It’s been a few years now since we started going to the Royal parades at the Palace. Or ‘Buck House’ as my Dad calls it. He was always the Royalist, and proudly served his Queen and Country in Afghanistan. Took a bullet there too. But he was mostly cheerful, and I never heard him complain about anything.

He’d always make a point of going to London every year, in his bright red tunic and medals, to see the Queen and her Prince ride by in a beautiful carriage. He’d stand to attention and salute. Dad said she waved at him once, but he might have made that bit up!

One by one, we all got drawn in to his world, and travelled with him to London. We’d walk down the Mall, mix with the crowds, and soak in the atmosphere – so different from the quiet place where we live now.

We eventually learned the places to stand for the best view. Dad’s chest always swelled with pride when the soldiers rode past.

Every now and again though, I’d see his eyes glaze over. As much as he likes Elizabeth and Philip, he does miss Victoria and Albert. Dad always thinks of them as ‘his’ Queen and Prince. He’s seen a few come and go since then, but always come back to pay his respects.

Dad says, “Once you wear the Queen’s colours, you’re in for life, and the afterlife!”

 

This story is inspired by the photo supplied by Al Forbes of Sunday Photo Fiction, 23rd October 2016.  For more details click the logo.

To view other stories written for this challenge, please click here.

 

 

“And on to our final item – Lot number 42 – ‘The Royal Coat’, believed to be one of mysterious street artist Binky’s undiscovered earlier pieces.

A hush fell around the packed room. The auctioneer banged his gavel down with too much enthusiasm. It skidded into the third row, and rendered a tabloid journalist unconscious. No-one appeared to notice.

“Before we start, I must point out that this piece has an unusual covenant attached to it. The owner has to ensure the financial upkeep of the building to which it is attached.” Everyone agreed that the cost of the covenant would literally be a small price to pay.

With the gavel back in safe hands, the auction started. Things began steadily, with the serious players hanging back. But soon the price had crept up and over the £10 Million mark. Unbelievable! And so it went on…

When the hammer finally came down, there were gasps, cheers and hurried phone calls to editors. £520 Million was the final price!

Mr Inkerman and his class had been waiting nervously in a side room. When the news broke, there were hugs, high fives, and tears of joy. They hadn’t bid in the auction – they were, after all, just an art teacher and students in a crumbling college, that was being sold off to an uncaring City developer.

But Barry Inkerman (‘Binky’ to his students) had other ideas. They worked overnight on the college wall. It was all a bit rushed and raw – like someone learning their trade. But unmistakably Binky, for all that.

And now the college was safe. Who knows, it may even get a new extension for the Art department.

 

This story is inspired by the photo supplied by Al Forbes of Sunday Photo Fiction, August 28th, 2016.  For more details click the logo.

To view other stories written for this challenge, please click here.

 

Ever since my twin brother, Kyle, was killed in a road accident, I’ve come here in the late afternoon, to meditate and reflect. I sit here, overlooking the scene, and try and make sense of what happened. It was only a week ago, but the pain feels like a year of winter.

His car swerved off the coast road into a barrier and he was killed instantly. The post-mortem found he was well over the drink-drive limit, as he often was. The times we had all warned him…

I put on my headphones and try and chase the negative chatter from my mind. I’ve been using a system of binaural beats to help me drift into alpha state and relax. Ironically, it was Kyle who introduced me to it.

I must have fallen asleep, for almost the first time since it happened. After thirty minutes the audio moves on from alpha, into theta – where we access our dreams and nightmares. Another half hour, and it’s deeper into delta, where healing and regeneration takes place.

But to me, it all happened in an instant. I’m in the car with Kyle, as he’s driving towards the coast road lights. I’m telling him to slow down. But he’s telling me “No!”

His lips aren’t moving, it’s like I’m reading his thoughts. He could maybe stop the car this time, without hitting the girl on the crossing. But he can’t stop his drink driving. He said he’d already ‘seen’ his future. Soon, he will hit and kill someone. He said this way is ‘for the best’. He half turns to me and smiles. “See ya!”

Then I’m gone. Back on the grass, near a busy road junction, tears streaming down my face. Nothing in my headphones but silence.

 

This story is inspired by the photo supplied by Al Forbes of Sunday Photo Fiction, April 17th 2016.  For more details click the logo.

To view other stories written for this challenge, please click here.

 

“At the bottom of the field, James, is all that’s left of my first house. I know it’s just an old drainage pipe, but to me it’s a bitter reminder me of what used to be. Those houses had stood for a hundred years – they knew how to build them in those days. None of your modern conveniences, but I guess you can’t have everything. For years, I remember watching kids playing on the streets around here. They didn’t have much, but I’m sure they were all happy. I knew them – they were my people.

“It wasn’t just a house they tore down. It was a somebody’s home. Until the compulsory purchase order took it away. All in the name of progress.

“They said these terrace streets were overcrowded and unsanitary. So what! No one cared when I was brought up in one, we just had to manage. Now it’s all ‘Nanny State’, with your Health and Safety regulations to punish entrepreneurs like me. Overcrowding? I provided these people with a roof above their heads! Of course I got compensation for all of my houses that they bulldozed, but what about my future profits?

“I’m well out of it. They’re pushing honest businessmen like me away, with their ‘affordable housing’. If it wasn’t for my offshore accounts, I’d be down to my last Bentley! Take me home, James.”

 

This story is inspired by the photo supplied by Al Forbes of Sunday Photo Fiction, April 10th, 2016.  For more details click the logo.

To view other stories written for this challenge, please click here.

Photo: © Al Forbes 2014

 

Even the worse storm of the winter has to pass. But this one wasn’t over yet. Jack Hammer saw swinging lanterns being carried towards the harbour, and was fully dressed by the time a knock came on his door. He hardly recognised a bedraggled Jeffrey Smith. “A ship’s been pulled onto the rocks, Jack! It may already be too late!”

Twenty minutes later, Jack and Jeffrey pushed their way through the throng at the harbour wall. Soon, they were among a small flotilla of boats battering their way towards the headland. The wind, though blustery had dropped, and the rain was little more than a drizzle. The moon kept a watchful eye through dark, scuttling clouds.

As they got nearer, the conversation from each little boat was overpowered by the shouting and pleading of the ship’s crew. Time was running out.

Jeff piloted the boat to within a short distance of the listing ship, as close as he dared. Jack instinctively checked his appearance in a hand-held mirror, before barking orders to his producer. “Jeff, make sure those other boats don’t get into shot! Get the sinking ship in the background! Where’s my cameraman? Are we rolling?”

“Hello and Welcome! I’m Jack Hammer. And as this nautical tragedy unfolds…What? The other crews are rescuing survivors? Get me onto that ship, Jeff! If my ratings sink because of this, I’ll keel haul you!”

 

This story is inspired by the photo supplied by Al Forbes of Sunday Photo Fiction, March 13th 2016.  For more details click the logo.

To view other stories written for this challenge, please click here.