Revels and Rebels V

Dear Santa,

Between you, me and this carrot I'm leaving for Rudoph, I'm beginning to wonder if you're getting my post.

For this Christmas, Santa, I'd like another revolution. Not one where people lay bleeding on the streets with placards sticking out of their skull. I'm not the kinda girl that rolls that way. But, I do want a revolution in our thinking.

I think it begins with going to a different supplier for our daily bread. Rather than accepting the government and media's daily slops of headlines and reality tv programmes that put nail varnish and knickers over thinking about what we are doing with this world. We could, for example, find another supplier. One that doesn't make headlines out of the poverty line in the UK. But rather finds a way to lower the line and release our nation's potential.

So this Christmas, please can you build a firewall to stop the government and media reducing our thinking to the ambitions of a lifestyle magazine. This way, we can start to build a better future where a nation's potential flies free.

With festive hopes and wishes, coupled with a tinge of disillusionment,

Louise x

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Reference
Reflections on the year that was 2012

Revels and Rebels XIII

Dear Santa, I’m sat by the Christmas tree. The fairy lights twinkle, the baubles sparkle, and the clip-on-birds look really confused. The white dove is looking at me wondering where peace went, and the robin, having given up on Christmas, is taking a nose dive towards the floor. I understand the birds’ confusion. 2020 is the year where the world turned upside down and inside out. Bound at home, unable to hug friends and visit family, attempting disconnected living in a connected world. Which way is the North Star – who knows? We’re all a bit like Odysseus down here, stuck between a rock and a hard place. On one side you have the rock of reality eroded and twisted by politicians and media. The other side, the six headed monster of big Pharma trading health for profit and barking down contrary ideas to protect financial growth. One thing is for sure, Capitalism is not interested in paying the ransom for Freedom. You’ll be sad to learn that ‘Ho, ho, ho’ went out of the window mont

Revels and Rebels XIV

Dear Santa, It's Epiphany. Twelfth Night. You're about to hang up your Christmas sack for the festive season and here I am writing to you with my last-minute request. I know, I'm as irritating as a Christmas Pudding that refuses to light no matter how much warm brandy you pour on it. Soggy Christmas Pudding aside, there is a reason why this letter is late. I've been ruminating over what to wish for. And the thing is this - I still don't know what to wish for. My current plan, or hope, is that in writing to you I might write myself into my wish. The thing is this, since the pandemic began, I'm having trouble finding a way to live in the world. Working out what I must suffer, what I can change. How to navigate sorrow and joy. And how to live with the conflicts within whilst the noise of division and marginalisation rage all around. Sometimes, they become one of the same. Sounds confusing, right? And fuelling this confusion is the general level of fear we have to

Mushrooms

Bacteria screams down the walls. I feel myself separate, drunk on the smell of fungus. Breath as manacled as my body. A rip of velcro is amplified by the darkness. A yellow mask looms over. Injection. Hot. Suffocating. Liquid burns through my veins. Words die within me. Stillness. A seed is planted in my mind. The roots are fierce, killing my memories. I grasp after the memory of eating potted crab sandwiches with dad while our toes dangle in the sea. Gone. I can feel it inside me. I’m an echo. Not my words. Not my breath. Inseparable from it. ----------------------- Reference: Highly commended, NYC Midnight Flash Fiction international writing competition Photo by Jaël Vallée on Unsplash

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