Unravelling Twine

photo credit: Piyushgiri Revagar Centre via photopin (license)

I never knew my father. I recognised him of course, I’d see him every morning silently cutting up his bacon rashers and sausages before forking them into his mouth; while us kids bickered and fought using our cereal spoons as make-believe swords. Then in the evening he would be found hiding in the dark shadows of the living room while the rest of us hovered like a family of moths in adoration around the flickering light of the television screen.

The rest of the time he seemed invisible, apart from the odd glimpse of him sat on the old wooden bench in the shade of the crab apple tree at the bottom of the garden. Mum used to send him there as she hated the smell of his tobacco. There he would sit his pipe gripped between his teeth while his hands worked unravelling a twisted mess of green twine. He never seemed to unravel it, every time you saw him there he seemed to be, starting his own labour of Hercules anew.

I never found out what he was doing it for or if he ever finished, and now I’ve left it too late to ask him.

 

© 2017 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

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A six word Advent calendar – Day 12

Short and sweet for Day 3 of the Review 30 for November

Made of sticks and stones

It sounded much cooler in Spanish.

© 2014 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

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Checkmate

photo credit: Shadow Chess via photopin (license)

photo credit: Shadow Chess via photopin (license)

He had not expected the King to be a woman. But his briefing had given him very little information, all he knew was he was meeting an agent in a shabby cabaret bar in a Vienna backstreet who would recognise him.

A blonde, long hair falling onto bare shoulders, had sat herself down next to him her skirt rising as she slid herself along the seat towards him revealing long shapely stocking clad legs, he had been about to tell her to leave when she had given the password, her voice intoxicating as she whispered in his ear. He had asked whether she had the package but the King had not answered just placed her hand on the inside of his thigh, her blue eyes staring challengingly at him as she stroked her hand up and down his thigh.

Hurriedly they had left the cabaret, making their way through the deserted streets lit only by a crescent moon, to the nearest hotel, his mission forgot in his desire to have this woman.

But then after, as he lay naked in a pool of blood a knife in his belly, he realised he had not expected the King to be a double agent.

© 2015 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

A six word Advent calendar – Day 24

It hurts me when you leave.

© 2014 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

A six word Advent calendar – Day 23

Santa Claus is a serial housebreaker.

xmas-4

© 2014 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

A six word Advent calendar – Day 22

The joke is on you, loser.

© 2014 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

A six word Advent calendar – Day 21

Mr Blue turned in on himself.

 

© 2014 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

 

 

A six word Advent calendar – Day 14

She was mine before you came.

© 2014 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

A six word Advent calendar – Day 13

‘The end.’ she said.

Footsteps receded.

© 2014 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

A six word Advent calendar – Day 12

It sounded much cooler in Spanish.

© 2014 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.