Sometimes on the way to your dream,

you get lost and find a better one.

Friday, March 18, 2016

Wednesday's Words on a Friday



On Wednesdays, assorted people have been taking monthly turns at putting up a selection of six (or twelve) words which is called “Words for Wednesday”.

We have taken over this meme from Delores, who had been having computer problems.
This month the meme continues here, at Elephant’s Child’s site, with words and images supplied by Margaret and Sue.

Essentially the aim is to encourage us to write.   

Each week we are given a choice of prompts: which can be words, phrases, music or an image.   What we do with those prompts is up to us:  a short story, prose, a song, a poem, or treating them with ignore...

Some of us put our creation in comments on the post, and others post on their own blog.  We would really like it if as many people as possible joined in with this fun meme.
If you are posting on your own blog - let us know, in our comments sections,so that we can come along and read your masterpiece.
I’m hopeless at poetry so I always do a story.

It’s a fun challenge…why not join in?

This week's words are again, not words, but two phrases.

1. Any port in a storm
2. Keep it under your hat.

Here is my story:

Behind her back, at first, some of the girls called her Princess Hoity-Toity.

New in town, the richest girl in the school, her hair was perfectly cut, her nails perfectly manicured, her clothes and shoes impeccable. Always.

The clothes and shoes were exactly the same uniform we all wore, but Isabel's looked like she had a brand new set every single day. No scuffs on her shoes, not a single wrinkle on her blouse. Ever.

She was fastidious with hygiene too, making sure her lunch table was sparkling clean before setting out the pretty packed lunches their cook had prepared. Always there was a dessert of some kind as well. 

And here is where the hoity-toity proved to be false. 
The desserts were always shared with whoever was sitting at her table. 
Lunchtime conversation usually revolved around our home lives. We were curious about Isabel's home, what her room looked like, how many servants did they have and so on. 

In her turn, Isabel was curious about us. How on earth did we manage without many of the things she took for granted? Did we really help with preparing vegetables for dinner? And wash the dishes after, in a sink of hot water?

As the weeks wore on, we became fast friends. Isabel, Cathy, Suze, Alicia and me. My name is Bronwyn.

During one of our conversations, Cathy idly wondered where Isabel had come from? And why come to our small town? They were so very rich, the Harrisons could have moved anywhere else in the world, somewhere really fancy, like the coast of France perhaps. 

Isabel spoke quietly, saying they'd had to leave suddenly, without time to make plans, they needed a place to hide and her father had chosen our town by closing his eyes and stabbing at a map.
"Any port in a storm," he'd said. "This will do nicely."

But Isabel had recently discovered that story wasn't the true one. Her mum had gotten a little too drunk one night a few weeks ago and told Isabel things that she never should have heard.
"Dad didn't choose this town," she said. 
"The FBI did. Promise me you'll keep this under your hat, all of you."

Of course we promised, Isabel was our friend, we all liked her. And her desserts.

Again, Isabel swore us all to secrecy, then told us they were in a witness protection scheme. Her father was a lawyer and scheduled to testify on a mob-related murder/embezzling crime.

"We aren't even really rich," she said. "Not as rich as this anyway, although we've always had a cook and a maid and a big house. But what we have here is a big cover-up and none of you can ever say anything about it to your families."

We promised again. The following Monday, Isabel didn't come to school. Cathy and I detoured to walk past her house on our way home. No one was there. Doors and windows were locked and shuttered, no cars were in the driveway, no dog barked from the backyard. 

We heard eventually that they'd been moved to a new location, Alicia's dad was a local policeman and had quietly told Alicia the Harrisons were gone because Isabel had told us what she shouldn't. Harrison wasn't their real name, so we'd never find them. Isabel wasn't Isabel either, and now they all had to learn to live somewhere else, with new names. Again.

9 comments:

  1. Great story. If you would like to join in with Wednesday Wit and Wisdom at my site, I'd love for you to visit to post a story with a picture.

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  2. It must be very sad & frightening to be in the Witness Protection Program!!

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  3. Poor, poor Isabel. And her family. Yet another great story - thank you.

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  4. Linda Kay; I'll have a look at your site, but I'm taking time away from the computer for a while. There's other things I need to get done that I've been ignoring far too long, and I need more sleep too.

    fishducky; I seen a couple of movies where people are in witness protection and read books too; I think the hardest parts about it would be remembering your new identities and never ever contacting people you used to know. Not family or friends.

    Elephant's Child; If Isabel had been just a little older, she might have realised she shouldn't speak up, but she is only 10. Then again, if her Mum hadn't drank too much one evening, she wouldn't have told Isabel the true story. I think it would be very hard to suddenly leave behind everything and everyone.

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  5. Enjoyable story...makes me wonder where they went!

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  6. Margaret-whiteangel; we'll never know.

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  7. Great use of the phrases and an excellent story. Poor child.

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  8. .. Hi River... great story .. as always..
    Enjoy you break from the computer.. relax and read and day dream ... get your energy back..... especially get the sleep you need.. xxxxxxx
    Hugs... Barb xxxx

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  9. Susan Kane; thank you. I always feel sorry for those who have to hide in witness protection, completely cut off from family and friends, it must be so confusing for any small children involved.

    Barbara; I'm enjoying having the computer turned off more.

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