The Word Cloud

A super simple comp this time. 150 words on the theme of Happy Endings. Only one rule, the endings actually have to be happy. I don't want loads of ironic pieces about small babies falling into industrial slicing machines. Let's celebrate happiness. As many entries as you like. Flowers or fizz for the winner. Probably a victory parade in an international capital of your choice as well. Got that? So go for it!

The Unwelcome Last Moment
(148 Words)

Granny was first. Cancer. No one denied bed-ridden Granddad the meagre comfort of an eighty-a-day decline.

Dad’s father slipped into senility before the end. Shortly after, the will ebbed from Gran.

The day before nisi, dad took his own life. A Chemistry teacher knows carbon monoxide is certain. No cry for help. No dramatic plummet. A solitary car journey to the only destination that could stop the pain.

Mum’s sister left doctors scratching heads. But mum stole the show. Nine days disappeared, then dragged from the Thames. Murdered? Unlikely. Accident? Possibly. Suicide? Maybe. Open verdict, no closure.

No brothers or sisters meant teenage years alone. Twenty years without real, unconditional love decays heart and mind.

But then she appeared. Finally. The inner tanks of meaning, purpose, contentment and hope replenished.

If this were to be the unwelcome last moment, it would be the happiest.

"I don't want loads of ironic pieces about small babies falling into industrial slicing machines." What's not to like?

I'm going to be terrible at this. I have a nasty habit of killing off 60% of my main characters, and have an absolute hatred for all damsels in distress.


Once upon a time there was a princess locked up in a tower. A noble knight came to rescue her, but on the way there he met a sensible peasent girl, who was much less high maintence, and knew how to use a long bow (a very useful trait for your wife to have if you are in the habit of slaying dragons). The pair got married, and the princess remaind safely locked up in her tower where she couldn't annoy anyone.

The end.

Little miracles.

Full glass of wine. Train ride on time.

Weekend away. Children at play.

Church bells a-peeling. Fish, inwards reeling.

Fries that are gold. A view to behold.

Mountainous hikes. Stabilized bikes.

Grass-tickled toes. Stock-scent filled nose.

Hampers with chucky. Toddler; mucky.

Phallic-shaped cloud. Guffaw out loud.

Champagne fizz tickles. Strong, malted pickles.

Smelly old cheeses. Humongous sneezes.

Chocolaty tiffin. Proof of a Griffin?

Lottery balls. Poetry walls.

Well-composed pickies. Well-hidden hickeys.

Stolen first kisses. Date with the missus.

Trips to the flicks. Hollywood glitz.

Star-studded parties. Large tube of Smarties.

Promotion through; long overdue.

New-mown hay smell. Secrets to tell.

Friends round for dinner. Nobel Prize winner.

Doggy war-tugs. Infinite hugs.

Happiness? Say...Oscar screenplay?

Of all the outcomes to this day, I hadn’t seen this coming.

As he handed over possession the adrenaline surged within me. For the first time in my life I was packing, big time.

Its panther-black beauty rendered me speechless as my palms cooled to the touch of metal. The wide-angle sight, an added bonus, would only serve to improve accuracy and handling. The ultimate power of life and death and I owned it; fully loaded, specked-up and I wasn’t afraid to use it. Immeasurable responsibility contained within such a small package. A shudder rippled down my spine as I peered down its length; sleek yet enabling. From now on everyone would take me seriously.

Sicilian tones vied for my attention.

“It’s time to take her out.”

He was right; she had it coming.

I took off the safety, turned the ignition and my new Ford Ka growled.

Wicked!

A car stops for a moment and a black cat is thrown out into the snow.
When the cat gets his head above the snow, the car has disappeared.
The tiny black cat looks around the landscape, nothing like the city he comes from.

The snow is so deep that he sinks down to his belly, freezing as never before.
The tiny head swivels nervously around looking for something familiar.
Hesitantly he begins to move along the road, seeking warmth.

Anna turns on the telly, not because there is anything interesting but it stops the silence.
She sits in her chair, bored and lonely. Two years he had been gone, leaving her alone. She stares out of the window, when suddenly a face appears. Round green eyes meet hers.

The cat stretches out in Anna’s lap, savouring the warmth. Anna’s fingers caresses the fur, enjoying having someone to love again.

Found it!

This is not an entry because it is a) ironic and b) involves falling, so is doubly disqualified. But I enjoyed writing it even so! If you're wondering, the siege tower really existed and its tragic story is basically true.

Humpty Dumpty

Humpty Dumpty was rammed onto the castle battlement at the siege of Gloucester in 1643. History believes he was a Royalist siege tower. Truly, the engineers mixed up the designs and the daft buggers built an egg instead.

King Charles was immensely proud of Humpty, though. "The Roundheads are so thick they don't realise it's an egg not a siege tower," the King whispered to Prince Rupert as the defending Parliamentarians within the citadel quailed at sight of Humpty lowering upon the parapet.

Tragedy struck! Humpty tumbled off the wall and shattered. The Cavalier cavalry slithered in two hundred gallons of slimy white and yolk. Prince Rupert was inconsolable. "Cheer up, Rupy!" King Charles cooed, laying a comforting hand on his sobbing nephew's shoulder. "A happy outcome, indeed! We shall have a spiffing omelette for tea! And a jolly junket where we can get sloshed and really lose our heads!"

In Bangkok - the terminology of 'happy ending' refers to the outcome of a massage. I'll leave it to you to interpret that how you will...

From the comfort of your cosy armchair in front of a crackling log fire, sipping a glass of sherry - it's sure a minefield out there!

stephen.

I didn't like him too much. That's why I killed him. With a knife. And a prayer. You wouldn't have thought I could do it, not after all those years of trying. But I did it. And I laughed...

We all laughed. Laughed like we couldn’t believe it. Laughed some more. Then again.

The world would be a better place without him. We all knew that. The police would be here soon. They would be serious. Ask all sorts of questions. Like, why are you laughing?

I didn’t care.

What could they do? Nothing. I would be untouchable. The media would see to that. I’ll plead insanity. The knock on the door heralds the beginning of the bureaucratic nightmare. First the sniffer dog. A large Alsatian. Then its handler. Then two worried uniformed officers.

I show them the body. The one with the knife.

I explain, laughing. ‘Meet Satan…’

"Buy a watch from an old soldier!" On the whistling, snowy street corner, the hoary stooped figure stared sightlessly. He had been blind since the mine explosion which killed two comrades. The violet-gold phantasmagoria was the last image he'd seen. He bore a tray of scarred time-pieces hoping to sell enough for a bed at the hostel this winter night. Shivering, he heard footsteps approaching.

"Help a veteran of Passchendaele, guv'nor. Buy a watch from me."

The newcomer halted. A fist in the elder's face knocked him to the ground. Pain… blood pouring hot from his nostrils, he tasted it too… felt the watches scattered on the pavement crunching as he rolled on them… his money bag gone… The running footfall was fading away.

The blow had shifted the shrapnel. He opened his eyes. Crystal flakes. A silver sky above. Light whooshing back. The old man gasped in elation.

Five minutes, that’s all.

He became a recluse after a drunk driver killed Laura, his only daughter, at seventeen years old. But he had a plan. It took five years to get the time shift viewer built, two years to locate the car keys and three years to intensify the field so he could move them. After ten years work he made his attempt to push them off the table into the waste basket. It just needed a small delay so she wouldn’t be there at the lights. The forces involved were massive and the set fused beyond repair in the attempt. He went into the garden not knowing if he’d succeeded. Weary beyond measure he slept.

“Grandad, wake up!”

He opened his eyes. There she was, Laura at twenty-eight, with her children.

“Sorry we’re late, Dad. I couldn’t find my car keys” and the children were saying “Mummy, why is Grandad crying?”

So it turns out vampire guy did manage to extinguish himself before the end! But he used holy water so that was okay. I put a couple of silvers in the back of the ethnicky zooanthrope's skull and hung him up in the tree in my garden. Give the rest of them something to bloody well howl about.

And panting pre-menstrual cheekbone chick got so lost in her own wistful anguish that she forgot to look where she was going and went poignantly under a truck.

Result.

The Party

Anthony addresses the mourners, smiling. ‘I loved Dad because he worried about us, because he made sure that if a job was worth doing, it was worth making hard work of and because he always had a van needing an urgent wheel-change whenever there was a family Christmas.’

Half the village is here to honour their oldest resident. I find Mum a shady spot in the garden where she can watch her great-grandchildren play. ‘You all right, Mum?’

Her gesture encompasses sixty-seven years of happy marriage and four generations; her mouth curves with the contentment of a life well-lived and the placid acceptance that she’s ready to leave it, when her time comes. ‘We spoke about death, your Dad and me. He said, “Scatter my ashes in the orchard, by the seat, and throw a huge party.” I said, “But you hate parties, love.”’ Her eyes twinkle. ‘He just smiled.’

I Dreamed A Dream

A friend told me about the fun competitions on The Cloud. Why, she said, didn’t I join? I had a look, the way you can. She was right... and there was more awaiting; friends, help, critiques, discussion... but first, the competition. I read her entry... I read the others. I was impressed, terrifyingly, almost finger-tapping-paralysed impressed.

There’s always beginners luck... Click on “join here”, tap a bit, and there I am, Nancy. And there I am, stuck; life doesn’t do happy endings. I thought and thought, and fell asleep.

There was a knock on the door. I opened it and found the lady from the flower shop standing on the step. ‘I’ve heard of cats and dogs falling from the clouds, but never flowers. Still, it’s good for business. Well done, Nancy.’

Between.Loves

I am back in the time between, but I don’t know that, not yet. Now, at this moment, it is the end; the end of all hope, of all happiness, and despair swamps me in waves of helpless grief. He’s gone, lost forever, and loneliness stretches before me with terrifying, and endless, non-absolution. I shall never again know love or find happiness.

I struggle from the abyss of recurring nightmare, and relief rearranges my lips into a smile. My sleep has been disturbed, once again, by the sound of snoring. It’s the most wonderful sound in the world, ask any widow, especially one who, like me, has survived the time between and found that long hoped-for second love.

I’d overheard my peer’s name-calling – weirdo, spastic, downsie; branded forever the slit-eyed kid whose gentle mother made rather too much fuss of him.

“Point - White!”

White; colour of truth and virtue. A pity then that I had drawn red.

The dojo was at capacity, doubtless to witness popular, conformist McAllen deal out another pasting. Their wish was granted in less than two seconds, a strategically placed roundhouse kick to the face sent my contorted body reeling backwards. My gum-shield span on the mat as I viewed it from a level plain; cool plastic helping to revive me. Whoever scored next would win.

McAllen’s smirk only served to spur me on. How dare he? I would prove his Nemesis, it was only fair. All my strength, determination, channelled into one final blow.

“Point - Red! Win - Red!”

The audience appeared delighted... Why?

I needed to hug the referee. Squeeze!

The Gift of Life

Man: “Dear God, take me, but save my grandson. You took his parents, and with them, his voice. Please spare him now. As we hurtle towards the sea my senses savour the squeeze of his tiny hand. The panicking passengers are blurred, their screams muffled. Never again will I run my unsteady fingers through his soft, golden hair. Nor will I behold his innocent face light up as we touch down in Lapland. A dream never to become a memory. His squeeze is met with a grip that merely crushes. His eyes seek reassurance but I cannot give it. My eyes return only love. My beautiful little boy, I love you very... But wait, what is this? The engines! The engines are firing up. The plane is rising. We’re saved! Thank you God. Thank you so much.”

God: “Don’t mention it. Enjoy your trip"

Roses are red
Violets are blue
Let me win this compition
And I'll be happy too.

Roses are red
Violets are blue
Let me win this compitition
And I'll be happy too.

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“Bloody Death ‘you can’t die you don’t have a name blaa blaa blaa’. If he could die I would be bloody killing him.” John grumbled to himself as he climbed back inside his body for the third time that day. He pulled his Cloak back around him hiding the scars of his previous deaths and fumbled in his pockets to make sure the thieves hadn’t stolen the one item he held precious. He climbed back on his horse and continued onto his rendezvous with Death himself.

A guards dead body lay by the gate as John rode up to the city entrance, the ground around him was littered with dead bandits, swords, lances and arrows. An inspection from Johns foot revealed that none of the corpses were punctured or showed any visible mark of how they died.

John eyed each one carefully. The guards body was certainly in the best condition, and to leave it to decay when his current skin was falling to pieces was, in his eyes, a waste.

The Engagement Ring

(148 words)

Inspired by romance on Word Cloud, I began searching for my own engagement ring.

Stolen nineteen years ago, I reasoned that sufficient time had elapsed. The precious ring may have changed hands again and found its way back to our own county.

My first foray around an antique warehouse left my dream unrealised, but this did not deter me. The search still goes on.

Victorian gold, sapphires and diamonds shone out from the window of an antique shop in August 1967. It was a happy day filled with images of our shared future. We wondered about its history and hoped it had witnessed a previous long and happy partnership.

The end of August 2010 is nigh and the beautiful ring remains elusive.

But this story has a happy ending, for the symbolism of a simple band of gold and a sapphire and diamond ‘ring of eternity’ linger on.