Colours and Fragments

By Winona Woolf

See the world through new eyes, witness the troubles of a father who wishes to be with his son, or a husband who had a black out because of his wife's frying pan. Experience the happiness a sword can bring and follow a young girl seeking solace.
Colours and Fragments is a collection of 19 short stories by W. R. Woolf. Genres include, but are not limited to, surrealism and fantasy.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Winona Woolf
• Release date: Nov 7, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301485345

Book preview

COLOURS AND FRAGMENTS

By

W. R. Woolf

SMASHWORDS EDITION

* * * * *

PUBLISHED BY:

W. R. Woolf on Smashwords

Colours and Fragments

Copyright © 2012 by W. R. Woolf

Cover design by Kikko Siggaard

All sketches in this work are Copyright © 2012 W. R. Woolf

Thank you very much for buying this e-book containing 19 works of fiction by W. R. Woolf.

More short stories, flash fiction and sketches by W. R. Woolf can be found at www.abolg.wordpress.com.

* * * * *

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Old Ghosts

Black Out

Monsters

Misfotune

Blue

@part

Breathe Again

Red

Mr Icken

Rainbow

Memory

The Sword

Insanity

Green

Smile

A Father’s Troubles

Him and His Uncle

Seeking Solace

Rusty Hinges

* * * * *

OLD GHOSTS

The lights,

the lights.

And always the screaming.

The screaming.

They are drowning in the light, they all are, and the fire makes sure everybody sees.

A woman, her hair ablaze, the perfect picture of agony. Wonderful contrasts come to their right, beautiful silhouettes appear.

Then he remembers; they are dying.

The flames are catching them one by one and devouring them. Some turn their hunted rabbit eyes to him.

But he is a statue in marble, cold marble. His Greek mask of tragedy is magnificently lit, a work of art in all its splendour.

In the present he is trembling.

‘Haunted by old ghosts again, eh?’

He is not sure if he hears the words. He is not sure if it is himself making a statement, coming to a conclusion.

His vision loses none of its potency.

He is not sure whether he is even awake. He might be dreaming. It might all have been a dream. But he remembers it when he is awake. But he might be dreaming that he remembers it when he is awake.

He cannot turn his back on the glow. His ears are blocked by high-pitched voices.

Somewhere from the inferno or perhaps from somewhere else, somewhere outside, another voice is trying to talk to him. It might be one of the other onlookers. He cannot hear what the voice is saying. He cannot see the source. The thought occurs to him that the voice might not be part of his nightmare.

But everything is these days.

* * * * *

BLACK OUT

Have you ever blacked out?

I mean completely blacked out?

Because of booze?

Because of some weird illness?

Because your wife hit you on the head with a frying pan?

I have.

The last one.

It hurt like hell.

And I didn’t even deserve it.

It begins down at the pub. I am having a few drinks with my mates when in comes this nice little bird. She must have been in her twenties. She goes up to the bar, buys a bottle of sparkly water and sits down in an empty corner.

We stare of course. Women are scarce enough in the pub. And I don’t think I ever saw someone younger than forty. Except her.

So the shock dies down. We continue with our drinks. And the bird sits in the corner, not even touching her water.

After about twenty minutes, I glance around the pub and notice that she’s still alone. So I tell the mates that I’ll just go see if she’s all right. And of course they misunderstand me and chuckle into their drinks. Come on, I think, I’m no fool. She’s in her twenties, I’ll be in my fifties in a couple of years. I have a daughter about her age. It’s not as if I thought she wanted to come home with me or anything. And anyway, I could never take her home; I have a wife, remember?

Well, I go over to her corner and I ask her:

‘What’s a pretty bird like you doing in a place like this?’

She must have misunderstood me because she gave me this icy look.

‘I’m waiting for someone,’ she said and turned her head away from me.

‘But you’ve been waiting rather long, haven’t you?’ I say.

She shrugs her shoulders.

‘Is it a boyfriend?’ I ask.

‘Will you leave me alone?’ she snaps.

‘All right all right,’ I say, ‘no need to get angry. A nice evening to you.’ I go back to my mates. She stares at the wall.

Ten or fifteen minutes later a bloke comes in. I don’t know him, but I don’t like him. It’s something about his face. His eyes perhaps.

He sits down with the bird, and for a while I get this picture in my head of a bird and a cat sitting on each their side of the table. And him licking his lips. I almost go over there again, but I’m thinking the bird will misunderstand me again.

They sit in the corner for about half an hour, speaking in low voices. Then they leave.

I finish my beer and look at the watch. It’s still rather early, but I’m thinking it’s probably time to get home to the missus. She said something about a nice dinner this morning. So I say goodbye to my mates and get going. It’s chilly outside so I put my hands in my pockets and hunch my shoulders. Then I walk down the road. When I get close to the next side street, I hear voices. Loud voices. I look down the side street and it’s the bird and the cat. And he’s clutching her arm. And she seems to be crying. And trying to get away. Now that makes me angry. Him getting violent towards a bird like that. So I stride down the street.

‘What’re you playing at?’ I say. He turns to me, still clutching the bird. I notice her sleeve is torn, and a bruise might be forming under one eye.

‘Fuck off,’ he says, ‘it’s got nothing to do with you.’

He might be younger, but I’m wider, and it’s not all fat. Not yet.

‘Let go of her,’ I say.

‘What you gonna do?’ he says.

I punch him in the face. He lets go of her and crumples. I think I broke his nose. He’s bleeding all over the place and whimpering. She leans herself against a wall, still crying.

‘Want me to call the police?’ I ask.

She shakes her head.

‘Want me to call an ambulance?’

She shakes her head.

‘Want me to take you home?’

She nods, slowly. I offer her my arm and she leans against it. She doesn’t seem too steady on her feet, so I put my arm around her as we walk out of the alley.

Now the pub is just between the grocery shop and my house. And of course, just as we come out onto the main street, I see my wife hurrying along, a bag of groceries in each hand. And I’m thinking… shit. I just know she’s going to misunderstand everything. But what do I do? Let go of the girl and let her fall to the ground? That would make me just as bad as the other bloke. But by now it’s too late. She’s seen me. And she’s making a bee-line for me. But when she’s a few yards from me, she freezes. She stares at the girl. She probably noticed the bruises. Then she avoids us and continues her way home in a half trot. Seems we’ll take it when I get home.

As the bird guides me the rest of the way to her nest, my mind is racing. How will I make my wife believe me? I say goodbye to the bird at the door.

‘Thanks,’ she whispers before going in.

‘You’re welcome,’ I say.

Then I go home. Slowly. I pause in front of my door. I know that she’s in there, fuming. Perhaps if I didn’t come home until tomorrow, she would forget about it? No, I know that would only make her madder. So I go inside.

As I take off my boots, I can hear her washing up in the kitchen. I take a deep breath and walk into the kitchen. She is washing up the frying pan. The smell of bacon fat still lingers in the air. I clear my throat. She spins around.

‘There you are!’ her cheeks are flushed. ‘What the hell do you think you were doing with that girl?’ her voice is shrill.

‘It’s all a misunderstanding,’ I begin.

‘Did you rape her?’

Her comment slaps me in the face and I take a step back.

‘What?’

‘Don’t you think I saw her?’

‘I didn’t do anything to her,’ I say, ‘it was the young bloke.’

‘What bloke?’

‘The bloke she was with,’ I say, ‘he was being rough to her, so I hit him and helped the girl out of the alley.’

‘And why didn’t you call an ambulance?’

‘The girl said she didn’t want me to.’

‘So now you’re talking to the dead!’ she screams, ‘how stupid do you think I am?’

I blink a couple of times.

‘You’re talking nonsense,’ I say, ‘I’m going to bed.’ I turn my back to her and move towards the door.

‘Murderer!’ she comes up behind me and smashes the frying pan right into the back of my head.

And that’s where I black out.

And