Two Women and Some Books
If I should find myself alone
I will not cry, nor wail, nor moan
I will not ask. Why me? Why now?
I’ll do my best to cope somehow.
For life goes on
Though hearts grow cold
And lonely
Is the pain of old
If I’m alone
I’ll bear the dread
Though honestly
When all is said
If I’ve a choice
I’ll walk ahead
Unlike many octogenarians, Gran here is well up with the youf and that which is laughingly called ‘social’ media. I like to think my Twitter feed is both informative and entertaining, while my Facebook page is a fountain of wisdom and wit. I’m not going to even attempt to teach you how to become a force like me, all I can hope for is to give you some hints about internet security.
Let us consider photographs…
Holidays: tempting it may be Do Not post photographs of your crew giving it large in Jamaica all over the web. You are only storing up trouble. For every person who enjoys your innocent joy there will be one who thinks you are an entitled bitch who deserves to be taken down a peg and another who reckons your empty house is ripe for being burgled.
Food: nobody gives a flying **** where you are eating, or what you are eating. Stop it. Now.
Selfies: unless you have managed to turn your hair green or you have climbed Everest unassisted, then one a week is more than plenty.
Children: yummies Stop Posting Endless Images of Wheatgerm and Claustrophobia. You are doing the poor little blighters a great disservice. What is cute when you are three will be nothing but an embarrassment when you are thirty-three. Unless you want one of your children to smother you in later life don’t document their lives for all the world to see.
Other content…
Inspirational quotes: just don’t…
Cute memes: these are okay as long as they are reasonably fresh. If you are gonna be the three millionth one to share – don’t
Internet ‘chain letters’: nobody wants to copy and paste stuff no matter how worthy you think it is. Neither do most people want to share unamusingly PC perorations. And as for ‘I think I know which of my friends will share this’ – just send it to them ones then.
And finally…
Remember the internet is the twenty-first century incarnation of the saloon bar. The difference is that saloon bar trolls generally got their clocks cleaned by those they offended. Internet trolls hide behind keyboards and avatars and the like and are probably sitting in their bedrooms dressed only in crunchy underpants and mismatched socks while they criticise your sartorial efforts.
It’s a jungle out there kids, and sometimes even a Kardashian backside ain’t wide enough to deflect the bullets….
I had always thought myself fearless. Walking the forest in the dead of night held no terrors for me. The anger of my father, with his hard hands and his leather belt caused me not a tremor. Even the sound of battle and the smell of blood left me unmoved. So why was I frightened now?
He was just a man like any other man. So why did the lightless blackness of his eyes cause my knees to tremble and my voice to clot in my throat?
I stood facing him and he saw my fear.
It pleased his soul….
“Man up,” I said briskly. “We need to know all you know about your little friend.” I threw him a wad of paper tissues and waited for him to get his stuff together.
“I met him about six months ago. At a wine tasting in the Napa Valley. He was the only other person there who didn’t talk like he had a stick up his ass. We had dinner.” Weaver’s voice was thready but he had himself in hand. “Wasn’t until we had met up a few times that I even found out he worked for Blue Ess. He’s only ever been here once other than today. That time we went to the guest house over by the western border of the property, so he has never been in the main house.”
“He ever ask you any stuff about the boss?”
“No. Never. We never talked about his work. Or mine.”
“Any other way he could’ve gotten info from you? Codes or the like?” Cyrus was less tactful than I maybe would have been but the question had to be asked.
Weaver shook his head. “No. I carry my codes in my head. And I don’t see how he could have got them from there.”
Cyrus grunted. “So why’d he pick you up then. Or was it just coincidence?”
Weaver looked truly miserable. “I don’t see how it can have been. I’m not a great believer in coincidence.”
I was thinking as hard as I had in a very long time.
“Lab,” I said curtly, “and we need to be quick.”
Cyrus fairly sprinted. Weaver was half a pace behind. And I kept pace as best as I could. Both men seemed to have caught my urgency as they had me in the computer lab with the doors locked behind us quicker than I would have thought possible. I went to a familiar tool chest and, swallowing a burst of nausea as I worried about the good, kind man in whose house I stood, I grabbed a handful of items.
“Weaver. Gimme your phone. Now.”
He was too surprised to do anything but accede, handing over a brand-new Galaxy. I opened the back and he paled.
“Don’t be a wuss Weaver,” Cyrus growled at him. “If she effs your phone up, I’ll buy you a new one.”
I showed them my teeth. “If I do break it, I’ll buy you a new one. Now shut up and let me work.”
From ‘Vicious Reality’ by Jane Jago published in Challenge Accepted
The life of an elderly delinquent in limericks – with free optional snark…
I am old, of which there’s no debate
Being wrinkly and rumpled’s my fate
Lost control of my bits
And the left of my tits
Now hangs down twice as low as its mate
…. or ‘How To Speak Typo’ by Jane Jago
azamon (noun) – unfriendly elf, purveyor of all the things you never know you needed
delte (adjective) – geographical, of rivers, having a small muddy estuary but big aspirations
dismissibve (adverb) – of mansplaining the action of flapping a hand at any raised objections
flestive (adjective) – of Christmas decorations being old and mildly mouldy
moced (verb) – past participle of the verb to moce – to move slightly awkwardly as if one has a stone in one’s left shoe
mucter (noun) – small Caledonian gentleman with a large ginger moustache and galloping halitosis
out to fo (compound idea) – of hen parties looking for fast food, a fight or a f***
relaly 1. (noun) – special race for clumsy people who keep dropping the baton.
2. (adverb) – of relationships, describes the moment in an argument when you want to poke his eyes out with a knitting needle
suoth (adjective) – directionally challenged
Ther Elet (proper noun) – Miss Universe contestant from the planet Thrab, notable for her rendition of Mull of Kintyre on the Appalachian Nose Flute
trpuble (adjective) – of pubic hair being inexpertly barbered
virhin (noun) – female who last had sex a very long time ago
Disclaimer: all these words are genuine typos defined by Jane Jago. The source of each is withheld to protect the guilty.
The goddess came to me in a dream. All silver and blue she was and shining like the moon.
“Oh my child,” she said and her voice was like the touch of a lover’s hand. Then she showed me the devastation and the horsemen riding through the sky.
I awoke with the certainty that our world was approaching the end of days and I went out among the people with ashes in my hair.
They stoned me for my words, but I wouldn’t stop speaking.
Today they will kill me.
But at least I shall die before the world ends.
This was all pure charade. All the forensic data for the crime he was supposed to commit was already prepared and logged, ready to be released by Jecks. What Grim found more disturbing was the smooth ease with which it all rolled into motion, like a well-used mechanism. This was clearly not the first time something like this had been set up. It made him wonder how often someone had been framed by the CSF before. Not a comfortable thought.
“It’s not right, Grim – you shouldn’t have to be doing this.”
Cista Tyran greeted him, brushing her hair from her eyes furiously as she spoke. The anger ran taut throughout her body and her expression was dark as the clouds at a storm front. She had insisted on being here. Soon a secure link alarm would be triggered which would be the signal for her to leave and for Grim to make his first steps into the blasted wasteland that his life was about to become.
“It’s not like I had much choice,” he reminded her. “As you pointed out a while ago, someone has to stop these people and it looks like I’m the one for the job.”
Ty pressed her teeth into her lower lip so hard Grim fully expected she would draw blood.
“This isn’t just dangerous, it’s little short of asking you to commit suicide. If our people get a clear sight of you they will shoot you down and if you make one mistake around the bad guys, then they will do the same and that is assuming they even bother to give you any kind of fair hearing in the first place, which I doubt.”
“I thought you were here to send me off buoyed up and ready for anything.”
“Would you prefer that I did?”
He shook his head. It meant a lot that Ty was saying this kind of thing. Her loyalty was something he hadn’t really expected. And it mattered. She was the only person aside Jecks who would know his real position.
“It’s dirty and dangerous,” he agreed, “and it is destroying my life. But better that than have the Coalition collapse or another Legacy out there for us to have to fight.”
Ty said nothing, just looked even more unhappy. The trouble was that they both knew when she walked out of the door he was on his own. Completely. Grim was used to working that way, albeit with a strong support network in the background, but having to work without that safety-net was not such a big issue for him. He had never really had to call on it much anyway. Ty was a team player, not someone ever inclined to run completely solo and he could sit behind her eyes for a moment and see why she struggled with the idea of abandoning him. Not that she actually was, even if it felt that way. In reality she was the person holding the other end of the single life-line that still connected him with the CSF and legality. They had a series anonymised communication links he had memorised for emergencies, once each was used it would be invalid and they would have to move to the next.
“Just promise me you’ll let me pull you out if you get somewhere shut-ended.”
There was a look close to appeal in her eyes. Grim shook his head.
“We both know that isn’t going to be an option. If I get stuck somewhere I won’t be in a place to yell for help.” He found himself gripping her arm briefly, unsure if he meant it more as a reassurance or as an emphasis. “What I most need from you is that when I ask you to move, you move fast. When I find these two I’ll do my best to box them in alive or dead, but that’s when I’ll most likely need to yell for back-up.”
Ty studied his face, he could see her emotions slowly seeping into the background as she took back self-control.
“I’ll be there,” she promised. And he had no doubt at all that she would.
They both heard the link alarm warning that time was up and Grim stepped away as if consciously releasing her. But she leaned in and pressed her cheek against his as she gave him a brief, tight, hug.
“Take care out there, Grim.”
Iconoclast: Not To Be the latest Fortune’s Fools book by E.M. Swift-Hook, is available for preorder and will be released on 1 February
The life of an elderly delinquent in limericks – with free optional snark…
I am old. Don’t enjoy the sensation
Of belonging to this generation
Where everything falls
Even boobies and balls
Is dementia our next destination?
Floating was easy on the currents of the blue, blue sea.
But then hunger happened and it was no longer sufficient to float without aim. It was necessary to grow.
First there was plankton, then the smallest of fishes to be souped and absorbed.
Soon they were large enough to engulf the biggest fish and take what was needful from the crying corpses. Nobody cared when they harvested the ocean, but when they took drylander prey, with its sweet flesh, the hunter became the hunted.
The flying machines dropped their bombs, and one jelly became one million hungry floating beings.
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