Cherish happy moments

Cherish all your happy moments: they make a fine cushion for old age
                                                                                                                    Christopher Morley

Happy moments, well this was one of her favourites she decided as she stalked round the dungeon, the whip quivering in her hand.
She couldn't believe he hadn't recognised her, her voice at least, but they'd only met a few times and he was too far gone now, too deep into his own personal sexual fantasy.
She grabbed him by the hair, pulled until his head came up, his eyes staring and glazed.
'Have you been a very bad boy Reggie?' she demanded.
'Oh yes, yes, very bad, I deserved to be punished severely'' he drooled.
His head fell forward as she released his hair.
Bad boy indeed, the bastard had blamed one of his very junior colleagues for an almighty cock up he'd made, got him sacked, bad mouthed him throughout the industry. Six months later and the victim of this spite was depressed and stacking supermarket shelves as it was the only job he could get, all his qualifications made worthless by the arsehole who was now chained quivering and naked in her dungeon.
And no she hadn't kidnapped him! She could hardly believe her luck when Sir Reginald had phoned! He'd come to her willingly to fulfil his deepest desires.
It took all her control to use the whip on him carefully (she'd re-read the Spanner guidelines as soon as she'd realised who her newest client was).
After an hour she released him, he paid her double the fee agreed & he'd limped happily away with a smile on his face.
A smile that was soon to be wiped away, once the video was passed to the News of the World journalist.
Sitting in the bar with a glass of tonic, the journalist with a pint of bitter in hand, questioned her.
'All these years I've been trying to get you to give me a story about an MP or some other important person, you always refused and you have been offered a fortune, yet you've always refused.' 'Why now, why him?'
She smiled but said nothing
'I suppose it's too much to hope that this is the first of many?'
'When is the story about Pete Fairbrother being published?' she asked.
'Tomorrow' replied the journalist. 'Is that really all you want, a story about how some poor kid was blamed for one of Sir Reginald's cock ups?'
She smiled again and stood, ready to leave the bar.
'I don't even know your real name, I can't keep calling you Mistress Lash'
My name is Ruth' she replied ''Ruth Fairbrother and Pete is my baby brother!'

Real stupidity beats artificial intelligence every time. Sir Terry Pratchett

The machine’s beeping.

Cursing & muttering, she’s wild eyed.

‘Dis damn machine, it doesn’t like me!’

‘I’ve pressed every damn button!’

I read the error message ‘Refill paper’

I do, it works.

 ‘Why’s it not work for me?’

I shrug.

Still muttering, she wanders off.

A little voice pipes up ‘Has she gone?’

‘Why can’t you just do her copying?’

‘ I don’t like her’ replied the gnome.

 ‘So you bugger about with all her jobs.’

The gnome chortles.

Change of reality

My story for the Light & Shade challenge

Other people's opinion of you does not have to become your reality

Les Brown

She noticed my bag as soon as I sat down in the seat opposite her on the train to York.

'Snap' she smiled waggling her bag in my direction.

We were both carrying a Michael Kors tote in the same shade of pink.

She told me she'd bought hers from a car boot sale, very pleased that it had only cost her £5, I didn't have the heart to tell her that I had 4 or 5 of them in assorted colours. Well not any more, but before my ex husband had dumped me for his 20 year old air head secretary, when I'd had money to spend!

She told me about her life, the dead end job that she'd just lost when the company went bust, & her chilly flat, how she'd used some of her redundancy money to go & see a London show, she was still on cloud nine, humming snatches of Abba from the show. She was now heading back to York, her home town, back to her flat, hopefully to find another job though it wasn't easy, she had no qualifications & was the wrong side of 40.

I told her I was divorced with no children, she'd never married, no children no family of any sort. I feigned sympathy, but actually I was heading to York for a knock down drag em out meeting with my 'family', various lawyers and business associates & felt I could well do without my family.

I didn't tell her that my ex had died of a heart attack whilst shagging his young wife, or that she had frittered her way through the family money, aided & abetted by the finance director whom she was also shagging.

I only realised something was wrong when the bailiffs turned up to repossess my home, the secretary & finance director had buggered off to the Caribbean with everything they could steal. My name was still on the company books & now I was being harassed by creditors, lawyers & members of my ex's family who were all looking to me to bail them out.

My new friend & I were still deep in conversation when the accident happened, I'd been to the dining car & bought us both a coffee, not long after I sat back down there was an almighty crash, the screeching noise of twisting metal, we were both showered in broken glass as the carriage started to twist and roll down the embankment.

I lost consciousness as I was hit on the head by a heavy case, when I came round there was screaming, groaning & the flashing lights of the emergency services.

'Margaret' I called, 'Margaret ,are you OK?' When I wiped the blood from my eyes I could see that she wasn't alright, most of her face had been ripped off by a large slice of metal. She would never be alright again, I hardly knew her but I felt so sad, she'd not had much of a life & now it was over.

Voices were coming nearer, shouting instructions, checking each person as they reached them. I felt a hand on my shoulder, 'Are you OK, how badly are you injured?'.

'I'm OK I think'

'Can you get out of your seat?'

'I think so' I replied.

I'm not sure why I did it, a sudden urge, an idea, as I leaned forward to get out of my seat I pressed briefly against Margaret, I swapped her Michael Kors bag for mine. I grabbed her bag & with it I grabbed her life.

'What's your name?' I was asked as I was helped towards a waiting ambulance.

'Margaret,' I replied, offering up a grateful prayer of thanks to the woman who had unintentionally offered me an escape from the problems I was facing.

The lawyers & family members who were waiting for me would wait in vain.

I would be starting a new life, a new reality, under a new name in a chilly flat in York.