TAKE SEVEN 17th. April


It was AWFUL. There he was, in the kitchen, CAMERA in hand, trying to get a photo of the camellia at the bottom of the garden., the EMOTION of the moment tangible. There was almost a tear in his EYE. Camellias held a deep meaning for Sam.  Suddenly, he felt an itch on his lower leg, and he knew immediately what it was. It was a FLEA bite. He’d had them before, and damned itchy they were too.

On the kitchen work surface was a roll of FOIL, ready to wrap sandwiches in, for he and Sandra were about to go out on a jaunt, with the new camera. But when Sam felt the flea bite he let out a loud shout. It came out with such FORCE. Enough to wake the dead.

Sandra had always had the reputation of being a bit of a FRUMP, but marriage to Sam had released her a bit. She always enjoyed a good HOP now, and would have been down at the pub every night if Sam had been willing, singing and clapping and enjoying herself.

It seemed to Sam though, that she lived in an IMAGINARY world, having been cooped up for so long like a fly in a JAR, with the LID screwed tightly on. Sam did not really LIKE some of Sandra’s tastes. Even her tastes in their home decorations seemed outlandish. Painting the bedroom bright red and black was not exactly in Sam’s line. And he wasn’t really interested in whether she did it in matt paint or satin, and refused to enter into the discussion about it.

One day he came home from night SHIFT and was shocked to see a kind of blacky red SHINE in the bedroom. Up on the ceiling she had painted a silver STAR. He was in shock and in his anger created such a STIR.

“Come to bed darling,” said Sandra, “and I wil give you a TREAT.”

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