Wake up! Wake up!

(100-word flash fiction x 2)

“Wake up! Wake up!” heard William. It sounded like the cuckoo clock back home he had engineered, just to tease Mary. It was machine-gun fire.

When a bomb had exploded in their trench, they had scattered like disturbed, scurrying ants. Wounded, bloodied and dizzy, he had tumbled into another trench.

Something nebulous seemed eager to claim him. Was it Sleep? Or Memories? Floating in was the London bus he had met Mary on. Followed by the beat-up jalopy proclaiming ‘Just Married’.

A shadow fell across the Memories and a gun barrel took its place.

“Wake up! Wake up!” it said.

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“Wake up! Wake up!” chimed the cuckoo clock.

Mary was startled awake from her afternoon nap.  She stood up suddenly and moved towards the clock that William, the appliance-tinkerer, had engineered.

Inside her, the baby kicked in protest.

“Settle down, ‘lil one.” She cooed, patting her bump. “The war will be over any day and Daddy should soon be home.” She picked up the telegram, which proclaimed, bold with hope, “COMING HOME FOR THE BIRTH”

“I’m home!” announced the doorbell.

She ran to the door, but it was just the postman with another telegram. It said, “WILLIAM, KILLED IN ACTION”

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I wrote the second story first but felt William’s story had to be told too. Hope everyone’s well and keeping safe and away from the Virus. Thanks Rochelle for bringing us together every week 😊

Photo prompt –

PHOTO PROMPT © CEAyr

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Womb

(100-word flash fiction)

The baby was a gruesome freak. Of nature. Born after years of prayer and pilgrimage. The nurses would bring him for a feed but she couldn’t bring herself to touch him, let alone take him to her breast.

The woman in the next bed sobbed through the night for her perfect, stillborn baby. The small room pressed down heavy and oppressive with the weight of two empty cradles.

Her depleted womb became a bloody battle ground. Disappointment warred with Despair until Guilt started to trounce them both.

Eventually, Self Pity won. Her room on the seventh floor had unbarred windows.

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A couple of weeks before the festival of Diwali, Hindus celebrate the festival of Dusshera. Prior to that for nine days, Navratri (nine nights) is celebrated, culminating with Dusshera celebrated on the 10^th day. In the states of Gujarat and Rajasthan, during Navratri, a dance form called Garba is performed during the nine nights. People dressed in colourful attire dance around a clay lantern with a light inside, called a Garbha Deep (“womb lamp”). This lantern represents life, and the foetus in the womb in particular. The dancers thus honor Durga, the feminine form of divinity.

The lit tent reminded me of the lit pot with lighted little lamps around it with the dancers performing during the night. Except that, for the protagonist, there was no light.

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This week’s photo prompt is so lovely, I was loathe to write such a sad story but life is like that. Thanks to Rochelle’s fabulous hosting, we have all gathered for another Friday Fictioneers feast.

PHOTO PROMPT© Jan Wayne Fields