Another wet week in Wales, no wonder it’s so green here…… Thanks as always to our fairy blogmother Rochelle and this week’s thanks for the photo prompt, go to the sometimes poetic always interesting CE Ayr
Word Count: 100
Grace shielded her eyes against the glare. At the end of the track stood the white-washed farmhouse they’d been searching for. Forty years ago, for reasons that were inescapable, she had turned away from Jack and married Edward. She had kept their secret all this time, until Edward’s death set her free.
In the lavender fields of France, the powerful scent calmed her nerves. The long journey was almost over. Grace saw someone on a tractor in the distance and a moment of panic gripped her, she started to shake.
Amy gently took her hand,’go on gran, it will alright’
My thanks to our leader Rochelle for being here every week, whether the road is rocky or smooth we follow wherever she leads.
Thanks also to Amy Reese for the photo this week.
Word Count: 100
The First Step
I smile, accepting their mild applause. I’ve been out of my comfort zone in front of this class of restless fifth form girls, delivering a talk entitled – ‘Succeeding as a Woman in Business.’ Questions follow. Though I am enthusiastic, questioning their reasoning, hoping to provoke engagement, the poverty of aspiration astounds me.
Struggling to understand their attitude, I walk towards my car. Tamara, the quiet girl who said she wants to be a hairdresser, stops me.
‘My family’s been out of work for years. How can I be any different?’
I tell her she has just taken the first step.
I attended a local school, at the invitation of the Head of Business Studies, to speak to fifth firm girls about my story, how I got to where I am. The girls’ lack of aspiration that day still concerns me.
Happy New Year! I hope you all enjoyed the holidays, however you celebrated them. It’s good to be back at Friday Fictioneers Central. Huge thanks to Rochelle for finding time to organise this group in between writing novels, visiting family or icing the odd cake, and my thanks to all who contribute each week making this a fantastic group to be a part of.
Word count: 100
‘Would you really buy one, if you won the Lottery?’
‘Well it’s on my list. I’d love one. Just think of the freedom, taking off whenever you wanted…’
‘What else is on your list?’
‘A long stay at a health farm, I fancy the one in Arizona where all the celebs go to get their fat sucked out.’
They both laughed as Mel placed the magazine back on the bedside cabinet. She sat on the bed, reaching for her best friend’s hand. There would be no flight or health farm visit; they both knew it, but it helped to dream.
The smell of freshly roasted coffee wafts out into the street.
Jess sets out the freshly baked pastries, homemade chocolates, packs of ground coffee and waits.
First as usual, ‘Ms Skinny Latte with an Extra Shot’ and ‘Mr Double Espresso with a Cinnamon Bun’, (they’re getting closer). Then later, ‘Mrs Cappuccino’ and ‘Mrs No Coffee for Me’ who eats almond Danish like they are going out of fashion.
After the morning rush, she realises that two regulars were missing – ‘Mr Macchiato’ and ‘Mrs Flat White’…
For the last Friday Fictioneers of 2015, Rochelle has reposted Scott’s photo from a couple of years ago. This is the post I wrote then. I hope you all have a happy holiday, however you celebrate it and look forward to catching up with you in 2016.
Happy retirement to our busy leader Rochelle – more time for writing now… Thanks for the photo this week go to Ted Strutz
Genre: Historical Fiction
Word Count: 100
No Free Ride
In the small, shabby dressing room, Louise tries to pull up the straps of the outfit her mother has made for her debut.
‘Louise, quit messing with your dress. Hold your head up, smile sweetie.’
‘It’s hard to smile mama, please don’t make me do this.’
‘Baby don’t be so selfish, your sister and I have supported you, now it’s your turn. There’s no such thing as a free ride in this world sweetie. God’s given you a beautiful face and a great body; get out there and show ‘em what you’ve got.’
Children play quietly with toys in the corner, they look up as a parent or grandparent walks from a consulting room to the x-ray department. I watch them as I wait for you to come back to me.
Not able to sit still, I join a line of worried relatives at the coffee bar. We buy coffee, tea, cake – anything to fill our minds, to give us a moment free from doubt and fear. No-one mentions the word we all dread, but ‘what if’ is whispered and hands are clasped tight.
Jerry limped into the bar on North Street and hauled himself onto a stool.
‘You got money this time Jerry?’
‘You know the rules, NO credit.’
Lowering his voice Jerry leant in, ‘Ben, listen, there’s a hole in the pavement on Murray Bridge. No sign. Nothing. I sorta tripped and hurt myself. A guy helped me and said I’ll get comperation, that’s cash aint it?’’
He wiped a grubby hand across his mouth, watching Ben pour a beer for a paying customer.
Ben laughed, then pushed a beer towards him, ‘Jerry, you’re unbelievable. Get a job, it’s safer.’