Showing posts with label Liz Haigh. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Liz Haigh. Show all posts
I am Hope
By Liz Haigh
The boy asked too many questions. He didn’t trust or respect me. If he knew even half the truth he would have been stunned into silence. But back then he knew nothing, none of them did. When he looked at me, all he saw was a teenage girl, about the same age as him who had got lucky when the danger had come and led the six of us here.
“What are we doing here? You promised to bring us to safety. How can we be safe in some dark derelict church?”
I did not answer him. He responded by asking more questions.
“Who are you anyway? You’re very young to be in the Special Forces.”
Young! He would be really shocked if he knew how old I really was. More questions followed.
“If you are Special Forces, why haven’t you taken us to the United Forces Base? It is only a mile down the road from here. That’s where most people try to escape to when trouble comes.”
“My orders were to keep you safe,” I replied, though this is not strictly true. This boy, Travis doesn’t feature in my instructions at all. I’m not sure why I bought him and the other two boys who are with us for that matter. It is the girls I need to protect, one of them in particular. More questions follow from Travis.
“Surely we would be safer at the Base? How can you possibly keep us safe here? It is only a matter of time until they find us.” At this comment one of the girls began to cry.
“Be quiet” I told her, my words coming out sharper than I intended them too. I pulled Travis over to one side. I took his hand and I pressed his palm on to the side of one of the stone columns which is supporting the great church roof.
“Feel that. There is a power in there can’t you feel it? This stone is thousands of years old. How old is the United Forces Army Base?”
“What are you talking about?” He asked.
“When was the base built? Was it built in your lifetime?”
“Err, yes it was built when I was little - about ten years ago”. He replied. He was much less sure of himself now.
“Is it built in stone?” I asked
“How is this relevant?”
“Answer my question!” I demanded.
Finally he confessed. “No, it is concrete - but I’m sure it is reinforced.”
“So, it is only ten years old, reinforced concrete. Where as this church has been on this site for more than three thousand years. Tell me, in just a hundred years from now which would you expect will still be here? The church or the United Forces Base?”
I am no longer pressing his palm hard against the stone pillar but he still keeps it there. For the briefest moment I suspect he is starting to tap into its power.
“I guess it’s the Church,” he replied.
‘Good answer,’ I said. I started to walk away but he grabbed my hand and pulled me back to him.
“Who are you?” His question unnerves me. He looks into my eyes and I feel like he is looking deep inside me. I am new to the human body form. It is taking some getting used to. I don’t want you to think I am not used to feelings and emotions. But the feelings I have within this body, the feeling of touch, the sharp sense of smell and the visions I can see with my own eyes, they are all very powerful experiences. Before I came to earth I assumed humans were very primitive beings, now I am not so sure.
Travis still had hold of my arm. “Who are you?” He asked again. I so wanted to tell him everything but he was not ready to hear it all yet. So I told him the only thing he was ready to hear.
“I am Hope.”
- - -
Liz Haigh lives in Cheshire in the UK. She works at a university library which is her dream job because she loves books. Her work has appeared in, Linnet’s Wings, Apollo's Lyre, Eclectic Flash, The Legendary, Foundling Review, Blink, Delivered, WEIRDYEAR and other places..
By Liz Haigh
The boy asked too many questions. He didn’t trust or respect me. If he knew even half the truth he would have been stunned into silence. But back then he knew nothing, none of them did. When he looked at me, all he saw was a teenage girl, about the same age as him who had got lucky when the danger had come and led the six of us here.
“What are we doing here? You promised to bring us to safety. How can we be safe in some dark derelict church?”
I did not answer him. He responded by asking more questions.
“Who are you anyway? You’re very young to be in the Special Forces.”
Young! He would be really shocked if he knew how old I really was. More questions followed.
“If you are Special Forces, why haven’t you taken us to the United Forces Base? It is only a mile down the road from here. That’s where most people try to escape to when trouble comes.”
“My orders were to keep you safe,” I replied, though this is not strictly true. This boy, Travis doesn’t feature in my instructions at all. I’m not sure why I bought him and the other two boys who are with us for that matter. It is the girls I need to protect, one of them in particular. More questions follow from Travis.
“Surely we would be safer at the Base? How can you possibly keep us safe here? It is only a matter of time until they find us.” At this comment one of the girls began to cry.
“Be quiet” I told her, my words coming out sharper than I intended them too. I pulled Travis over to one side. I took his hand and I pressed his palm on to the side of one of the stone columns which is supporting the great church roof.
“Feel that. There is a power in there can’t you feel it? This stone is thousands of years old. How old is the United Forces Army Base?”
“What are you talking about?” He asked.
“When was the base built? Was it built in your lifetime?”
“Err, yes it was built when I was little - about ten years ago”. He replied. He was much less sure of himself now.
“Is it built in stone?” I asked
“How is this relevant?”
“Answer my question!” I demanded.
Finally he confessed. “No, it is concrete - but I’m sure it is reinforced.”
“So, it is only ten years old, reinforced concrete. Where as this church has been on this site for more than three thousand years. Tell me, in just a hundred years from now which would you expect will still be here? The church or the United Forces Base?”
I am no longer pressing his palm hard against the stone pillar but he still keeps it there. For the briefest moment I suspect he is starting to tap into its power.
“I guess it’s the Church,” he replied.
‘Good answer,’ I said. I started to walk away but he grabbed my hand and pulled me back to him.
“Who are you?” His question unnerves me. He looks into my eyes and I feel like he is looking deep inside me. I am new to the human body form. It is taking some getting used to. I don’t want you to think I am not used to feelings and emotions. But the feelings I have within this body, the feeling of touch, the sharp sense of smell and the visions I can see with my own eyes, they are all very powerful experiences. Before I came to earth I assumed humans were very primitive beings, now I am not so sure.
Travis still had hold of my arm. “Who are you?” He asked again. I so wanted to tell him everything but he was not ready to hear it all yet. So I told him the only thing he was ready to hear.
“I am Hope.”
- - -
Liz Haigh lives in Cheshire in the UK. She works at a university library which is her dream job because she loves books. Her work has appeared in, Linnet’s Wings, Apollo's Lyre, Eclectic Flash, The Legendary, Foundling Review, Blink, Delivered, WEIRDYEAR and other places..
Acapulco Trickster
By Liz Haigh
Consider the impact knowing the exact hour of your death would have on your life.
Sitting at a street side café, Mark Prestwick was considering this as he drank his strong coffee and fiddled with a breakfast burrito that he had no appetite to actually eat. So far, his wild weekend away in Acapulco had not gone at all like he had planned. The gorgeous girls with the raven hair whom he had been chatting with in the bar last night had disappeared as quickly as his wallet had, and he had no idea what was in those Devil’s Potion cocktails, but his head this morning buzzed like a room full of angry bees.
Drinking coffee in an attempt to clear his head, he remembered last night’s dream. Was it a dream? It seemed so real. It must have been the drink. It can’t have been real. The Mr Lucky clown with that silly yellow hat was a life-sized photo on the sign outside his hotel, not a real person. And yet in the middle of the night, Mr Lucky Clown, complete with his silly yellow hat, walked into Mark’s bedroom and announced:
“Good evening Mr. Prestwick. Luck is not on your side I see. I could change that for you. I could tell you the exact hour of your death.”
“Just go away” blurted Mark.
“Now just think about it Mr Prestwick. Think about how useful knowing that information will be.”
“Am I going to die now?” grunted Mark.
“No, of course not. It’s most likely you are not going to die for many years. But just think how useful it would be to know. Especially for a man in your business, you sell life insurance for a living don’t you?”
“What is the catch?”
“No catch at all. I am not the devil. I will return tomorrow night; and if you want to know the exact time of your death I will tell you. If not, I will just go away.” With that he had left. Mark rolled over and fell back asleep.
Drinking his coffee in the daylight, Mark dismissed his encounter with Mr Lucky Clown as a weird dream brought on by drink. But seeing as he lost most his money last night and didn’t have many options of what to do that day, he decided to consider the clown’s offer.
Knowing the exact time of your death would affect how you lived, your actions, your risks, your finances. Pension planning would be less of a gamble.
Mark decided that if this strange clown did visit him again and offer to tell him the hour of the death, he would take him up on the offer. Mark paid his bill and left the café. He was still thinking about the clown, so deep in thought he did not see the bus coming.
He stepped right out in front of it and was killed instantly.
Across the street a short figure in a silly yellow hat laughed and walked away.
- - -
Liz Haigh lives in Cheshire in the UK. She works at a university library which is her dream job because she loves books. Most of her published work thus far has been in Red, Prima, Woman and Home and regularly in Women’s Weekly (UK print editions). She has had some flash fiction appear, or about to appear in, Bewildering Stories, The Legendary, Story Garden 8, Foundling Review, Blink and Delivered.
By Liz Haigh
Consider the impact knowing the exact hour of your death would have on your life.
Sitting at a street side café, Mark Prestwick was considering this as he drank his strong coffee and fiddled with a breakfast burrito that he had no appetite to actually eat. So far, his wild weekend away in Acapulco had not gone at all like he had planned. The gorgeous girls with the raven hair whom he had been chatting with in the bar last night had disappeared as quickly as his wallet had, and he had no idea what was in those Devil’s Potion cocktails, but his head this morning buzzed like a room full of angry bees.
Drinking coffee in an attempt to clear his head, he remembered last night’s dream. Was it a dream? It seemed so real. It must have been the drink. It can’t have been real. The Mr Lucky clown with that silly yellow hat was a life-sized photo on the sign outside his hotel, not a real person. And yet in the middle of the night, Mr Lucky Clown, complete with his silly yellow hat, walked into Mark’s bedroom and announced:
“Good evening Mr. Prestwick. Luck is not on your side I see. I could change that for you. I could tell you the exact hour of your death.”
“Just go away” blurted Mark.
“Now just think about it Mr Prestwick. Think about how useful knowing that information will be.”
“Am I going to die now?” grunted Mark.
“No, of course not. It’s most likely you are not going to die for many years. But just think how useful it would be to know. Especially for a man in your business, you sell life insurance for a living don’t you?”
“What is the catch?”
“No catch at all. I am not the devil. I will return tomorrow night; and if you want to know the exact time of your death I will tell you. If not, I will just go away.” With that he had left. Mark rolled over and fell back asleep.
Drinking his coffee in the daylight, Mark dismissed his encounter with Mr Lucky Clown as a weird dream brought on by drink. But seeing as he lost most his money last night and didn’t have many options of what to do that day, he decided to consider the clown’s offer.
Knowing the exact time of your death would affect how you lived, your actions, your risks, your finances. Pension planning would be less of a gamble.
Mark decided that if this strange clown did visit him again and offer to tell him the hour of the death, he would take him up on the offer. Mark paid his bill and left the café. He was still thinking about the clown, so deep in thought he did not see the bus coming.
He stepped right out in front of it and was killed instantly.
Across the street a short figure in a silly yellow hat laughed and walked away.
- - -
Liz Haigh lives in Cheshire in the UK. She works at a university library which is her dream job because she loves books. Most of her published work thus far has been in Red, Prima, Woman and Home and regularly in Women’s Weekly (UK print editions). She has had some flash fiction appear, or about to appear in, Bewildering Stories, The Legendary, Story Garden 8, Foundling Review, Blink and Delivered.
