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Fiction on Command
Fiction on Command
Fiction on Command
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Fiction on Command

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Not got time to sit down and read a novel? This book is packed with 23 different length stories to suit your free time. Fantasy, romance, and humour with a dash of horror will have you wanting to read on. Some of the tales take place in the USA while others are based in England. Who knows where the fantasy is?
If you enjoy these works of fiction written on a theme, why not try others by the author?
Anyone wishing to fill in the spreadsheet she has prepared for rating each story, may contact her through her website. She would love to hear from you.

LanguageEnglish
Release dateOct 20, 2014
ISBN9781311625915
Fiction on Command
Author

Suzy Stewart Dubot

An Anglo/American who has lived in France for nearly 40 years, she began writing as soon as she retired. She moved to London in 2012 and spent more than a year there with family. The spring of 2014, she returned to France, Her laptop has never had any trouble following her.Before retiring, she worked at a variety of jobs. Some of the more interesting have been : Art and Crafts teacher, Bartender, Marketing Assistant for N° 1 World Yacht Charterers (Moorings), Beaux Arts Model, Secretary to the French Haflinger Association...With her daughters, she is a vegetarian and a supporter of animal rights! She is also an admirer of William Wilberforce.(If you should read her book 'The Viscount's Midsummer Mistress' you will see that she has devoted some paragraphs to the subject in Regency times.)PLEASE BE KIND ENOUGH TO LEAVE A REVIEW FOR ANY BOOK YOU READ (hers included).

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    Book preview

    Fiction on Command - Suzy Stewart Dubot

    Fiction on Command

    A collection of 23 short stories written on a given theme

    by

    Suzy Stewart Dubot

    Copyright©2014 Suzy Stewart Dubot

    All rights reserved

    Published on Smashwords

    ISBN: 9781311625915

    This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

    http://suzystewartdubotbooks.weebly.com

    http://suzybazaar.webs.com/

    www.smashwords.com/profile/view/suzybazaar

    Smashwords Edition, License Notes

    This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

    TABLE of CONTENTS

    The Visit

    Knit One

    Broad Hinton’s Christmas Pantomime

    The Man on the Corner

    Coming to Terms

    Time is of the Essence

    The Bumpy Road

    Johnny’s So Long at the Fair

    Graffiti

    Fictional Pain

    Fair Play or Foul?

    The Birthday Party

    Fool That I am...

    Door Chorus?

    Perfectly Plain

    What Cost Freedom?

    Winter

    Blue Haze

    The Winchmore Hill Barber

    The Winchmore Hill Laundromat Lady

    The Winchmore Hill Dog Trainer

    Gold Leaf Lover

    Tangling with Tania

    The author belongs to a group of independent writers who call themselves ‘Top Writers Block.’

    Over the past two years, the group has been contributing and publishing short stories on a monthly basis, all of which are written on a given theme.

    The author has finally assembled together those she wrote for the collection, and you will find them here in this book.

    The Visit

    (Theme – A Visit)

    Ohio, 1959

    Well, now that you're here, Ada, come in. This is an unexpected surprise. I was just having some iced tea with Irene.

    Martha stepped back so that Ada could enter the glass covered veranda. It was a fair- sized room with a mist of asparagus ferns along the two sides that had glass. The lushness of the plants' feathery stems added a cool green aura to the room on this sweltering summer's day but did nothing to lower its temperature.

    Without ceremony, Martha preceded Ada into the main house, which had an overhead fan turning. Ada's smile was lopsided as the ineffectual fan whirred softly. Martha hadn't changed. She was still too miserly to have air-conditioning.

    Martha turned and went directly into the dark dining room where a grey-haired woman of a similar age sat at the table. Her hair was pinned into a roll around her head, reminiscent of a hairdo fifty years or more earlier, and this look was backed up by the wire-rimmed glasses perched on her nose.

    Been a while, Irene. Ada offered as her opening statement.

    That it has, Irene responded.

    You might as well sit down, Ada. I suppose you'd like some tea too? Martha had not failed in her duties as a hostess. She had been brought up knowing the rules of polite society.

    I would, if you can spare a little extra ice...

    Martha shuffled on through to the kitchen which didn't have the metal awnings to reduce the light. It was perhaps the most cheerful room in the house and this regardless of the dismal mood Martha was engendering effortlessly.

    Ada took the seat which completed the third side of the end of the table. It was a heavy mahogany, Victorian table of an era long gone. It had been made to seat twelve, if needed, but Martha was a widow with no children, so it had never given more than a portion of itself.

    'A waste,' Ada thought. How many times could she have used such a table through the years. Five children and now the grandchildren would soon have filled it.

    Martha returned with a multi-colored glass in her hand. She had taken Ada's request literally because the glass with the drink held only a sliver of ice in it.

    Ada smiled politely and thanked her for the tea.

    As if previously agreed, the two women sat wordlessly watching Ada, waiting for her to explain her visit. It was obvious to them that Ada had had a point to her unsolicited intrusion. She didn't live near. It had to have taken her twenty minutes to arrive on foot. And even though there were trees shading the roads all the way, it was still hot.

    Ada bided her time as she sipped her tea. It wasn't the wait for the sliver to melt and cool it which had her sipping but the fact that she actually hated tea. The tea was only a formality. If they'd been drinking poison, she would have had a glass of that too.

    She placed the glass quietly on a coaster and took a hanky from her purse to wipe her lips, which everyone knew was only a delaying tactic. When she'd finished, she spoke.

    You still got Guppies, Martha?

    Martha hadn't been expecting such an incongruous remark, so could only stare at Ada with her mouth a little open. It took a good ten seconds before she reacted.

    Did you come over here just to ask me if I've still got fish? You never were straight forward, Ada. Tell me now, without beating about the bush, why you came today in particular?

    Without breathing a word, Irene pushed her glasses higher on her nose not wanting to miss any interaction between the two women.

    Of course, you won't remember what day this is. It's my wedding anniversary. Fifty years today.

    Martha looked puzzled.

    Well that's no big deal, Martha said. If Lee hadn't got run over, I would've been married fifty-one.

    Do you remember what I gave you as a wedding present? Ada continued, undaunted, squinting at Martha, daring her to have forgotten.

    Why I believe I do. You gave me an icebox.

    Irene looked surprised at such a generous gift, which annoyed Martha.

    She worked in a factory that made them. Her tone indicated that Ada had probably received a break on the cost.

    Paid full price like everyone else, Ada replied, when in fact, she had had a small discount and the cost of the icebox had been taken out of her pay each week until paid for.

    Now Ada turned to Irene.

    I'll give you ten guesses as to what Martha gave me as a wedding present.

    Ain't no good when it comes to guessing games, Irene squirmed. She didn't want to go against Martha even if she had the reputation for being tight. If she guessed something expensive and it turned out not to be, that would put her in a bad light. If she guessed something cheap, and it was cheap that didn't help her cause either. Whichever way she leaned, she couldn't win, so best to keep quiet.

    Well, you may be surprised, said Ada to hear that I still have that present. Whereby, she reached into her handbag and brought out a small milk jug. She put it in front of them so all could see it.

    Irene had the decency to look a little embarrassed.

    "It is a pretty little milk jug," Irene tried to diffuse the situation.

    It is white and it is plain, Irene. Ada contradicted. There's nothing pretty about it. It probably cost a nickel in the dime store. That is, if she'd bought it. It just so happens that I know that it was a gift to her, and as she didn't want it, she wrapped it and gave it to me for a wedding present!

    Irene was wriggling uncomfortably on her chair. Her glasses had slipped again but she wasn't about to push them back this time. Her reasoning told her that if she couldn't see clearly, she'd not have to look anyone in the eye.

    I promised George and myself that if I lived to see our fiftieth anniversary, I'd bring it back. Something to mark half a century of stinginess. He wasn't against the idea. She shook her head. "Plain white. How mean can you get?"

    She pushed away from the table and stood.

    I never liked it, Martha. I never used it either, so it is still like new. Give it to someone else for a wedding gift and see if they like it any better.

    Martha's mouth was clamped shut as she looked very grim. There was nothing she could say offhand.

    "Always wondered about those Guppies. You no doubt spent more money on them over the years than you ever did on me, your sister.

    I'll see myself out."

    Let me know next time you plan to visit, Martha called after her.

    Get yourself a telephone, then, Ada riposted.

    The front door slammed stirring the asparagus ferns and sending air around the room but to no avail. It was still oppressively hot.

    Copyright © Sept. 2013 Suzy Stewart Dubot

    Knit One

    (Theme – Stitches)

    Knit one, purl one, knit one, purl one...

    The needles clicked with each stitch made. It was the only sound that filled the air in the square, coming from dozens and dozens of knitters' needles. One would not be faulted for thinking that the sound was some sort of mating call of birds or crickets early in the morning.

    The women had come at daybreak to claim the best places for the spectacle, but Madame Defarge reserved the right to choose her place no matter the hour of her arrival. The other women knew who she was and, while respecting her, feared her more for her relentless, pitiless battle against the enemy. Some said that her husband feared her too.

    What were these women knitting? Each something serviceable, but nonetheless crafted to earn the admiration of the other women; mittens, socks, and sometimes something finer for a grandchild to wear. Years of practice meant the women could knit without looking, allowing them to watch the square's centrepiece, the stage for theatricals.

    There was a lull in the sound as Madame Defarge made her appearance at the edge of the crowd. As she weaved her way through the seated spectators, the knitters took up their work again once she had passed. It was those at the very front who waited to see where Madame Defarge would choose to plant herself.

    Bitterness can transform a face. There had been very little joy in Madame Defarge's life but a whole lot of misery to anchor her to an unwavering search for revenge. She would not rest until every nobleman had paid for what they had done to her family. Her face was pinched now as she settled herself on the crude stool she had brought with her. Her greying hair had escaped from the red cloth bonnet in an unkempt torment of frizz. Her eyes squinted permanently as she scrutinized all before her and her lips were barely visibly as her mouth was tightly clamped shut.

    From a rough cloth sack, she drew out her knitting. It was a long narrow piece that had nothing to its credit except its length. If one were to guess its purpose, the only item coming to mind would be a scarf as it had long ago passed the dimensions for any other item of clothing.

    Shouts and cries could be heard in the distance, gaining volume as the carts passed those lining the road and approaching the square. It was much like a lit fuse burning its way nearer to the explosive. Those seated didn't bother to turn because they would soon have full view of the tumbrel as it rolled to a stop at the foot of its destination - the guillotine.

    A pathetic assortment of prisoners was discharged from the cart, and with each one the noise rose as if welcoming a favourite actor to the stage.

    Madame Defarge continued her knitting. Each thrust of the needle into a stitch had her swearing, damning Madame la Guillotine's latest victims to hell. She no longer heard the spectators' cries as her own words burst forth with such venom that the women either side of her shifted away a little, sensing an unhinged mind.

    When the day's last victims' bodies had been removed with their heads in bloodied baskets, the crowds had already dispersed. Witnessing the beheading of one cartload of nobles in a day was often enough to satisfy the hatred felt towards them, while demonstrating that one had done one's duty by being present.

    Madame Defarge finally realised that she was one of the few remaining in the square. She finished the row of knitting with curses for each stitch and then wiped her mouth of spit with the piece, before stuffing it into the dirty hemp sack. She would be back tomorrow. As long as there were aristocrats to be rid of, she would have stitches to knit.

    Copyright © Oct. 2013 Suzy Stewart Dubot

    Broad Hinton’s Christmas Pantomime

    (Theme – A Vampire)

    I really don’t get this vampire thing.

    Tony had begun by dragging off the black, slicked-back hair that was his wig. Anyone near would be able to see that it had made him sweat. He’d already flung the standard vampire cape over the chair’s back and then had watched as it slinked slowly to the floor. He was too tired to bend and pick it up.

    The perversity of inanimate objects, he muttered to no one in particular.

    He continued with the removal of the rest of his vampire garb.

    The other members of the cast were too busy getting changed to pay much attention to anyone else. They all had to share the one large storage room that had become a dressing room for the town’s pantomime.

    Ironically, this year’s play, ‘The Vampire and the Dentist’ was taking place in the Broad Hinton church hall. The town’s civic centre, with a theatre where pantomimes usually took place, had been deemed unsuitable when the water sprinklers had gone off by error. All the padded seats had been soaked.

    How can people laugh at a vampire? he continued. Some of those kids in the audience were screeching with laughter, and I swear they were under twelve. They should have been terrified.

    Bob, who was already shrugging into his overcoat, took the time to offer an opinion.

    Come off it, Tony, this was a comedy. Nobody’s scared of a vampire in a pantomime. And don’t forget to take out those teeth before you leave. He nodded his head in the direction of Tony’s mouth.

    Margery was nearly ready to go too, so chipped in.

    There are so many films and TV programmes with vampires and werewolves these days that they’ve been demystified. Have to say that some of the actors who play them are really irresistible. You have to love them.

    But I was playing someone scary. They should have been scared, unless I’ve failed as an actor...?

    James went past and patted him on the shoulder.

    You were the only scary one against a cast of comedians, Tony. You didn’t stand a chance, although I do believe I saw one old lady faint, he laughed.

    That was my mother, said Margery. She always goes to sleep half way through any programme, so don’t take it personally, anyone.

    By now, they were all ready to leave, except Tony, who had been distracted with his meandering thoughts.

    Alice had been in such a hurry to get away that she hadn’t even bothered to remove her exaggerated stage make-up. She was pretty enough that she could get away with it, though.

    Night, everyone. Last one out turns off the lights!

    Tony bent, picked up the

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