EVEN MORE MOMENTS TO MUSIC . . . . . . . . . Variations on a Shuffle Theme
When I wrote my first Shuffle challenge shuffle, I thought all the stories were intended to be about one couple and that was how I wrote them, but I found this music on this particular shuffle took me to other stories and other couples. So here it is.
Variations on a Shuffle Theme.
*Author's note.
All these snippets of stories are spin offs from longer FF stories that I have posted here.
If you haven't read any of them, I hope you will try them.
The first story is about Parker, (the corrupt cop in the film All Things to All Men). Because it was the first story/ song combination, these stories will come under The Deadly Game.
I am afraid all these snippets are a little sad. Sorry! Put it down to my taste in music.
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VARIATIONS ON A SHUFFLE CHALLENGE
1) Home. . . Jimi Webb. . . 3.38 mins
Parker. ( Film: All Things To All Men)
Parker moved out onto the veranda. The scent of roses filled the air around him. He leaned against the pillar and closed his eyes. The scent took him back to his mother's little garden.
Her little back yard.
The yellow rose struggling to climb the sooty old wall.
London in late summer.
How he missed it. The busy streets, the terraces of grimy yellow brick houses, the traffic, the river, the harsh Cockney voices. The English rain.
And her.
Oh! Her.
He took a deep breath.
"I want to go home!" he said aloud.
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2) Half a World Away . . . Oasis . . . 4mins
Alys (Film: All Things to All Men)
As she pushed her way through the crowds coming through the Arrivals gate at Heathrow, her eye caught a big card held high.
FITZGERALD
She was startled to see Jeremy Morgan waiting, patiently, holding it.
Jeremy!
She had forgotten all about him.
They had been dating thirteen months before she had gone home to Rio.
She had been away almost three weeks.
Only three weeks; and she had forgotten all about him.
She smiled and walked into his waiting arms.
"How are you, darling?" he whispered into her ear.
"Fine!"
"Good time?"
"Yes."
"Miss me?"
"Yes . . . yes." she lied.
"Good to be back?" She smiled yes but it wasn't.
Nothing was good anymore .
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I'm Not In Love. . . . . 10cc
Zen ( TV mini series Zen)
He drove over the Castello Sant Angelo bridge up into the Vatican.
He came out of the little shop, shoving the little package into his trouser pocket.
Why on earth had he bought it?
Why? … and there? When he could have bought one in any tourist shop in the City and probably a good deal cheaper.
He didn't know.
It had seemed important somehow.
She had been so frightened.
So upset at losing it too.
Her Nonna's mantilla.
He sat at a table outside the nearest cafe. He ordered a coffee and lit a cigarette.
Christ! What was happening to him?
He was being a fool!
He knew it.
He had known it for sometime.
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Bugeilio Gwenith Gwyn* . . . . . . Siriol Burford . . . 4.01 mins
Marke (Film: Tristan +Isolde)
I sat on the cliffs along the coast from the Castle, my arms around my knees, my chin on my knees. Black in the blue sky high above me, a skylark sang its heart out. I could see the fields sweeping down inland to where the ripening wheat danced in the the light breeze. I lay back and closed my eyes and thought of Drawenna. I smiled to myself as her lovely face came into my mind. Her smile, her soft dark eyes.
Drawenna!
"I love you Marke" she had said.
"I love you." I had said, in return.
"Soon! Soon, love, it will be our wedding day."
Drawenna, my love.
And my heart almost burst with joy and sang with the skylark.
(*Note. Bugeilio Gwenith Gwyn, a tradional Welsh Love song , translated Watching The White Wheat Grow.)
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Until It's Time For You To Go. . . . . . . Elvis Presley… 3.54 mins
Mick ( Film: In a Savage Land )
02.00am.
I slid silently down through the bushes to the narrow ledge where I could signal the RAN launch that would be waiting out in the bay for 30 minutes .
Three Flashes, count three, three more flashes, count three, then four flashes.
We had made love an hour ago, one last time, sad, tender love.
In less than an hour, she would be gone and though she did not know it yet, I would still be here.
Waiting for the USN destroyer which would pick me up tomorrow night.
It was something I had to do, even though I knew it would break her heart.
I had to do it, even though I knew that I might never see her again.
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Lilac Wine . . . . . . Jeff Buckley . . . 4.32 mins
Lucas Romer (TV series: Restless)
He stood in their room in the Long Island inn, looking out of the low window down the Sound, binoculars to his eyes, searching.
His orders had come three days ago. Decoded, it had read 'Action NYCL to be commenced'; and he had shut his mind to the inevitable outcome; had focused his mind on those orders.
As he had always done
His duty.
It had seared through him.
She had been so distraught, when she returned from Washington, telling him what he already knew, that she loved him, that he almost told her what she needed to know.
He could not do that.
But he had snatched the chance to have some time with her, before everything fell apart.
Before…
Christ! He had given twenty years of his life, to support the cause. An ideology. The ideology
He was forty two.
To feel like this, now!
Whether or not he was being wise, this time was for him. He would have these few golden days.
Before everything breaks up.
Falls apart.
It could not last: he had known it but it was so sweet, sweet as wine.
His eyes caught a movement, someone walking up the drive.
Even without the binoculars, he would have known her.
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These Foolish Things. . . . . . Ella Fitzgerald . . . 7.35mins
Eva ( TV series Restless)
'Eva" someone called and I turned, though no-one had called me that for nearly twenty years.
I went on into the small London restaurant where my husband was waiting, my heart still jumping.
How stupid, after all these years, to break the prime rule.
Romer's No.1 Rule.
'Never answer anyone calling your name.'
How it brought him back!
Even now, the smallest things brought him back. I see something, hear something, and he is there.
Empty stations at midnight, flight tickets, candles in Chianti bottles,
Wine, glittering red in its glass,
'Aren't we at war with Italy?'
'Hmm? Even better.'
The perfume he had bought me, Je Reviens. . . I am coming back
Heather on Scottish moors, Autumn in London…
Hailing a taxi in the rain.
A dish of oysters
'Do you like oysters? I'll teach you.'
Cigarette smoke twisting upwards.
Through the fear, through the anger and the need of revenge, the pain, like a knife still there.
The longing there through the long and lonely years?
'Who'd've thought it?'
Such a commonplace little phrase. . .
And yet … and yet ... it reminds me of Lucas.
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Seasons in the Sun. . . . . . . Peters and Lee . . . 3.27mins
Parker (Film: All Things To All Men)
We looked at each other, Sands and I, on the wet, dark, top floor of the multistory carpark.
"You've sorted your share?" I said.
"Yeah. You?"
Our eyes met and held.
"So this is it? We are decided? This is how we are going to do it? Christ Jonty, it's a bit . . . dodgy. Can we trust Cutter?"
I pulled a doubtful face.
"And Corso?"
"We have to! We need a body for your funeral. You wearing your Kevlar?"
He nodded slowly.
"And you?"
We looked at each other. Mates from the first day at primary school, still mates when we joined the Met together at Hendon.
'So this is it! Ready, mate?"
We shook hands, each clasping the other's shoulder .This was a matter of trust.
I grasped the gun in my coat pocket.
"Ready?" He nodded.
"Goodbye, you some time." I fired. And held him gently as he slid to the floor. He would be ok, Corso would see to that. I stood. I heard the door open and footsteps click hollowly and stop.
Riley.
A crack of a silencer.
Not Riley
A blow to my back, below my waist, spun me around and I fell.
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Am I Losing My Mind . . . . .Michael Ball . . . . .4.04mins
Parker (Film : All Things To All Men )
Parker threw his sail bag down into the cockpit of his boat and jumped down after it. He slid back the hatch and went below to check gas and water and start up the engine.
"Ahoy there, Lorelei! You going out today?" He looked up.
"Yeah."
"Need a crew? I've got nothing to do..."
He knew her. Lisa Caserra. Eighteen or thereabouts, blonde, a lush handful in every way. Her innocent face denied by the revealing strapless top and minute shorts, and the knowing heat in her eyes.
God! He was old enough to be her father. Not that had stopped him before but …
He knew her father too.
Luis Caserra, a Nicaraguan drug baron.
He had to tread carefully here. Even in how he turned her down.
"Oh! Oh, sorry Lisa! I've got a full crew already, just waiting for them. Another time ."
I ducked back down into the cabin.
She slouched off sulkily like the spoilt brat she was.
He couldn't believe it! He, Jonathan Parker turning down company of a pretty girl, and such a pretty willing girl.
Christ! Was he going out his mind?
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Too close for Comfort . . . . . . . Michael Buble . . . .3.04 mins
Zen (TV mini series Zen)
It was hot on the pavement terrace. Rome is hot at the time of the year.
She sat at the next table, mostly in the shade. Her hair sparkled like fire where the sun caught the edge of it.
She put her coffee cup back on the table, resting her hand there.
Mine are large, long fingered, tanned. Hers small, white, scarlet enameled nails.
I wanted to cover it with mine.
Just to touch it.
To touch her.
I held my breath.
It wasn't sensible, I knew that.
Of course I knew that!
Did I care?
I found my cigarettes and lit one.
A long drag and I slowly blew out the smoke.
Unfortunately, yes I did.
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