At present a group of us are reading the first part of Dante’s epic – the Commedia. So we are in the midst of the Inferno.
Although this is a remarkable piece of work written in the 1300s, it is quite striking how relevant it is to today’s political situation. We read of political parties being divided – so much in-fighting, back biting and general discord … I need say no more.
On a much lighter note, I was reminded of a piece of flash fiction that I wrote …
Vera settled down with her night-time cup of hot chocolate and ginger biscuits. She pulled the tartan rug over her knees and cradled the mug in her hands. The plate of biscuits was balanced on the arm of the settee.
The clock had just struck ten. She was really ready for going to bed; ten was her usual bedtime but tonight she’d decided to stay up to watch the film on TV. She could have recorded it, but hadn’t quite mastered the intricacies of the remote and she didn’t want to miss that film by not finding the right channel and pressing the right buttons.
She sighed. Some things need a young head not an old one, she thought. Anyway, she could have a lie in in the morning to make up for her late night.
She reached out for a biscuit and dunked it in the hot chocolate. Mm, heaven! It took her back to childhood. But then it had been ginger biscuits and milk – cold milk not hot chocolate. But the bliss of dunking a biscuit… always frowned upon by her mother. Not ladylike!
Vera smiled at the memory and dunked the second one. With these new false teeth, she had to dunk anyway – hard biscuits were too much of a challenge.
The hot chocolate had left Vera with a warm glow. She put the empty plate and mug down on the wee table beside her and snuggled under her travelling rug. She didn’t want to put much more coal or logs on the fire.
The television flickered in the corner of the room. Vera picked up the remote to turn up the volume. Her hearing wasn’t so good these days. A shot and background music blared out. Suddenly Vera felt she was falling, gazing into a fiery landscape. ‘Hell! I’ve gone to hell. I shouldn’t have left the church’, she moaned. ‘Is this divine retribution?’
A distant voice called, ‘Vera! Vera?’ Vera moaned softly. ‘Hell –I’ve gone to hell’ she whispered again.
The tartan rug lay tangled round her feet, the voice echoed again from her personal alarm pendant while the embers flickered in the hearth.