My Dad’s a Goldfish – Don’t ask, don’t get

Note! If you don’t ask you definitely don’t get!

My Dad Is A Goldfish

 cropped-goldfish-87-1254566814ncva1.jpg

It is truly astonishing the amount of equipment required to allow someone to continue living in their own home when the person has dementia combined with mobility problems and other medical conditions.

Most things are actually available through social services or the NHS but it’s not quite as simple as putting in a request and receiving what is needed. For one thing, you don’t know what you’re going to need at different stages. The handrail by the back door, which was helpful when the Goldfish started to become a bit tottery but could still manage steps with his walking stick in one hand, was utterly useless when he had to use a walker on wheels. Try getting that, and him, down steps!

Also ‘they’ don’t always tell you what is available even though they are the ones supposedly trying to keep people living independently in their own homes. And…

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Thursday Photo Challenge: The Spur.

This is my entry for Sue Vincent of The Daily Echo Thursday Photo Prompt. Entitled The Spur.

Rules and Pingback Here

The Spur

It was late afternoon, Fay awoke alone covered in blood, bites and bruises. She savoured everyone of them. So bewitched and compelled was she by Roman that she actually sort out his cruelty.

Vampires needed to be hurt to feel, everything needs to be harsher, darker and more intense for them to feel anything.

She looked up from the filthy bed that she lay on and saw the spur hanging on the wall. Old and rusty, her eyes rolled and her body quivered as she recalled Roman running it down her body.  Cutting deeply her breast and stomach and then it being dragged through her legs and up her back. At one point she lost consciousness waking later to find  Roman inside her.

Lying on the bed of rags she wandered how that “shewolf” could ever satisfy her brother… Fay drifted off to sleep. Dreams of war filling her head and in the mist of it all she saw Mathew about to loose his head and the werewolf and the witch burning at the stake. Fay was in extasy watching the carnage….. Then a voice, she had heard before, spoke in her head. “This shall not happen I will not allow it.” It was Hope’s voice she heard. Hope’s voice  and her face, yet not Hope’s face for the face was beautiful and ageless. Not that of a baby’s.

Fay spat at the face and told it to go! Fay woke sweating, all her senses heightened!. Sitting up she was alone and cold all the feelings she so craved had deserted her. The twisted joy of the night before, gone! 

Fay dressed, looking out on the evening devouring the valley she screamed in frustration and anguish the empty, soullessness that was her norm had returned, but now it hurt!

                 •••••••••••••••••••••

Back at the Witches Tower  Rachel and Lisa were concerned about Hope. She had been disturbed all afternoon and just before dusk she had,  had two fits. Thankfully the child was sleeping the sleep of the innocent now. As the two females looked on they were sure they saw the baby smile.

Lisa was disturbed, everytime she lifted Hope she got flashes of bloody war. Also, and this she could not understand, she kept seeing an old rusty spur hanging on a wall.

What Lisa knew was that war was coming, something had spurred it on.

You can read the story so far here

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