The Written Word Group

  The next get together of, The Written Word Group, is Friday 3rd October 10.30am at Hostal Meson, Arboleas. (In through the main door, and its the back room.) The word/sentence to be included in the next 500 word challenge is ' An act of spite'

  Each puddle holds a fading sky, Where ghosts of bombers seem to fly. They were counted out and counted back, Each with a loaded bomb bay rack. To go over and give the enemy what for, And try to even the unenviable score.         The Halifax’s, Wellington’s, Lancaster’s, too, Each with its five, or six, or seven man crew. Far out over enemy held territory they went, Those brave young men of the commonwealth sent. To face the night fighters and the accurate flak, Alone they flew to the target and empty their bomb rack. There’s safety in numbers some would say, But out of the hundreds who went some had to pay. With their lives, they never came back, Their bomb racks empty, but shot down by flak. Night fighters harried them from target to base, They opened their throttles wide to make haste. Fifty five thousand never made it home, Forever in the dark skies they roam. We who now live free from the tyranny; they...

Willem Barentsz Spitsbergen twisted the knob on the Cronos machine. He was traveling back in time to right a wrong. Back to Paris 1920. Back to kill a man who had put a signature on a treaty that had, at one swipe, taken away his birthright. His wife had pleaded with him not to do this heinous act. Killing a man was against Gods will. And using a machine devised by the devil was further proof that it was wrong. But Willem could not be derailed from his task. He would travel back to Paris, to the year 1920 and he would assassinate Baron Wedel Jarlsberg. The man whose signature on that Svalbard treaty, would confirm Norway’s sovereignty over the territory. Willem Barentsz Spitsbergen had been working at CERN when they stumbled across Time-Travel in 2034. He had then been attached to the CRONOS project. A machine built to send back Chrononauts, to fix problems on the ever changing timeline. But as they discovered, it just made things worse. The effort to stop the spread of nuclear warfa...

 I am a Trekkie, a massive Star Trek fan, have been since the Original series in the 60s and the Next Generation in the 90s. My partner Mary doesn't share my passion, or obsession as she calls it. She hates it, prefers the silly Romcoms like Notting Hill and Pretty Woman...Yeuk!  Mind you she does have a point. I collect memorabilia. Our spare bedroom looks like a Charity Shop. It's crammed with posters, photos, models and even life size cutouts of some of the characters. I go to Conventions too whenever I can so I can get up close and personal with my heroes, Picard, Number One. Data, Worff and of course, Troy. I have spent thousands on my hobby, but why not? Mary could tell you why not. I have tried and tried to get her interested, but no joy, until...... Unbeknownst to her, I sent for a full Klingon costume. It was the real biz, the wig complete with the Cornish pasty forehead, the beard, the Federation uniform.....the works. One evening, I slipped into the bedroom while s...

 Detective Inspector Frank Bishop knelt on the cold, hard earth, leaned forward and peered into the darkness of the abyss which dropped away below him. There was disappointment that he couldn't see the broken, twisted body lying at the bottom, but no guilt for what he'd done, the death he'd caused. He got up and leaned against his car as a gust of wind caught his raincoat and set it flapping like the wings of a Swan taking off. He smiled to himself, sometimes justice was worth all the pain in achieving it.  He got into his car and sat there for a moment, tracing his thoughts back over the last year or more. Was it that long ago when the first child went missing? When he was assigned the case? When the search began?  He remembered them all....two eleven year olds and two young teens, their lives hardly begun, their futures' snatched away from them. He thought about the hours and hours of deeply emotional interviews, the parents and families, schoolteachers.....everyone w...

 Blackpool! I ask you, what bright spark suggested it for a lads day out? Blackpool, capital of "Kiss me quick hats", Candy Floss and sticks of rock guaranteed to annhialate your teeth. I say lads but, to be honest, we're all well past our sell by date. 3 devout drinkers and me, expected to keep them in line. I mean, what could possibly go wrong? So there we were, myself, Tom and Dave waiting anxiously for the train and for Charles whose timekeeping was not his forte. Just as the train was pulling in, he comes scuttling down the stairs and along the platform, red in the face and wheezing like a cart horse. "Sorry...sorry," he gasped, "alarm clock...." We hauled him into the carriage and shoved him into the window seat of four we had booked with a table. We were barely underway when Dave reached into his rucksack and handed out 3 cans of John Smiths and a Tizer for me. "Start as we mean to go on," he said taking a large gulp from his can....