Captivating - OMR (One Minute Reads) Stories, Page 3

with more channels than possible been able to be seen.

  ‘What year did colour come in?’ Sam wanted to know.

  ‘Colour didn’t eventuate until your uncle’s birth in 1975. I still remember buying the coloured television. The red cricket ball stood out better when the Poms played Australia in the cricket.’

  ‘My mother was only two years old then.’ Sam queried.

  ‘Yes, many changes have happened since.’

  ‘Was your life tougher than mine Pop?’ Sam expressed.

  ‘No – with all of the gadgets you compete with. Like those games you play on your computer. I’d never be able to play them. For a start I don’t understand; my brain is a little slow to keep up with how they play.’

  ‘I could show you how to play; I suppose they’d be too fast for you. Tell me about the black & white television, please.’ Sam pleaded holding onto each word as his grandfather shared his story.

  ‘Until television, families used to speak to one another. I remember my teacher at the time; she told us television would be the ruin nation of families.’ He shared with his grandson.

  ‘What do you mean, Pop – a ruin nation of families.’ Sam pestered.

  ‘Before television came into our home we shared our life with each other. Then the monster box came along and Dad sat watching it all night. We never shared anything any longer.’ His Pop explained.

  ‘It’d be worse now with coloured television instead of in your day with black and white.’ Sam questioned.

  ‘Sure is.’ The Grandfather’s thoughts reminisced to those words spoken by his teacher so many years before and agreed with them, ‘television will be a ruin nation of families’.

  Word count: 399

  Chortle – Motel – Smog

  Cheryl drove her brand new Holden Commodore along the Warrego Highway. Her mind fixed on escape. She’d rather forget the past twenty-four hours.

  Tears welled in her eyes, her face bruised and swollen, and memory of the events unclear in her mind. Should she stop and clean up before driving on? She decided to get as far away from the smog of the city before it chocked her.

  How did this happen? Her thoughts returned to the night before when she celebrated her twenty-first birthday with work colleagues. This celebration turned into a nightmare.

  Had she known then, what happened, things would’ve been different. Everyone was laughing, drinking and joking in celebration to her attaining age of consent. Her parents purchased a brand new Holden Commodore in her favourite colour as their present.

  Sometime during these celebrations a stranger came up to her. He chortled about knowing her and wanted to kiss her to celebrate her turning twenty-one years old. She allowed him to peck her on the cheek.

  Hours later she left the function to walk to her vehicle in the carpark. With a click of the button, the car lights came on and the vehicle unlocked.

  She opened the driver’s door to step into the vehicle a cloth covered her mouth. A strange smell entered her nostrils. An arm wrapped around her waist and another under her arms. She fell into unconsciousness.

  She awoke in a motel room, naked, alone. Her clothes scattered across the floor. Her face and lips swollen. She grabbed the side of the bed, rose and staggered to the bathroom. When she looked in the mirror shock overtook her to see both eyes almost closed; her cheeks and lips swollen and bleeding. How did this happen? She couldn’t remember.

  She tried to wash away the blood, brushed her fingers through her hair, returned to the room, gathered her clothes and quickly dressed. Her car keys lay on top of a nearby table.

  How would she explain her injuries to her parents?

  Word count: 343

  Don’t Make Me Laugh

  Aged twelve years old I visited, my uncle, aunt and cousins with my parents and sisters. My cousin asked if I wanted to ride his pushbike. Twelve years old and full of ‘nothing can hurt me’ attitude, I took up his offer.

  This pushbike, twenty-eight inch gent’s bike with curved handle bars. A brake attached to the handlebars. Their neighbourhood consisted of hills and valleys. I rode the pushbike to the top of a hill, and turned around to ride back down to my cousin’s house. Before I started to climb onto the bike I decided to turn the handlebars down to suit a racing bike.

  With courage of a lion I sprung onto the seat of the bike, started to peddle as fast as I could go. With the handlebars turned down I thought this looked smart. About to reach the intersection before my cousin’s house, the handbrake slipped from the handlebars.

  My heart almost beat from my chest – fright took over my body. I lost control of the bike unable to stop. Level with my cousin’s home the brake pedal swinging in midair caught in the spokes of the front wheel. With a jolt the bike stopped striking the curve in front of my cousin’s home.

  I flew through the air and landed face first on the concrete footpath. A neighbour, Mrs King raced to my side calling out to my parents and family for help.

  Later at the hospital medical staff stitched a wound on my upper lip. Teeth broken, I was hospitalised for one week to recover.

  Apart from myself as a patient at the hospital there were a number of others. One with half his head missing when thrown from his motorcycle, seeing what happened to this fellow, I didn’t feel as bad.

  Arnold, another patient was the clown of the group. He’d tell the most outrageous stories to cheer up everyone. One story he told I shouted for him to stop, ‘don’t make me laugh’ I cried, not wanting to laugh because of my injuries. Inside, my stomach ached with pain to hold myself from laughing.

  Although it’s a half-a-century ago I still see Arnold sharing his stories and myself not trying to laugh. I have the scar on my lip to remind me of the time I went flying from my cousin’s pushbike with the memory of Arnold trying to make me laugh.

  Word count: 407

  Driving A Hard Bargain

  I must admit I’ve never driven a hard bargain in my life. I’m far too soft; my belief always threat people how you want to be treated by being fair and just.

  In 1988 my wife wanted to train harness racing horses to fulfil her dream. I remember the day, I turned forty years old. Redcliffe harness racing being the focus of the industry; I attended an auction to purchase a harness racing complex.

  Prior to the auction I spoke with the real estate agent to show my interest in the property but first needed to sell the present property I was living which I had on the market. Before I left for the auction a prospective buyer offered me $108,000.00 for my present property which I wanted $120,000.00.

  The real estate agent thought the harness racing complex would sell for $180,000.00. The auctioneer commenced his call - no one opened the biding. I called out $60,000.00, he accepted, another call for $70,000.00; I raised it to $80,000.00 hoping the bidding stopped.

  Prior agreement with the agent - if I’m the underbidder of the property and it didn’t reach the reserve price; it would be open to negotiation. Another bid of $90,000.00 called by the other bidder, I called $92,000.00 in the hope the owner would not place the property on the market. To my astonishment, the owner nodded to acknowledge the property for sale.

  The other bidder called out $93,000.00; I hung my head in shame. The property sold to the other bidder. If I’d taken the price asked for my present property that morning I would’ve bid higher to obtain the property.

  Something I have believed in all of my life: things are meant to happen for particular reasons.

  Three months later I received a telephone call from the real estate agent who sold the harness racing complex to ask me if I still wanted the property at Redcliffe to which I admitted I did.

  A twist of fate intervened on my behalf when at the time of settlement the deeds destroyed thereby allowing the person who purchased the property to ‘get out of the deal’.

  I purchased the property and within a week my present property sold for $108,000.00, the same price when the person offered me the day of the auction.

  I
don’t know about driving a hard bargain however I did learn a valuable lesson of life – NEVER GIVE UP!

  Word count: 412

  Flatulence

  How I remember when a child watching my grandmother walk away and a funny squeaky noise eject from her bottom, at times loud, other times soft. The after smell made you hold your nose.

  To my knowledge at the time I never knew what this strange squeaky noise from my grandmother’s bottom meant. This noise occurred regularly even if she walked at anytime and anywhere. I thought perhaps there must be something not right with her to express a sound and horrible odour.

  I dared to ask. At the time ‘children were seen and not heard’. This noise happened often, I got used to the noise coming from my grandmother’s bottom. I never got used to the fowl odour.

  I do remember when a student at school, must have been in grade three. Probably about seven years old. Our school uniform, a pair of shorts and a t-shirt. I remember after morning break I had a pain in my tummy, without realising what happened next my tummy fill with wind.

  To get rid of the wind, I forced my stomach to push the wind out from my bottom. Out came brown slime, running down my legs which smelt horrible.

  Feeling embarrassed I ran from the classroom to the bike racks, jumped on my bike and pedalled home. My mother explained I’d had an accident.

  After a warm bath, change of clothes, I didn’t return to school until the following day.

  Much to my demise because of my accident with brown