Part Eight

"You don't seem very worried about the President denying some elements of modern science," said Melody, still on the phone with Aaron. "Aren't you afraid he'll influence researchers to post the wrong results?"

Part Six

Angel of Peace
by
Rodford Edmiston

Part One

The anniversary celebration of the D-Day landings on the Normandy coast of France was a big annual event. Especially this year, the 80th, largely because it was obvious that this was likely the last such celebration which many of the regular attendees among those who had been active participants in that invasion would be physically present for. Or present at all.

However, that limit did not apply to all those who had been on Normandy's beaches that day.

A Grumpy Old Man’s Tale 67 All Changes but Stays the Same

“Pease, Sir Mister, have you any food you would spare? We haven’t had anything to eat for eight days and are hungry. We should be grateful and remember you in our thoughts tonight before we fell asleep if you would help us.” Arathane truly believed he had seen the worst that outsiders were prepared to subject their children to, yet as he turned to face the voice the sight of the three barefoot little girls dressed in little more than rags took him aback to a place he hadn’t ever in his darkest moments believed could exist. None of the emaciated girls, barely more than toddlers, looked older than three.

Chapter 3

Jim woke slowly, wrapped in a warmth he hadn’t felt in decades. His limbs were heavy with sleep, his mind still floating in that soft, dreamy place where nothing hurt and nothing worried him. He hadn’t woken up to pee at 3 AM. He hadn’t woken up at all.

Then he shifted, and froze. The mattress beneath him was cold. His stomach dropped.
No. Not again.

Immortality can come in many ways, some see it as a blessing, others, a curse. A man lays on his deathbed, welcoming passing on. Then the curse happens.

CAUTION: this is not an overall happy story and may cause triggers.

© Maeryn Lamonte 2025

It took me a moment to adjust to the mid-morning sunlight. We’d emerged in front of an abandoned factory building on an abandoned factory site. It was actually a pretty good place to have kept me. Difficult to isolate the building I was in from the others. Easy to spot when the authorities turned up. Maybe even with an escape route somewhere, though knowing Peter, that’s where he’d likely have stopped thinking.

© Maeryn Lamonte 2025

No erotic dreams this time. Maybe down to the delay in taking my evening pills, maybe down to my body adapting to the changes, maybe down to the worries I was carrying. What I did dream about was juggling Fabergé Eggs while keeping balance on a unicycle on a tight wire over such a deep drop that all I could seems below me was cloud. On the plus side, I didn’t drop anything. On the minus, I woke up in a sweat without the benefit of the night’s rest.

Janet was a tea person and had a pot on the go when I emerged.

© Maeryn Lamonte 2025

© Maeryn Lamonte 2025

I was still in my nightdress when the doorbell rang the next morning. Fortunately, I’ve never quite lost the paranoia accompanying the possibility of being found out, so I always have a dressing gown nearby. This one was long enough to cover the depths of white lace currently cascading off my shoulders, so all I needed to do was pull it on and cinch the tie tight.

I had intended to leave this story after Part 6, but Part 7 was largely written, so rather than cutting off the story part way through I have uploaded it. I know the number of readers have been dropping steadily. That is understandable, but I do hope that many of you who have persevered have enjoyed the stories.

Visa

The police grilled Finley concerning his whereabouts during the time when the deaths occurred, but eventually his solicitor James, one of Finlay’s sons, said, “That’s it, Gentlemen. You now have to either charge my father or let him go. You know he was nowhere near the victims when their murders occurred and have no evidence a magistrate would accept to authorise you to retain him, so unless you wish to end up in the dock I suggest you allow him to go home.” Reluctantly they released Finley.

A Grumpy Old Man’s Tale 66 Storm Éolwenna

Alf was smiling as he said, “Gee, the bottom line for us here is your missus, despite being like all women a pain in the arse from time to time, is a good lass. Trust me she was nay different when she was a little lass, feisty didn’t even nick the edge of it. I mind when she first started learning to weld with me, four stone wringing wet through, [25Kg, 56 pounds] and scarce taller than my knees she was. That day she ran into my workshop to escape from some lads as were bullying her. She’d a bin seven and was wearing a summer frock. One of the boys followed her in. I’d never seen a fifteen year old lad laid out cold by a little lass with a tyre lever before. That’s many a day back, but you can still see where she brock his jaw in three places. No bugger ever tormented her for being trans and wearing a frock after that. Samantha is a good Bearthwaite lass. She’s an excellent wife and an even better mum. I don’t even want te think on what she’d do to any as threat her kids, and that’s what counts.”

Orla inserted her scuffed bronze-colored key into the lock, turned it, and opened the door. With its peeling light blue paint, it fortunately did nothing to betray the apartment's relative opulence.
It hadn't been like this when her and her grandmother, Kahri, first moved in. No, at that time, the place had been the dictionary definition of what the locals might call a "shithole," a term as unfamiliar to them as it was second nature to their new neighbors.

An aging queen returns to her old stomping ground for a final hurrah and is joined by someone starting their journey.

A Grumpy Old Man’s Tale 63 Ever Colder

Too, if a man doesn’t spend any time wi’ his missus what the hell did he marry her for because it ’ould a bin a sight cheaper te gang te Carlisle, Maryport, Workington or Whitehaven and renting a woman from one o’ the pubs. Gods alone knows there’re enough o’ ’em at cheap enough prices. If you’re a bit choosy and prepared to pay a bit more you could always try Keswick, Cockermouth or even Penrith where you’d find a better class o’ whooer. Mind, in times gone by there’s many a Bearthwaite man as went to one o’ those spots and found hisel a likely younger lass and brought her back to rear a family wi’. Not all whooers are sluts, many on ’em are just desperate, may be dumped by some arsehole and left wi’ kids te feed or even full o’ arms and legs as well. Decent women ’ll do owt to put food in their kids bellies. I learnt a long time since not to judge folk because you never get to find out all the circumstances. And think on, the gods alone know how many o’ us are alive because one of our female ancestors earnt a few shillings to feed her kids wi’ from time to time from the pack pony men down at the Dragon.

Getting everyone off the island was a chore and a half. They had to call to get some assistance from a British and American naval ship in the area. The seaplane Anika and her people came in had room for Sher Khan and Chaos. Samson didn’t want to travel in the same seaplane as the two giant animals, so he traveled with Jack and Nick on the British ship that was providing assistance. The five people Jack, Cheshire, and Nick rescued traveled on the US vessel. The department they belonged to authorized it.

Jack’s Ranch, infirmary:
Debbie, Silvia, and Selina were tending to the injured. Julia, Gina, Tizzy, Tizzy’s husband, Arnold, and several farm hands were either suffering from sword wounds or gunshot wounds.

Even some of the wolves were injured and being tended to. Haylee was tending to the wolves since she could get close to them without being bitten, and Rae was helping the wounded into the infirmary.

Looking Back from the Future
A Vignette
By Maryanne Peters

Back in 1999 when I was just 25 years old, I decided that I would enter the new millennium as somebody else. People make New Year’s resolutions every year, but I thought that a New Millenium resolution needed to be dramatic. I made sure that it was.

A Grumpy Old Man’s Tale 62 Hello Dad

Dave laughed and said, “Simmering on the Hobb‽ That’s over the border in Northumberland isn’t it? Small spot no more that six hundred folk live there.”

Tommy Dowerson said, “Nah. You got that one mixed up, Dave. That’s Gravy on the Hobb you’re going on about over in Northumberland. The Hobb river over there is nay mere than a beck. Simmering on the Hobb is on the outskirts of Ross on Wye away down country, Herefordshire way. Ross has about eleven thousand folk and t’other spot has maybe four. Just on the other side of Ross from Simmering is Custard on the Hobb where the custard boreholes are which strictly puts it into Wales. The Hobb is a big tributary, mostly in Wales, of the Wye which eventually runs into the Severn Estuary. There’re some odd town names down that way like Builth Wells and Symonds Yat. I only know because I did a postmasters’ course in Hereford a few years back.” There was just enough truth in Dave’s and Tommy’s ridiculous remarks to cause some confusion in the newer outsiders, but considerable hilarity amongst the locals and regular attenders from outside. Inventing silly, often profanely coarse, place names and equally ridiculous personal names vaguely connected to the satirical comedies of Monty Python, The Goons and Much Binding on the Marsh was an ongoing game they played often at each others’ expense. Their recently invented favourites were the villages of Shaver on the Motte, Hard on the Rod and Whacking on the Edge, the last of which came about as a result of a discussion concerning killing flies with a fly swatter. For some reason he wouldn’t explain Fluff in the Hinge was considered to be particularly amusing by Alf.