This challenge required the use of a many different words. This is the result.
CREATIVE THINKING:
The birds were eating the strawberries, again!
In desperation we’d created a scarecrow from a shop mannequin. Jeff decided to mount it on a rumba vacuum cleaner and have it slowly pass along a row, on a track, revolve at the end and move back again. I’d been to town and as I drove past the strawberry field, I saw that the cheeky sod had dressed the mannequin in my sexy-lingerie. My plans for a relaxing amorous evening were shattered.
“What sort of skulduggery have you been up to?” I snapped, throwing the groceries on the bench.
“Did you see her? I thought she looked rather delicious.” His grin annoyed me.
“You can forget a night of fun. I had plans for those fancy threads and it won’t include you after your unscrupulous behaviour.”
His face clouded, his lips became a tight line and he looked the image of his grandfather in the sepia photograph hanging in the hall.
“I am not amused,” I said, parroting Queen Victoria. “If you want to get back into favour you can put the mannequin into a pair of your boxers and if you’re thinking of giving it an erection then don’t use a carrot. Use a yam. instead.”
“Ouch. That’s a bit below the belt.”
Too bad.
“I stopped at the Op’ Shop and bought a floaty skirt and blouse, a large sunhat, a toy rifle and a couple of old C.D.s. If we dress the mannequin in these, put the plastic rifle in her arms and hang the C.D.’s from her hat - the birds will be terrified.”
“C.D.s?”
“They revolve in the wind, on string, making strobe lights that flash and bounce off trees and obstacles. It worked a treat on the apples and pears. Scarier than my underwear
Something more serious: I called it ELECTIVE SURGERY
“I’ll see you tomorrow then,” she said as she turned to go.
“No, you won’t.” The Fruit Vendor smiled at her, his sightless eyes looking slightly to her left.
Every day, for as long as she could remember, from her childhood to her present life as a young bride, he’d sat on this corner, selling the fruit of his family’s gardens; his agile fingers caressing the shapes, deftly placing them in bags as he counted. Not once had she been able to catch him in a miscalculation, nor had he ever passed her the wrong change.
At times she had wondered at his blindness; wondered if it were partial; wondered if it were faked. Yet, if she came upon him quietly and stood watching, her voice silent, she would see him slump between customers. An air of despair would descend; to be thrown off instantly upon the sound of her footsteps. Today, as always, he was cheerful. His brown face wrinkled by his smile.
“What are you going to do tomorrow?” she asked. “Do you have a family celebration?” She knew a lot about his extended family from their conversations over the years.
He gestured for her to move close, and closer again.
“May I?” His hand moved tentatively to touch her, his fingers gently feeling her face, tracing the shape of her chin, with a touch as light as a butterfly’s step.
“Your hair?” he asked, his fingers moving up her cheek. He stroked the fine filaments, following the blonde threads down to her shoulders.
“So soft, he murmured, “like the blush on a peach.”
Withdrawing his hand, he sighed, “Ahh, Missy…. tomorrow, I hope to see again.” She took his hand in hers. She watched tears slide down his cheeks. “Shhhh……it’s a secret,” he whispered.
“You’re going to have surgery?” She held his hands in hers; squeezing them, delighted in her old friend’s news.
“Perhaps…yes, in a way, I will.” His mouth turned up a little at the corners, the essence of a secret smile peeping through. He wiped the tears away, energetically blew his nose and pushed his handkerchief back into the pocket of his faded shirt. She turned on hearing a cough beside her, and he turned also to beam at the new customer.
“I’ll see you soon then,” she said, picking up her bag of fruit and turning to go.
“I hope to see you tomorrow.” he answered firmly, turning his head in her direction, before serving his customer.
She puzzled over his comment as she walked back through the bazaar, the colours of the saris pulsating in the morning sun. The smell of the spices, spread in their trays, filled her mind with memories of family dinners and celebrations. If he would not be here tomorrow, she wondered, where would he be that he could see her? Finally deciding she’d misheard, or misunderstood, she brushed his parting comment away and continued with her shopping.
He wasn’t there the next day and neither was the family. The vegetable market site was closed, the shutters down. She peered at the handwritten notice, in red crayon on a piece of cardboard, tacked to the door post. ‘Closed, due to a death in the family’.
How sad, she thought, I do hope Mr. Sethi managed to have his surgery.
When the stall opened several days later she asked his son how his father’s surgery went.
“What surgery? No surgery.” The son looked offended, a deep frown on his forehead.
“I’m sorry, I must have misunderstood. How is your father? I see he isn’t here.”
“He is with the Lord. He is in a better place.”
“You mean he’s dead?”
“Yes Missy, very sudden. A big shock to all of us.” The son tightened his mouth, pointed to the fruit, his raised eyebrows querying if she wanted anything else. The discussion about his father was obviously closed. He finished serving her and passed quickly to the next customer. Buying her daily fruit would never be the same.
It took a few days before she learned the story through her maid, of Mr. Sethi’s death. The gossip in the bazaar was that Mr. Sethi had slashed his wrists while his family was at church. Not a nice thing for them to find on their return. But the old man had been most considerate. He had done it in the bath - with a very sharp knife.
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NEW RELEASE (e-book available now for the price of a cup of coffee!)
Guardian's Game is a whimsical, heartwarming fantasy about the messiness of love, the meddling of angels, and the beauty of human connection.
Henry and Alfred, two guardian angels, have spent centuries watching over their human charges. Now bored with their celestial duties, they strike a mischievous deal to meddle in the lives of their current charges, Shelly and Luke, and push them towards romance.
But Shelly, a fiery woman struggling with body image, and Luke, a shy man with an injury, seem like an odd match. Getting them to fall in love might be more challenging than the angels anticipated.
Guardian’s Game: A sweet romance with the meddling of angels.
Link: https://geni.us/Izxe2
