Opening three paragraphs of RAIN MASTER

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“A wiry, dark-haired man with eyes that could burn out your own sat hidden inside his car. For a second, the whole world turned silent. Only this man didn’t care if you loved or hated him. He was here for something else totally.

I took a quick swig of cola and leant in closer towards the black and white TV, given to me because no one else wanted it. Now at the bottom of my bed, it crackled with the buzz of 35,000 hungry fans.

A race track flashed up, a silent grey river winding through banks of tyres. A quick camera change before the peace was broken by a pack of growling cars, just inches off the ground. Every car was packed with 800 horsepower. Each one tuned by a team of 50 engineers.

Another camera change and there I was driving a car as if in a computer game, the road flying ahead. Only I wasn’t myself. I was Damon Hill, Schumacher and… and… my heart stuttered. Here was the man I’d wanted to be since the time I realised Dad couldn’t do everything – the dedicated, passionate, fiery Brazilian Ayrton Senna da Silva. Such yearning was enough to make your heart ache.”

New Historical Short Story – The Farmer, the Colt, The Monk and the Devil

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Photo and story by me. The Farmer, the Colt, the Monk and the Devil by Pia Jones

Here’s a short story inspired by a visit to a stud in Southern Spain, where foals born black take 20 years to turn white. During the Spanish Inquisition, the Carthusian monks in charge of breeding were apparently told to kill off foals that didn’t turn white… as they must be the Devil’s Work. Such a barbaric tale, it stayed with me, and here’s my take on it! Click on link above or below for this very short story – just 1000 words or so…

The Farmer, the Colt, the Monk and the Devil by Pia Jones

New Short Story – “Waiting for Death to Call”

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Story “Waiting for Death to Call” WaitingforDeathtoCallbyPiaJones (2) and photograph by Keith Meatheringham, Dobson Agency Photography

The other day, at the doctor’s, I saw the most touching sight. Two very old men entered the surgery, bent over double, shuffling, barely able to walk… and holding hands, literally keeping each other up. This sign of friendship made me want to weep. And it got me thinking about the physical effort required by the very old just to move a few metres, and how their past youth is hidden away from our eyes, impossible to guess behind frail bodies. So here’s a story about an old man at home, waiting to die, who receives a visit that will require him to dig deep into his past… Click on to the link either above or below to read this short story about old age with a twist!

Story: WaitingforDeathtoCallbyPiaJones (2)