Waiting


Still trying to get my act together, but managed to get something in almost on time. Delighted to see Rochelle has used my photo of a sudden snowfall in Central Park – we were taking a carriage ride and suddenly the snow started falling – magical.

24 July

 

Genre: Fiction

Word Count: 100

Waiting

Penny is late. I fiddle with the strap of my overnight bag. I don’t like waiting. I’ve been here so long people are staring. We said 5pm outside the café; the park closes at 6pm she’d better hurry up.

Sarah was the same where time was concerned, always late.  It got on my nerves in the end, along with her flawless skin. No need to cover her acne with layers of Max Factor. And her hair, so shiny and wavy… not so wavy the last time I saw her.  Everyone gets their comeuppance in the end though, it’s only fair.

 

Throwing the switch


I haven’t been around for a while as my life has taken several twists and turns, nothing bad, but time consuming and I have missed my friends.  I will try and keep up, thank you for being patient.  Thanks to Rochelle for never missing a beat and to Stephen Baum for the photo this week.

Copyright Stephen Baum

Copyright Stephen Baum

Genre: Fiction

Word Count: 100

Throwing the Switch

Martha looked pale and small in the hospital bed.  Was she breathing?  Harold held her hand; the realisation of his need for her overwhelmed him. It seemed she had always been with him, even before they met. Before the dream became a reality.

As the nursing team carried out their checks, he paced the room, willing her to stay, to come back to him.

‘She’s resting, Mr Jackson, do you want anything?’

I want to stay with her forever

No, thank you.’

Martha slowly opened her eyes.

‘Harold?’

Her voice threw the switch and Harold’s smile lit up the room.

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Bonding on a Summer Night


Thanks to Rochelle for continuing to host this wonderful group which I have missed these past few weeks. Thanks also to Kent Bonham for the intriguing photo.

Copyright - Kent Bonham

Copyright – Kent Bonham

Genre: Fiction

Word Count: 100

Bonding on a Summer Night

Harry likes the freedom of the road, and the freedom to play his games miles away from Linda and arguments about D-I-Y. He likes overnighting in the foreign lorry parks, better equipped than ones at home. Tonight, he can’t choose between John Travolta and James Bond, but the redhead sitting at the bar can’t resist him. Anticipating the night ahead, he takes the drink she offers and leans in.

The truck, a bit heavier than expected, takes the early Channel crossing.  In the Centre Hospitalier de Calais, the gendarme repeats his questions, Harry stares at him, his mind totally blank.

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Happy Father’s Day dad………still miss you x


Dee:

I first posted this five years ago; it says all I want to say on this Father’s Day too, so Happy Father’s Day, dad, I miss you every single day xx

Originally posted on 40again's Blog:

Its’ funny how for years you check out the latest cards for Father’s Day, looking for THE one; the one that says all you want to say and sometimes never do, the one that you know instantly will make him laugh and then suddenly out of the blue there is no longer any need for Father’s Day cards.  My father died 23 years ago and, though time is a great healer I still miss him just as much today.

I miss his laugh, the freckles on his arms and fingers, his voice when he sang old songs from the movies, his belief that you made your own way in the world without help or favour, his strong work ethic and the fact that no-one owed him a living. He didn’t suffer fools and could be impatient if he thought someone was wasting his time, but he was incredibly kind to those less fortunate than he and very generous to his…

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John, ‘The Immigrant’


It was a lovely surprise to see that our intrepid leader Rochelle had used my photo as the prompt for Friday Fictioneers this week. It was taken in Barcelona, walking from Port Vell towards the Monument to Columbus.  I love the feel of Barcelona, the bustle and atmosphere, we had a very enjoyable time there, though as you can see the weather could have been better…

Copyright - Dee Lovering

                                                   Copyright – Dee Lovering

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

John, ‘The Immigrant’

‘She’s with her family, leave her be.’

‘They took her from me, but I’ll find her.’

‘John, it’s been a year, she could be married.  Please, we need you. ‘

‘No! I need her!’

The pursuit of religious freedom led many Puritans to the shores of New England. It wasn’t religion that sent John westwards, though the long journey afforded him time to reflect on it and the argument with his parents.  He had defied them and left them to struggle.  But the moment he had laid eyes on Dorcas Coleman, he wanted her; nothing would stand in his way.

 

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A brief note on my story. One of my ancestors sailed to New England in 1625 to join the colony of English Puritans who had settled there.  He was one of the first settlers of Rowley Mass. and did marry Dorcas Coleman in 1648.  I have used some poetic licence with their meeting, but I feel it goes someway to explain why he made the journey alone. Although another ancestor, also called John, settled in Virginia,  in all the research the man in my story is called ‘John, The Immigrant’ hence my title.

Twenty years from now…


 

Quote for the day…

Penarth skyline

 

‘Twenty years from now, you will be more disappointed with the things that you didn’t do  than with the ones you did do.  So throw off the bowlines.  Sail away from the safe harbour. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover.’

……………….Mark Twain

Home at Last


Copyright Douglas MacIlroy

                                            Copyright Douglas MacIlroy

Genre: Fiction

Word Count: 100

Home at Last

The ties that bound me were severed so long ago, I have forgotten why. The cold seeps into my bones, forming a brittle frost. The gnawing emptiness in my stomach would signal hunger to a brain able to care or respond.

The light surprises me, it’s intense and blinding. A flashlight means police and an order to ‘move on, get out of here.’  But this light is too strong and never wavers. As a whisper of summer fills my nostrils and glides sweetly over my tongue, I think I am smiling.

 I am held tight.

 I am home, at last.

 

 

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My thanks to Doug MacIlroy for the photo prompt that sent chills this week and to Rochelle for continuing to lead the Friday Fictioneers whilst getting her novel edited and now ready for publication, many congratulations. You can read more below and on her website

‘Beginning on April 20 Please Say Kaddish For Me will be available to preorder from Kindle in ebook form and to preorder from http://www.a-argusbooks.com/GalleryComing.htm in print form. Release date scheduled for May 8′.

 

Leaving


The photo this week, courtesy of Jen Pendergast, reminded me of a visit to Canada a few year ago.  We wanted to take a train back from Edmonton to Calgary and were told that no passenger trains ran from north to south, only west to east.  On the drive back, we watched the longest freight train we have ever seen, mile, after mile, after mile and reflected that Canada was indeed a vast country.

Thanks to Jen for the photo and to Rochelle the conductor of Friday Fictioneers, collecting more and more writers each week.

Copyright Jen Pendergast

Copyright Jen Pendergast

 

Genre: Fiction

Word Count: 100

LEAVING

Stella took the subway. Seeking the protection of strangers, she slowly made her way through the crowd. People grew restless as the train approached; she felt pressure in the small of her back, then heard the familiar menacing voice near her ear. As she was forced forward the crowd parted, as she stumbled they watched in horror as a figure tripped over her.

Stella watched impassively as the remains of her husband were collected and bagged. She remembered his threats, what he would do to her if ever she tried to leave him, and smiled at the vagaries of fate.

 

 

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