Monthly Archives: December 2024

Reflection

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As Mick enters the dining room he finds his wife, Bianca, sobbing while staring out through the window.
What is it, love? He asks, hugging her.
I can’t look at it anymore.
What’s wrong with the garden? Mick asks.
I love everything about this house. I don’t want us to sell up and leave.
We agreed it’s for the best. We won’t exchange contracts until after Christmas; we’re not going yet? Is that why you’re crying?
Yes. No. Something’s happened. It’s not my reflection. It’s me then, not me, now. 
What are you talking about?
Look at the bloody mirror, Mick! 
Turning to look at the large ornate black and gold framed mirror hanging on the wall opposite the window, Mick gasps, Oh shit! I’m the same. It’s impossible. I’m holding the screwdriver I used to …
… yes, screw our beautiful mirror to the wall, Bianca concludes. 
Do you remember, Mick asks, how we found it almost hidden in that antique shop?
Of course. We’ve given it a home all these years. It’s been like I’ve always said: there are mirrors that are warm and gentle, and mirrors that are cold and jagged. Ours is the best of the best, almost like an old friend, but taken for granted.
Are you suggesting it’s alive? Mick asks. Sentient?
I don’t know. What I do know is that, somehow, it’s trying to tell us something.
It’s some sort of trick to pretend our house is haunted so we’ll drop the price.
How could anyone do that? 
Both of us can’t be imagining the same thing.
It’s real, Mick. Real.

It’s evening as Bianca and Mick anxiously enter the dining room, to see if the mirror is back to ‘normal’. They gasp. They both nurse babies. Those are our babies! Bloody hell! 
The scene changes: first babies, then toddlers, teens and finally smiling adults holding their own children. Unbelievable, Mick says, forty years in thirty seconds.
The image changes. Look, Bianca says, Wonderful, all our friends. Even though everyone’s laughing, they’re stuck in a freeze frame and there’s no sound.
Silent friends, Mick laughs. When were they ever quiet? Those are our streamers, and our lighted candles on the mantelpiece. The wooden beams are just like you always do them, wrapped in holly, ivy and mistletoe. 
The dogs are asleep on the hearth in front of a wood fire. Bianca laughs. And just look at our table: food, fruit, wines, cheese, crackers, a pudding, and sparkling glasses. The mirror has memory; it holds the memories that we’ve forgotten.
It’s all our Christmases that have ever been in this room all rolled into one, Mick says. He looks at Bianca, Do you agree? She nods. They kiss. On the count of three.
We’re staying put for good and all, the couple announce.
The scene bursts into life. The cheers are deafening. 

In the mirror Bianca and Mick see themselves just as they are. 
Thank you, mirror. Happy Christmas.

I hope you enjoyed this story. Please feel free to pass it on to others who may be interested. You can read my previous 500 word stories on my website www.philcoskerwriter.com under ‘Writing’.>>>More
© Phil Cosker 2024
Phil Cosker has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs & Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work. All rights reserved; no part of this work may be reproduced or transmitted by any mean, electronic, mechanical, photocopying or otherwise without the prior permission of the author.

The Bed

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Ray lies on a hospital bed in a corridor next to the entrance of A&E; each time the door opens he endures a blast of freezing air. It’s four o’clock in the morning and he’s yet to see a doctor. He feels sorry for himself; it’s no place to be with Christmas and Covid in the air. As he climbs out of bed, to go to the toilet, the bed issues a melodic sequence of multiple squeaks. Ray laughs as he inspects the bed, sees how old and battered it is and sings, Any old iron? Any, any old iron? 

A passing nurse calls, You should be asleep after that sedative we gave you.
Instead, Ray explores.
Another corridor is empty except for a boy sitting bolt upright in bed, wide awake, sobbing and pleading, Daddy! I want to go home.
Ray asks, Shall I call you a nurse?
Daddy, you came at last, the boy whimpers. 
Sorry, son, I’m not your daddy.
The boy screams, Daddy! Daddy!
The same nurse comes running. I told you, get back to bed before you pass out!

Reluctantly, Ray does as he’s been told. As soon as his head hits the pillow he falls into a deep sleep and dreams.

In an enormous sports hall, innumerable blue hospital privacy screens on wheels, are in constant movement like the sails of myriad sailing boats caught in a raging storm. Ray finds the sound of screens and beds ricocheting one against another, the screeching of wheels, the constant noise of ventilators, shouted conversations, sobbing, cries of distress and even shouts of man overboard, frightening. He goes on. Boris Johnson and Matt Hancock play badminton with a shuttlecock dripping blood. Ray wonders why there are no stains on Johnson’s and Hancock’s clothes while spectating female and male patients lying on hospital beds are drenched in blood. Alarms ring.
An elderly male voice interrupts his nightmare, asking, Were you taking the piss singing, Any old iron?
Who said that? Ray asks.
I did. 
Who?
Your bed. Can I sing along? You look dapper from your napper to your feet, the bed sings.
Bloody hell, beds don’t talk, let alone, sing.
You’d be surprised. When there’s too many sick folks, they dig me out of the store and here I am, an emergency bed. In 1948, when the NHS was founded, it took over ownership of 480,000 beds: I’m one of those beds. We used to sing lullabies to get the bairns to sleep. It was another of Aneurin Bevan’s miracles. Do you know how many NHS beds there are now?
No.
In March 2024, 141,903.
Jesus, I need cheering up.
Let’s sing a carol.

Hello, Raymond, I’m your doctor, Sandra, time to wake up. You’ve been dreaming and singing Good King Wenceslas; it was odd, it sounded like a duet. Anyway, we’ll find you a nice new bed to make you comfortable.
Sorry, but this is the best bed I’ve ever had.
Thanks Ray, the bed whispers. 

I hope you enjoyed this story. Please feel free to pass it on to others who may be interested. You can read my previous 500 word stories on my website www.philcoskerwriter.com under ‘Writing’.>>>More
© Phil Cosker 2024
Phil Cosker has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs & Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work. All rights reserved; no part of this work may be reproduced or transmitted by any mean, electronic, mechanical, photocopying or otherwise without the prior permission of the author.