365 Ficlets – Day #28 ~ “Rainy Days and Mondays…”

Oscar stared out at the rain, hitting the pavement so hard that there seemed to be a wave of splashes up to the pedestrians’ knees. He wanted to be out there, bathing in Nature’s rinse cycle. He had loved to run in the rain until he was out of breath and then stand, arms outstretched, face to the heavens and let the falling drops drench him and wash him clean.

He turned away from the window, and gripping the wheels on his chair he propelled himself back to the computer. With home-help and a better chair and indoor modifications to pay for there was no way to blow work off and go out in the rain; besides Annie would have a fit. He had to show her, somehow, that he was not made of glass just because of the accident – that going out in the rain would be almost as joyful as it had always been. That having to dry out a wheelchair as well as his clothes was not really a terrible disaster.

He keyed the computer back to life and logged into the server.

“Back to the accounts!”, he thought to himself. He smiled.

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365 Ficlets – Day #27 ~ “Inconsistent Reality?”

Peter mopped his brow again and squinted in the torchlight. He was supposed to be on the A303 , on his beautiful bike and probably exceeding the speed limit if the truth be known. Instead he was holding a drill, and sitting next to an unexploded bomb from the Second World War.

Even as far as he was concerned, the job he did was a job for a madman. In the same way that only firemen run into burning buildings, only bomb disposal experts crouch in cramped spaces next to a thing that could level a whole block, and then fiddle with it. Most people just get as far away from the damn things as they can; why did he get into this? He pushed away the recriminations and tried to concentrate; his team would be back with better lights soon, and they would want to know his thoughts.

He ran his hands along the cold metal looking, or rather feeling, for a casting seam that might give away which type of device it was or where it was made. There was none to be found; was it his imagination or did the casing feel too smooth?

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