Weathering Our Storm (2)


Thanks to Georgia Koch for the lovely photo for our prompt this week and to our intrepid Captain Rochelle for navigating our good ship Friday Fictioneers  through all kinds of seas.

(I love this photograph and am so grateful to Rochelle for using it as the re-run this week and I have posted my original story. At present my ship is a bit wobbly, due in part to OH not being well, but we will be back on course very soon).

24 January Georgia Koch

Copyright – Georgia Koch

Genre: Fiction

Word Count:100

Weathering Our Storm

Will you come with me, to Venice?’

An invitation to the place where we began would once have sent my heart soaring. Dare I allow it to do so again?

‘I’ll think about it, if that’s alright?’

Oh, the care we take with one another.   I couldn’t ride out the maelstrom of his affair.  I had to scream it out, to hit back verbally against the waves of pain and sadness that engulfed and threatened to overpower me.

But somehow the storm abated, he chose to stay. How ambitious we are, how determined to keep our precious ship afloat.

‘Yes.’

 

For more stories click here 

 

New beginning


Thanks to Sandra Crook for the photo prompt this week and belated congratulations on her well deserved competition win, a great story.  Thanks as always to Rochelle who nevers wavers in support and encouragement.

19 Feb

Genre: Fiction

Word Count:100

New Beginning

‘What will you do Grace, have you decided?’

‘For goodness sake Lewis, she only buried Edward this morning, she has yet to come to terms with being alone.’

Grace smiled. She had been ‘alone’ in the sense that Sarah meant it, for years. The Turner twins, friends since childhood, took sibling rivalry to new heights. They wouldn’t understand what she was about to do; she decided against explanation.

Edward’s death was sudden, unexpected. The twins, like the rest of her circle who expected tears and sadness, were perplexed by Grace’s calm exterior. Meanwhile, her heart, sensing freedom, was soaring.

 

 

(For some reason I can’t add the little blue froggy link, to read more stories go to Rochelle’s blog and click on the link there)

 

 

Weathering Our Storm


Thanks to Georgia Koch for the lovely photo for our prompt this week and to our intrepid Captain Rochelle for navigating our good ship Friday Fictioneers  through all kinds of seas.

Copyright - Georgia Koch

Copyright – Georgia Koch

Genre: Fiction

Word Count: 100

Weathering Our Storm

Will you come with me, to Venice?’

An invitation to the place where we began would once have sent my heart soaring. Dare I allow it to do so again?

‘I’ll think about it, if that’s alright?’

Oh, the care we take with one another.   I couldn’t ride out the maelstrom of his affair.  I had to scream it out, to hit back verbally against the waves of pain and sadness that engulfed and threatened to overpower me.

But somehow the storm abated, he chose to stay. How ambitious we are, how determined to keep our precious ship afloat.

‘Yes.’

Click here to read more great flash fiction 

An Invitation


I love the old desk in the photo this week and wonder how many ‘letters’ we will receive…

Thanks to Mr Fields for the photo and for Mrs Fields for continuing to mark our work and support our efforts.

Copyright Jan Fields

Copyright Jan Wayne Fields

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

An Invitation

Dearest Ellen

My words will be a shock to you and I beg you be seated whilst you read them.

When I refused Henry’s proposal, I know you were saddened as you wanted us to be sisters.  My disposition would not have suited your brother and I believed the wedded state was not for me.

I write to you to confess that I was wrong in my belief and have accepted the proposal of marriage from Arthur Nicholls. The wedding will be in June, my dearest wish is that you will be my witness.  

Your loving and devoted friend

Charlotte

 

Read more Friday Fictioneers stories – I insist 

 

This letter could have been written by Charlotte Bronte to her dear friend Ellen Nussey. Ellen’s brother Henry did propose to Charlotte and she did refuse him citing her disposition as the main reason they would not get on.  Charlotte married her father’s curate Arthur Bell Nicholls in June 1854.  Sadly the marriage was happy but short, Charlotte died on 31 March 1855 in the early stages of pregnancy.

If you would like to read more the link will take you to the website of the  Bronte Society

Bronte Society

Bronte Society – Ellen Nussey

 

 

 

 

Into The Blue


I have been unable to post anything as my account was suspended by WordPress. I don’t know why this was and they haven’t told me why they did it. There was just a message saying my account was suspended when I tried to log on. I sent an email complaining and have not had a reply, but magically the account seems to be working now. Thank you WordPress!

So, with haste in case they change their minds and banish me again, here is the story you should have seen last week.

Copyright BS

Copyright B.W. Beacham

Genre: Memoir

Word Count: 100

Into The Blue

“It’s deep blue, just like your eyes”, I say,

He continues to read the paper barrier between us.

“My outfit looks good, what will you wear?”

There is no answer.

He turns a page.

Seemingly all communication has ceased,

His silence is slowly suffocating me.

I walk onto the terrace.

I forgave his betrayal,

I should have let him go

Not clung to him in desperation,

Fearful of a life without him.

I watch the flotsam in the bay, subject to demands of an indifferent tide,

Like me.

I dress for the party and leave,

Travelling hopefully, towards new horizons.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Thanks as always to Rochelle and to B.W. Beacham for the photo last week.

I have not been able to comment on any stories, I promise to make amends this week – WP permitting of course!

 

Tuesday morning on the 10.25


Countryside as Seen from a Moving Train

 

“Are things any better with Jack, or still the same?”

“They’re still the same.  I’ve tried my hardest to find out what the problem is, but nothing I do makes any difference. I’m afraid I have just given up.”

As the two women take their seats across the aisle from me, I try not to stare. Their conversation has aroused my interest, set my imagination to work.

I wonder what on earth could be wrong with Jack and think up several different scenarios.  Is he ill? Perhaps he only has months to live and couldn’t bring himself to upset his wife and family. Or is he facing redundancy and feels depressed, wondering how the family will manage without his salary? Or has he found someone else?

I decide it must be the latter. It will explain the change in his attitude to his wife, the reason why she has given up.   He doesn’t really want to be with her but just can’t bring himself to end their relationship.  I imagine them in their semi-detached house with small manageable garden, they have a mortgage and three children; the youngest would not have been planned. They used to holiday abroad for two weeks each year, now they take one week and spend it in a caravan somewhere in the Devon, barely speaking to each other.

He met the woman who became his mistress at work.  She is tall and slim with a terrific personality, quite attractive with a great sense of humour. His wife was like her when they first married, he tells her, but now she is more interested in the children and her family than him.

The train races along and I am tempted to take out my notebook, but it is in my bag on the luggage rack and I am unwilling to cause a disturbance. I resist the temptation. I make a mental note to always make sure the notebook is in my handbag. The conversation between the two women is spasmodic, their voices low.  I find it hard to hear anything further without making a fool of myself.

As the train enters a long tunnel, I have the opportunity to study their reflection in my window.  Although a slightly distorted view, I see two women in early middle age; the one who had asked the question seems the younger of the two and is now reading a magazine.  The other woman, the “wife”, is half-heartedly nibbling on a sandwich, staring into space.

Small stations flash past. The train will only make three stops before reaching London. I find that I feel sorry for the wife, she probably has done nothing other than carry on as she always has.  Perhaps she too longs for more; a more interesting life, a more attentive husband, but feels it’s too late to do anything about it.  She is just resigned to things the way they are, getting on with the mundane tasks life has handed her; a home to run, a husband and children to care for.

I decide that she looks like a ‘Susan’ and her friend is called ‘Louise’.  I am busy creating lives for them and their families when the train pulls into Paddington. I gather my bag quickly from the rack and follow the two women from the train.

“There they are” calls Louise, pulling Susan’s arm and hurrying her along.

They walk towards two young women, waiting by the coffee shop.

“Where’s your dad?” asks Susan sounding worried.

So, Jack hasn’t even bothered to come to the station. I feel sad for her; she is still hoping for a change of heart, while he obviously just doesn’t care anymore.

Suddenly there is a commotion and out of the crowd a man comes running, being pulled along by a very excitable West highland terrier.

“Oh Jack” Susan cries  stooping down to grab the dog, who is  trying his best to jump up to her, “you’re back to your old self.  I was so worried we were going to lose you.”

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I feel more comfortable writing ‘memoir’ pieces and would welcome your feedback if you have the time.

Falling Apart


Time for Friday Fictioneers again.  Thanks as always to Rochelle for keeping us all together (see what I’ve done there?) and thanks for the photo prompt this week to Sean Fallon, what an intriguing photo it is too.

My story this week, follows on from the one I wrote last week.  A few of you Fictioneers kindly asked what was going to happen to ‘Tom’ and I have to admit I wasn’t sure.  A few people were very annoyed at his attitude to Maggie, I thought I would revisit them this week.

Copyright Sean Fallon

Copyright Sean Fallon

Genre: Fiction

Word Count: 100

Falling Apart

Tom can’t understand why friends ask, ‘everything OK now?’

The attack on his wife was an attack on him too.  Why can’t they see that?

The thoughts about what happened replay over and over. Maggie tries to reassure him that the attack, though violent, was brief, but his imagination runs riot.

He watches every man he sees, ‘Is it him?’ ‘Did he do it?’

Waiting, for the police to make an arrest; waiting, for THAT phone call; if they don’t charge someone soon he fears he will fall apart.

And it’s still affecting Maggie.  Her behaviour has been odd lately.

For more stories, click here 

Making a Scene


Greek mythology has always been of great interest, I love the way the stories that have been handed down through the generations, are part myth, part magic and part history. The photo this week, courtesy of Al Forbes was always going to inspire one Greek tragedy or another.  I decided to take a slightly different view, but I think I have managed to get some of the attributes of Hermes into my effort this week.  So, a fanfare for the goddess of Friday Fictioneers Rochelle Wisoff-Fields, as she summons us all once more to the podium.

Courtesy of Al Forbes

Courtesy of Al Forbes

Fleeing the Scene

Genre: Fiction

Word Count: 100

Waking from a deep sleep I stretch feline-like

And then relax into the deep comforting mattress

Unbidden the memory returns.

The words cut deep, wounding us both,

Hateful bile spilled out of our mouths as we paced the room,

I cursed you for taking my love and trampling it underfoot,

For cheating and betraying me.

You grabbed my arms and roughly twisted one behind me

Trying to force me down onto the floor,

I felt excitement first then fury, that sheer strength could overcome me

Where words had failed

Shaken by your intentions you ran, fleeing the scene

And me

 

 

I’ve just found out that this is my 200th post and I have to admit I’m rather chuffed to have got this far.

Life’s Cycle


It’s Wednesday it must be time for Friday Fictioneers. The photo this week is courtesy of AnElephanCant – (an elephant obviously can)  and we Fictioneers are following the yellow jersey of our tour leader Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.  Join us and meet new and interesting writers from all over the globe, we have fun but be warned, it is very addictive and your Wednesdays will never be the same again.

 

anelephantcant

 

Genre: Poetry

Word Count: 100

Life’s Cycle

We rode side by side in silence lost in thought

Happy in companionable silence

Our love was new in that early carefree time

When you looked at me and saw perfection

And I looked at you in adoration

The years unfolded bringing joy and heartache

At times it seemed in equal measure

We rode out less as our children came

And interrupted our treasured togetherness

We argued and fought like any married couple

Until we found our new direction and grew close again

The same but stronger

Now too old to ride, our cycles gather dust and hold

Our memories

 

A Role Reversal


I missed last week’s Friday Fictioneers; for friends and followers, my previous post explains what happened. All is still not well but this is not the place…

The lovely photo prompt this week, courtesy of Managua Gunn should provoke some great stories from the Fictioneers. Thanks to Rochelle as usual for continuing to spur us into action.

copyright Managua Gunn

copyright Managua Gunn

Genre: Fiction

Word Count: 100

Role Reversal

She stands erect, eyes forward never moving, as we watch her from the corner of the square.

Her long blonde hair is tied back under her helmet, her uniform immaculate as always. I want to touch her, but cannot.

Occasionally she will come to attention, march to the post across the courtyard, turn and march back, but I haven’t time to wait.

Last night she wasn’t immaculate as she abandoned herself to desire. Passion spent, we slept entwined, waking early for her to take up her post.

We walk away. I have to get the children to school.