As a little white rabbit said “I’m late, I’m late…”
But I managed to pull something together eventually. The thing about Friday Fictioneers is the big hook, once you’re on you just don’t want to wriggle off! The photo this week is courtesy of Lora Mitchell and the Friday Fictioneers are lovingly corralled each week by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields
Word Count: 100
Martha stares out at the city one last time.
Seems she is always waiting.
She had waited for a husband to love.
She had waited a while for their first child.
She had waited in vain for their second.
She had waited for her husband to love her as she loved him.
She waits for the bus, holding one bag and one silent child, ‘can’t have any more that don’t speak’
She waits at her mother’s door for the comforting arms that will hold them both; for the heart that is bigger than the ocean, to envelop them in love.
Friday 1st March, St David’s Day and time for more Friday Fictioneers. Thanks for the photo prompt this week go to Beth Carter, and thanks for continuing to inspire the Friday Fictioneers go to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.
Genre: Literary Fiction
Word Count: 100 words
The Fresh Start
Photo – Beth Carter
He looked out at the yard.
Not much stuff left now. Some cookery books, the unused ‘zigzag action’ sewing machine, a red boudoir chair, some photo albums, a few shoes. All her castoffs.
He saw the red-haired woman again. She had walked passed a couple of times. Now she crossed the street and stood looking at the car. He had hated women, one woman, for too long.
He came outside, she smiled.
“Seems I’ve moved to an interesting neighbourhood, is the car in the sale too?”
He grinned, it wasn’t a sale, just a clear out.
He got the keys.
See other stories here
(Late entry this week. I tried to post last night, but for some reason I couldn’t load the photo and there’s never an intergeek around when you need one! So this is my Saturday Submission)
Another week, another photo prompt from Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for Friday Fictioneers. The photo this week is courtesy of Janet Webb and you can see how others have interpreted the prompt here
Still Living at Bankside Farm
“I did find it mum, it’s a ruin though. Look. I took a photo for you.”
She smiles up at me
“I’ve found your old home, it’s a ruin.”
She takes the photo and stares
“My room looks out over the bottom meadow, towards the mill.”
I sink down beside her, taking her hand
“Mum, remember. You live here now, not Bankside Farm. You haven’t lived there for years.”
She giggles then whispers,
“I saw Jed with the cows this morning, he blew me a kiss.”
My plan didn’t work.
I look up at the face I love, and smile.
( I am researching my family tree, and Bankside Farm was once home to some of my ancestors. It does look a bit like place in the photo now)
I haven’t posted anything for a while; I have had to deal with some very upsetting family developments which, quite frankly have let me stunned. I had been away to Crete and had a wonderful holiday (post on that to follow hopefully) when on my way home from the airport, I had to deal with a call from a distraught daughter-in-law.
My son has moved of their home. There have been no arguments, no-one else is involved; he just feels the need to be on his own and work out what it is that is making him unhappy. He has said he will arrange to see a counsellor.
Their marriage was one I would have bet on as a sure thing; they are so good together and have been for almost 18 years
I have spoken to them both, offered a bed, food, a shoulder, a sounding board – anything that will help. She is the daughter I never had and I am feeling so incredibly sad for them both.
I hope to be back with you soon, sorry not to have been around for a while