Tag Archives: Melanie

FF – Merry Go Round #2

This week’s photo could have been taken for my story a couple of weeks ago. So much so, that I decided to add a part 2 from a different perspective. If you know Melanie’s story at all, you might wonder who this is. I had Mrs Mwanna in mind to begin with, but now I’m wondering if it could be her Dad. Up to you.

Feel free to read its precursor here first, afterwards, or not at all.

Thank you to Brenda Cox for this week’s photo. Not sure why WordPress isn’t letting me caption it direct.

Merry Go Round #2

The merry go round’s gone to rack and ruin.

That’s what I think when Melanie tells me her theory about God. The man in the middle is too busy spoiling everyone’s fun to notice the paint is faded and the horses have lost their smiles.

I know the emperor’s naked, but pointing it out would be counterproductive. For me, the beauty could never be the horses anyway. For me, it’s the little girl in the bright flowery dress who still sees gleaming gold and prancing ponies. The girl clutching my hand, squealing her delight and enjoying everything about the ride.

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FF – Merry-go-round

This lovely image from Dale called up Melanie to me. You can read other stories about her by clicking on her name.

Merry-go-round

When I was little, I used to think the sun rose in the morning. Like God held onto a puppet string. Up in the morning, down at night, on and on for all eternity.

But Miss Carbo says the sun stays still and the planets go around it like ponies on the merry-go-round and the sun is the bit in the middle with all the mirrors and the music player.

So where is God if He doesn’t pull on a string? Maybe He’s the man who sits in the middle and shouts if you don’t stay sitting till it stops.

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FF – A Single Candle

Photo credit to Na’ama Yehuda

A Single Candle

Father Michael was glaring, hellfire shooting at me out of his eyes. I stopped dancing and bowed my head, but it still felt like he was watching.

“We’re supposed to listen to the music. It makes us feel closer to God,” he said after. I knew he meant me.

I asked Ms Mwanna later. “How can God make Father Michael angry when He’s the one who made me dance?”

“Your God makes a lot of people angry,” she said. “Keep dancing, my girl. I reckon you’re closer to Him than they are anyway. One day, you’ll light up their darkness.”

Extroduction

Melanie is a recurring character in my blog, and one of my favourite characters to write. You can find more of her stories using the Melanie tag.

As for this story and photograph, snow in July throws me for a loop. A friend recently posted a skiing photo on Facebook. It took too many seconds for me to realise she hadn’t shared a memory… she lives in New Zealand!!

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FF – Motherhood

Photo credit: Miles Rost

Motherhood

We used to go for walks across the bridge. In the middle there’s this bit that sticks out, so you can stop and look through the fence and watch the trains and swans underneath. The trains chatter and race. Mummy used to say they were racing to the next delay.

I liked the swans better. They glided down the river however fast the river flowed. Last time we went, there was a mummy swan with a little baby. Mummy said she was teaching it to swim, but the little swan was going first. I think it was teaching her too.

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FF – Not Listening

Picture courtesy of CE Ayr (https://ceayr.com/). Can’t you just feel that sand beneath your feet?

Not Listening

“Miss Rudy says I should audition. She says I might enjoy it. She says being in a play is like becoming somebody else. But I don’t know. What if I forget all my lines? Or fall over? And one of the girls you have to kiss a boy at the end.”

Mrs Mwanna is doing that thing where she wanders around muttering and you don’t know if she’s listening or not. Sometimes she is, but this time I know she wasn’t because she looks right at me and says “You’ll never enjoy swimming if you’re busy looking out for jellyfish.”

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FF – Rescue

Thank you to Alicia Jamtaas for the photo, her site is here: https://lishwriter.wordpress.com/

Rescue

Lyla woke with a start. The room was dark and quiet. Gentle breathing from her left the only thing to hang onto. The world wasn’t ending.

She wrapped herself in a blanket and padded into the next room. The baby was sleeping soundly, her mouth slightly open, her face calm. Lyla’s mind spiked again with the vision of that same face contorted in terror, dropping away into the abyss and her own arms reaching desperately through the air.

Lyla’s face touched the baby’s hair as she climbed into the crib. “You caught me,” she whispered, finally able to relax again.

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FF – Mrs Mwanna and Jesus

Photo credit, Marie Gail Stratford https://www.mgisms.org/

Mrs Mwanna and Jesus

Everyone’s eyes were red. Someone she didn’t know touched Daddy’s arm, then pulled away like he was fire. Melanie stared at a water bottle someone left on a pew.

Daddy was in the pulpit, talking. Melanie couldn’t hear him, her ears were stuffed with rabbit fur.

Mrs Mwanna was staring at Jesus and muttering, which was funny, because Mrs Mwanna didn’t believe. What was she saying to Him? Was she telling him off? Melanie wanted to tell him off too, but she didn’t want to be smited. She needed Jesus to be on her side right now. More than ever.

*****

Extroduction: For those who haven’t followed this blog since the dawn of time, Melanie is a recurring character. Melanie is around 8 years old. Her family attend a Christian church with a fire and brimstone priest. Mrs Mwanna is her wonderful, non-Christian neighbour. Her Mother has terminal cancer. Melanie’s story is one of her trying to reconcile her faith and the teachings of her church with the realities of her experiences. Where this particular clip fits in, is for your imagination to decide.

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FF – Scissors

 Happy New Year! As I approach a ‘big’ birthday at the end of the year, I have decided to try to develop 40 healthy habits which fit into my life and improve my health, mentally or physically, my relationships or my impact on the world. I hope more frequent Friday Fiction contributions can be one of them.

The photographer this week is Jan Wayne Fields, and other FF stories can be found at https://rochellewisoff.com/

“The ball just won’t go in for me,” Melanie whined.

Mrs Mwanna stopped tidying her desk to look at the four-foot-nothing bundle of potential and frustration on her couch. “Maybe netball’s not the right fit for you,” she said, gently. “You’ll find your groove.”

“I don’t fit anywhere!”

Mrs Mwanna straightened the pens in a pot. Lined up neatly; soldiers on parade. Too many, really, she mused. I should probably get rid of a few.

A grunt of despair brought her attention back to her young friend.

“You are too special,” she said, “Too important. There’s nothing tidy about scissors.”

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FF – Freedom

Waking before the kids for the first time in a while, it occurred to me that it was Wednesday and I could use the time to join in Friday Fictioneers for the first time in years. The prompt is one I’ve used before (see my previous story here: https://elmowrites.wordpress.com/2013/12/18/friday-fictioneers-dreams/) but I decided to make up a new one. I’ve missed my favourite character, Melanie, so I let her have her say about the picture this time and my story is below. Your comments and critique are welcome.

The central FF post is here: https://rochellewisoff.com/2020/07/29/31-july-2020/ with a link to other stories. Thank you again to Jean L. Hays for the photo.

dolphin_01

Freedom

I want to swim with dolphins, but we should let them go free.

We’re caged ourselves now. No parks, no school, no visiting Mummy. Dolphins have been trapped like this forever: staring at the ocean through the bars of a cage.

They say swimming with dolphins makes you feel free, but how can you feel free in a cage? I want to jump off the back of a fishing boat when a pod comes by, and splash through the waves and hang onto a fin when I’m tired, like Daddy carrying me home from school back when there was school.

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Covenant

After a long (looong) hiatus, I have been inspired by an old writing buddy to pop back and post about an old, fictional friend. Melanie never ages, so she is still 7ish, but now Sebastian is 7 too; he wasn’t born when she started being 7 in my head. Yesterday we chalked our walk (and those of some friends we are missing!) – the blue writing above it is hard to read but says “We’re in this together”.

 

rainbow

Covenant

When I stuck the last red heart to the living room window it made a complete rainbow of hearts and I couldn’t see so much of the street outside. For a whole week now, we’ve been stuck here, in the house, waiting. Waiting for the government to say we can go out again? Waiting to get bored? That’s happened already. Just waiting, I guess. Every day, I’ve folded and cut and pasted up tissue paper hearts of a different colour. Now the rainbow is done and I’ll have to think of something else to do with the long hours indoors.

Looking out of the window doesn’t help really. There’s nothing to see. A few people wearing those little blue paper masks. They wear those at the hospital a lot, but they’re everywhere. Do they really help? Does the invisible enemy really care about a tiny scrap of paper?

Mrs Mwana has put up a rainbow too. Mrs Mwana always has amazing sweets that she keeps in a little jar and now the wrappers shine their colours across the street. “It’s like hugging,” Mrs Mwana said, “Put something in your window each day and I will do the same. That way we know each other is there.”

I said we should do a rainbow because the rainbow is the symbol of God’s covenant not to kill all the people again in a massive flood. Mrs Mwana doesn’t believe in God, so she said “I’m not sure about God, sweetheart, but this is our covenant. You and me.”

Mrs Mwana’s rainbow has stopped at the orange line. I should go across and check she’s OK, but Daddy said nobody was allowed to go outside or touch each other. It’s why we can’t visit Mummy at the hospital any more. Not even to say goodnight.

I wonder what Mummy is doing right now. Sleeping, probably, Mummy spends a lot of time sleeping. Last week, I was watching Mummy sleeping and I wondered how they would know when she died. Would she really look any different? I asked Mrs Mwana. Mrs Mwana said not to worry, the doctors would know. Then she said “And when it happens, you come and see me so that we can say goodbye to her spirit.”

Except now I can’t even hug Mummy goodnight and I can’t visit Mrs Mwana and if Mummy does die, there’ll be no way to say goodbye to her spirit because I’m locked in this stupid house with this stupid rainbow that doesn’t even block out the weird, broken world or the horrible virus that’s flooding across the planet to kill everyone I love.

I want tear down the hearts, because God broke his covenant and Mrs Mwana broke her covenant or she’s lying dead in her kitchen and can’t even tell me. Then I see something moving in her window. Mrs Mwana is taping red sweet wrappers over the top of the orange ones. She sees me and points upwards to where a cloud catches the light from her sweet wrappers, or maybe it’s God, painting his promise back onto the sky.

 

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