Sunday Photo Fiction is a weekly challenge presented by my old friend Al Forbes.
The idea is to write a short story (200 word max) inspired by what you see in his picture (below).
This week Al’s neatly nephological photo took me to a strange place.
Like most people I love clouds, and see all sorts of dancing elephants and decapitated chickens every time I look up.
But this story came as a bit of a surprise.
Click on this link to enter your tale, and to see what others have written.
And, for obvious reasons, no reading this week.
I am a Fairy Godmother.
And let me tell you right away this is a rotten gig.
Yes, I know, you think it is dead glamorous, don’t you?
Sparkling wings, fancy gown, magic wand with a wee star on top, all that sort of thing?
Only in the movies.
Well my beat is the West of Scotland.
I have about 2 million folk to look after, and my memory is pretty well shot.
And don’t talk to me about transport.
I don’t have a broomstick like the bad guys in black pointy hats, and I certainly can’t just materialise in a cloud of glittering stars.
No, I mainly plod around on trains and buses.
Trying, and often failing, to get there on time.
Even when I make it my powers are limited.
I can give sage advice.
But who wants to listen to a grubby old dame who looks like she got dragged through the Trossachs behind a tractor?
I have only one gift.
So I usually end up taking a more proactive approach to the problem.
In fact, I am probably the main reason Glasgow has just about the highest rate of heart attacks in the western world.