A change of style and a twist


I haven’t taken part in many of the Writing 101 prompts, to be honest I haven’t written very much at all just recently.  I did take a weeks’ holiday, but mainly it’s work that has just got in the way of me enjoying myself – I’m going to have to either get more organised or magic up some days with a few more hours in them!  I found the latest prompt very interesting however; my post is not really about a fear, although I have always shied away from writing about crime, sci-fi etc –  genres I find difficult for my style of writing, it was more the idea of trying to write in a completely different style that appealed to me, so here goes…

————–

I’m waiting at the station. Penny is late. We agreed to meet at 10.00 the train leaves at 10.15 and it’s now ten past. I fiddle with the strap of my overnight bag, I do not feel comfortable waiting here on my own, but it is something I have had to get used to. Being on my own. I thought Penny was different from the rest, she is such a good listener and always says the right thing.  She bolsters my confidence in a way that makes me feel good, wanted, desired even. Sarah started out like that and we had some great times together, but she ended up like all the others, her needs were more important than mine. Her and her perfect skin, no blemishes or imperfections, no acne scars to hide away under a generous helping of Max Factor. I could have forgiven her looks, if she had remained true. The train is here and no sign of Penny. I find it hard to believe that she has changed her mind. At least Sarah told me face to face, that was something at any rate. Not that it did her much good. My mother always said that everyone gets their comeuppance in the end and it was only fair that Sarah did too. I get on the train and take a seat by the window. There are a few people running down the platform, but no sign of Penny.  The guard takes out his flag and puts his whistle to his lips, we will be off in a minute and I’ll have to make new plans. Shame about Penny, the one that got away, that’s what I’ll call her. Why doesn’t the guard blow his whistle we are going to be late. There’s a sudden movement at the other end of the platform. Oh it’s Penny, she is here after all.  She is walking towards the train and stops outside my window. She is pointing at me and I wave;  for goodness sake get on the train, I shout through the glass. She is holding up something for me to see. It’s a newspaper showing a photograph of someone who looks a bit like Sarah. I get up to go to the door, to get Penny, but my way is blocked by two large policemen.

 

You can read more about the Writing 101 challenge and this prompt here

 

 

Advertisement

Where trees are fallen


Another week, another post for Friday Fictioneers. Follow our leader Rochelle Wisoff-Fields, then join our merry band.  Thanks this week for the photo go to Roger Bultot.

copyright-roger-bultot

Genre: Fiction

Word Count: 100

Where Trees Are Fallen

“Jarvis,the car! Get me away from these people.”

“They’ve just returned you as their MP, for a second time sir.”

 “And what happened to my previous majority?”

“Yes that’s odd, especially as you were born here sir.”

We don’t mention that, remember?

 “Sorry sir, I thought….”

“You didn’t think, otherwise you wouldn’t have allowed that moron in to rant at me”

 “But you altered the route of the new railway. The land had been in his family for years.”

 “Tough. It’s called progress.”

“Surely you could have listened sir?”

“I did. Now get the bloody car!

 

 “Sir, about the car…”

 

Give me a land of boughs in leaf,
A land of trees that stand;
Where trees are fallen there is grief;
I love no leafless land.”
– A.E. Housman

At the moment we have great arguments raging here about the new HS2 train which, if it goes ahead, will cut a swathe through huge chunks of the English countryside. The photo made me think of all the trees that are in danger, the ancient woodlands that will disappear.

 

Click on Mr Froggy for more stories

Sweet Revenge


I missed Friday Fictioneers last week. I couldn’t make the deadline and I really missed reading everyone else’s stories. I am back this week in time to submit a story, but then I’m travelling to France for a few days. I will catch up when I get back.  Thanks to Rochelle for never missing a beat, what would we do without her? Thanks to Kent Bonham for the photo this week, I’ve been lucky enough to have seen a lot of Gaudi’s work both in Barcelona and in Palma – totally unforgettable.

kent-bonham

Genre: Fiction

Word Count: 100

SWEET REVENGE

I stand silently in the shadows, waiting.

A taxi pulls up and a man alights. I quickly cross the road and as he opens the door I slip in behind him, heart pounding. He walks on down the hallway without looking back.

I scan the names on the mailboxes. Elena Avila – Penthouse. My former friend has come a long way indeed.

I slide the small, instantly recognisable gold box inside. It’s been resealed; she will see the expensive chocolates nothing else. She has always taken other people’s things, this time it’s my husband.

I’ve decided she can’t have him.

 

 

My Gift


It’s time for Friday Fictioneers again. Time to join the great group of writers who plot,edit, rewrite, tear out their hair, swear, lose sleep and patience all in an effort to get out 100 words for the challenge each week. Join us, we don’t bite – well, not all of us!

The photo prompt this week comes courtesy of Jennifer Pendegast.

Winding stairs

Genre: Literary Fiction

Word Count: 100

My Gift

I am still here, you did not destroy me.

 I fought my way out from beneath the horror of your overpowering ‘love’ into the light of normality and reason. I am not ashamed. I feel clean.

Not my fault, not my fault, not my fault, no shame.

I’m waiting for you. Waiting here at the top of the stairs; when I remove the bulb, you won’t see the wire you like so much,  tightly stretched across the top step.

Your fall to oblivion will be my gift to you.

And the gift of others, who never broke free of you.