Mirror World (8)

In the glow of the streetlights, I studied his features. High cheek bones, light brown hair flowing to the shoulder blades, and a goatee beard. Reminded me of Jorg from Skyn. Probably a fan. Dizzy, I staggered to the kerb and sat down on it.
He squatted beside me. ‘Are you not well?’ What was his accent? German?
‘No! I mean, yes. I mean, no, I’m fine.’
‘Do you need an ambulance? A hospital?’
I rubbed my chest. Funny, I hit the steering wheel hard and yet no tenderness. The light-headedness had eased with the sitting. ‘No, I think I’ll be okay.’
‘Are you sure? You did a very good job of car crashing and your car doesn’t look very well.’

Mirror World (7)

I closed the door with a thud and Nick Cowper pressed his remote controller. The noise and the croquet vanished. Cowper twisted his head, and he made no attempt to stop his gaze inspecting me from head to toe and lingering on my breasts. EEYOU! ‘So youse the nanny me betta ‘alf’s employed?’
I stroked my neck and nodded. No wonder Admiral Thumm was concerned. The smell of fermented hops mingled with rank body odour. Tails in a former life and world — Nick Cowper. And he spoke English with a cockney accent.

100-Word Challenge: The Parable of the Toilet Roll

Who would’ve thought the latest pandemic would act as the perfect cover, leading to a run on toilet paper.

Mirror World (6)

I checked the status of the boys. On the swings. Eight-year-old Max mounted higher and higher. Bet he won’t last five minutes before he jumps and scrapes his knees. Liam, six wiggled in his rubber sling. Two minutes before he yells out for a helping push.
‘Are you there?’ Jemima reminded me of her presence on the phone.
‘Yeah, I’m in Fatsgalf Hill, actually at the local park.’ I strode up to Liam and his swing all twisted ready to spring into a spin. Last thing I wanted was a dizzy vomiting boy. We’d left his mother in her interpretation of the “flu”, laid up in bed and bucket standing vigil by the bedside. More like hang-over, if you ask me. I slowly unwound Liam and his swing. ‘What happened to you? Last Sunday you never came, and I’ve been trying to contact you all week.’

Mirror World (4)

‘Not a valid number. Please try again. Not a valid number please try again.’ The phone repeated in my ear.
Three meters away sat Kirk, son of Boris. I turned away and then raised the newspaper to my face. Hope he hasn’t seen me. Better still, hope he’s Mirror’s Kirk. My arteries thumped inside my head.

Mirror World (3)

The writing in La Liberté blurred. I’d been putting up with this reverse script for over two years and still I struggled with it. I had to concentrate so hard reading from right to left and all the words reversed as in a mirror (and French!). The only relief, colour print advertisements sponsored by the force behind the newspaper, Hunter Driver. My head ached. Come on Jemima, I’m sick of reading your world’s news.

Mirror World (2)

While Liesel waded through the crowd to the counter, I leaned over to Driver. ‘How’s your brother?’
‘Told you,’ she whispered.
‘So, it’s true, then.’
‘What about Delaney? He stayed behind to rescue her.’
‘She made it. But he just had to get a few more of Boris’ mutant prisoners to safety…he gave his life…’ Driver stretched her top lip over her teeth, closed her eyes, and shook her head.

leeannemarieblog

Australian Artist and Author and her reflections on storytelling, art and life.