took to the air.

They all stood at the bottom of Burnel Street looking up the hill. One of them dripping wet, the other four with an assortment of wheels and wood in their hands.

“Same time next Saturday?” asked Dave

“You’re on” the others said.

© J L Reaville - 2008

A Beautiful Day (Calliope Experiment #3)

A Beautiful Day
by
Jacquie Reaville



When had the beach changed? When had it become so sad and lonely here? She remembered it so vividly. A happy place, children running, laughing, trying to skim pebbles onto the waves and squealing with delight as the white surf chased them back up towards the road.

She leant heavily on her stick, one gnarled hand clutching tightly to it, the other pulling at her coat. Cold. Why was she always so damned cold these days? She bowed her head, silver strands glittered as the breeze played with her soft curls.

There was a white rock among the various muted shades of grey and she smiled, surprised. Her face revealing the beauty, that had once been the talk of the village so many years ago.

…

“Mary!” Charlie called “Come on slow coach, I’ll race you to the end there by the pier”. The girl raised her head, shook her golden curls and stuck out her tongue “and why should I want to be racing on such a glorious day Charlie Morgan?” she called back “and especially with the likes of you” she added smirking.

“Oh the likes of me is it?” he said, “didn’t hear no ‘likes of you’ last night at the flicks now did we”. He began to walk towards her, his eyes fixed on hers as he came determinedly closer.

Mary yelped, turned tail and ran for the road, laughing, but Charlie was faster. He caught her hand and spun her around holding her in his arms and kissing her quickly on her upturned face. Mary smiled and slid her arms around his waist. Standing on the rocks they held each other, so glad to be alive and together.

“What are they doing?” Mary asked, looking towards a group of children moving rocks. Charlie shrugged but he caught Mary’s hand and they walked towards the group.

There was a heated discussion going on “A wall is boring” was one of the comments the couple heard the most as they stopped nearby.

“Well now” he said “all those white rocks you could build a sculpture maybe”.

Interested faces turned to look. “What kind Mr Morgan?” said one, “How Mr Morgan?” said another.

Mary moved closer “What about a sea monster?” she said.

The children rushed about the beach finding all the white rocks they could. Mary sat and watched, laughing at their antics, and Charlie explained the way the stones should be laid.

Finally, there it was, a long white snake, undulating away from the water. The children stood with hands on hips imitating Charlie as he nodded his head in satisfaction. “Good job!” he said.

He moved back to Mary and offered her his hand, pulling her back to her feet. They began to head back the way they had come, arm in arm, Mary’s head against his shoulder. “Bye Mr Morgan, Mrs Morgan!”

…

“Mrs Morgan!, Oh there you are” Dilly came bustling along the beach toward her. Mary blinked, and sighed. She pulled her coat tightly around her once more and turned to face her carer. “I just came for a walk” she said.

As she moved from the beach, Dilly’s arm around her shoulders, she heard again the sounds of children calling, and the gruff jovial voice of her husband answering them.

“It’s a beautiful day Dilly” she said.

“Not too cold for you?”

“No, not cold at all” Mary replied, smiling.

© J L Reaville - 2008

The Power of Moonlight (Calliope Experiment #2)

The Power of Moonlight
by
Jacquie Reaville



Not a sound, not a movement, disturbed her as she sat on the carpet of grass waiting. Illuminated by the moon, its light kissed her skin bleaching the colour from her, turning her to a carefully crafted statuette, still and cold and silent. Only the sparkle in her eyes betrayed her. A glint of something more than the alabaster moon could transform.

The old church clock struck the hours, twelve doleful notes echoing across the hills and the figure stood gracefully, stretching her arms towards the moon as if she could hold it in a lovers embrace. Her eyes closed, her lips curved into a wry smile for a moment and then she began to sway.

At first her movements were slow and simple as if she did not really know what she was about, but then they became faster, more passionate, full of intricate designs and gestures. Her eyes flashed like diamonds. Her hair whipped across her face, hiding her features and her skirts flared as she whirled, revealing her bare feet in their elaborate steps. She danced, this moonlit figure, on the hills above the church, and as she danced she cried out to the moon.

Slowly the figure sank to her knees, her arms raised once more to the moon, the pleading expression on her face cracked as bitter tears ran down her cheeks. She cried again into the darkness, a long howl of despair and hunger.

The village below slept though not quietly. In their beds the women mumbled and uneasily they tossed and turned seeking a more comfortable place. Men shivered, pulling their quilts closer around their chins, not quite waking. Restless children called out in their sleep, whimpering softly. Small hands reaching for something safe and warm to comfort them.

The figure on the hill stared down at the village, her eyes wet with the tears she had shed. She searched but saw no movement. Sighing deeply she flicked back her hair, deftly tying it with a ribbon taken from her pocket. She sat again on the grass and feeling about with her fingers in the darkness she found a sharp stone knife. She pulled it to her and clutched it tight to her chest, as she surveyed the village again.

There! She sat forward and with a quick movement her eyes found the boy again. No she had not been mistaken. He was walking slowly through the village towards the hill on which she sat. A tall youth, muscular, quite handsome. A pink tongue flicked from her mouth, catching the thin trickle of saliva that had escaped her lips, and then it was gone again.

The moon began to hide its face behind a blanket of clouds. She rose to her feet, not quite so gracefully as before, stumbling slightly until she moved back into the moons light. It was growing weaker that light, and the darkness seemed to hurt her. Throwing desperate glances between the encroaching black and the one she had called, she backed away from the dark shadow fingers that sought to hold her.

The old church clock began to strike the quarter and the figure hissed her denial. As the darkness enveloped her the boy stopped his walk, and came back to wakefulness. He looked around and shivered, then turned and sped off back to his bed, away from the deserted place. Away from Witch Hill.

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The Birthday Gift (Calliope Experiment #1)

The Birthday Gift
by
Jacquie Reaville



"Garden Gnomes?" I looked at the wrapping paper spilled on the floor and then examined the box again "Three Garden Gnomes!"

"Do you like them?" He asked.

Swallowing my original retort and pasting a smile on my face I turned and replied that they were lovely. May the gods not strike me dumb for the lie. The three children looked so happy and excited sitting at the kitchen table, still piled high with last nights empty wine glasses and party plates.

"We saw them in the shop and asked Mom to buy them for us, I knew you’d like them, but they’re not gnomes Auntie they’re elves." Nathan grinned his gap toothed grin, and I couldn’t help but smile for real.

I looked at the picture on the box and noticed that although the lettering proclaimed gnomes they were in fact not the rotund, garishly coloured little men with beards that I’d thought. "You know I think you’re right" I said.

"Fairies!" said Chloe

"Pixels!" shouted Emily through a mouthful of milk so as not to be outdone by her older siblings.

Nathan rolled his eyes "That’s pixies Em" he said, patiently wiping the milk spatter from his sleeve.

Emily nodded and took another drink. I turned away again to hide the smile that was rapidly growing into a silly grin. They always had this effect on me, my sister’s three babies, even when hung over like this morning.

"Well where do you think they should live?" I asked, "Under the Lilac tree, next to the fish pond, or what about by the rose bushes?"

"Kismas Tree" said Emily, thankfully without an accompaniment of milk.

I looked through the kitchen window at my garden, and found the row of old Christmas trees planted after each December’s festivities were finished. They were doing quite well surprisingly, and there was a bare piece of ground beneath them. I picked up the box, and moved to the back door, "Come on then!" I called as I walked outside. There was a scraping of chairs and the inordinately loud sound of scrabbling feet as the three scamps followed me.

Chloe ran on ahead and started clearing some of the pine needles from the ground "Just here, right here" she said pointing. I looked and saw a slight depression almost a circle or ring, shaking my head at the coincidence I opened the box and took the figures out one by one. When they were placed to everyone’s satisfaction we all stood back and looked at the tableaux. I had to admit that they did make a pretty scene.

Emily walked around the three figures and peered into their eyes then she nodded and said matter of factly "Happy here".

Nathan chuckled softly "Well that’s all right then" he said, taking her hand. Chloe moved over and grasped Emily’s other hand, and three pairs of eyes turned to look at me.

"I suppose they should have names" I said.

"Well yeah" said Chloe, tapping her foot.

Emily smiled, and then she pulled her hands free and sat down cross legged on the grass. Her brother and sister sat with her. I looked from one to the other and then with a soft sigh I sat down too.

"How do garden fairies get their names?" I asked.

Nathan chuckled again "Don’t know Auntie Imp, but I really hope you’re going to tell us" He said.

569 Words

Contemplation

Gazing through the window
a street, grey, yet glittering with frost
warm cheek pressed to chill glass
my lips caress a glass more delicate

The shimmer of a cloud against the moon
a glance as it passes displays
the stars bright, cold, magnificent,
so proud upon the artist’s velvet black

A sip or two of crimson, warming
as dazzled eyes look through the world
a memory, elusive, quickening by
touches a soft kiss against my brow

Palm sweeps softly against the pane
clearing the mist from thought and view
a smile now dances in my eyes
for the memory returned, of being loved

© J L Reaville - 2007