Amie tried not to think of what the mob might be doing to Joseph right now. But the more she tried, the more frequent images of his torture—hanging from a tree—in stocks—thrown in a river—kept crowding her mind.Read more "Lost World of the Wends (51)"
So how do we manage this stifling heat? These days it’s about cranking up the refrigerated air conditioners, getting on with our busy lives of work or leisure in air-conditioned comfort while being concerned for our poor relations who have no relief from the heat.Read more "Daily Prompt: Stifle"
Dan groaned, ‘I think I’m going to barf.’ He cupped his hand over his chin.
‘Sorry, mate, try not to. Look, I have to get out and find help,’ Arthur said. He wished Dan was well enough to accompany him. But for some reason, the so-called space travel had drained Dan’s physical resources more than his own. He studied the rest of the travellers. They’d been stuck in this bus longer than he had and so were weaker from dehydration and lack of food. It was up to him. Arthur kicked the window again. His foot slipped on the glass.
At 7.15am I peeled off my sleeping bag, pulled on my jeans, windcheater and anorak to fend off the early-morning cold, and then shuffled through the annex of our tent where our boys slept.
Wait a minute…one’s missing.
Dan rubbed his eyes and blinked. He looked at Heidi, Jakob’s wife.
Her eyes widened, and she screamed.
Shouting echoed across the road.
Frieda placed her loads down, and then ducked behind the acacia bush. She watched through the lattice of leaves and listened. Mike, the father of the young family next door to Ned, raged at a pot-bellied man.
Frieda frowned. ‘Poor Mike, still in his pyjamas. Hmm, he doesn’t look happy. Wonder what Pot-belly did to wake him up?’
Friedrich bit into his bread-meal that Walter named a “burger”. He thought that was a strange name for bread buns with meat in the middle. His father was a “burgher”, but here these people from the world of Australia called food, “burgers”.Read more "Lost World of the Wends (48)"
The K-Team settled down by the fire and munched on lamb chops, baked potatoes with slathers of butter, and juicy canned corn. Ah, this is the life! Surrounded by Glen Helen’s cliffs of red iron, tranquil waters below, ducks quacking, and the cry of Mrs T rising above the hubbub of fellow campers.
‘Oh, no, the T-Team’ve had back luck again!’ I said.
‘The schnitzels have gone off!’ Mrs T’s voice echoed, bouncing off the nearby cliffs.
And here’s me with all my romantic memories of apple-picking in Tasmania. Did I mention that when I worked in Judbury, my fellow-workers were all locals and I was the one who was from “overseas”, the mainland? And here I was thinking that Son 2 who needs work, could go to Tasmania and pick apples. Am I not an average Aussie? I ask you.Read more "Tuesday Thoughts: Seasonal Work"
Amie remained crouched out of sight under the pipe organ. Good thing Boris is so full of his own importance, he hasn’t noticed me, she thought.
A couple of times she considered shooting Boris.
She saw him, an over-sized cockroach plastered against the back wall. But too many heads in the way. Guns from the olden days weren’t so accurate and neither was she.