Setting The Scene


The photo reminds me of a house we once rented in France. We had a very enjoyable holiday but as we left I mentioned to the owner that she should really tell prospective holiday makers that part of the house is overlooked by the neighbours.

With a Gallic shrug she replied ‘but Madame, that means the house stays cool in the summer, why is this a problem?’  Hmm…

Copyright Jan Wayne Fields

Copyright Jan Wayne Fields

Genre: Fiction

Word Count: 100

Setting The Scene

‘Darling, the Meissen table centre.’

Not again

‘We had to sell the Meissen.’

‘Who?’

‘Mother, we had to sell it all.’

‘Sell what?  Oh poor darling, put out the Lalique the one with fairies.’

How many times will we have to do this?

‘That’s gone too. James has been ‘investing’ your money, hardly anything left.’

If I could get my hands on the bastard

She stares at me, narrowing her eyes.

‘My dinner table must look beautiful.’

We wait for imaginary dinner guests. When she sleeps, I put away the remnants of her golden days, praying she will soon forget them.

 

 

  and read more stories, you know you want to…

Thanks to Rochelle for overseeing production and to Jan Wayne Fields for setting the scene. (See what I’ve done there, of course you do)

 

 

An Uncertain Future


Our fabulous group achieved recognition by WordPress – the comment I liked best- We love Friday Fictioneers as much for the blogging bonds it cultivates as for the range and power of the stories it inspires.’

If you missed the post you can read it here. So pleased for Rochelle and for the whole group too, as it is always a good feeling when your work is admired.

Back down to earth now, my story this week follows the lovely photo by Erin Leary.

Copyright Erin Leary

Copyright Erin Leary

Genre: Fiction

Word Count: 100

An Uncertain Future

She waits outside the door, listening to the conversation between the doctor and her husband. Her nails dig into her palm, the discomfort a distraction.

‘Last question, do you know what day it is today Daniel?’

‘Yes, of course I do.’

‘Can you tell me?’

A slight pause, ‘you know it as well as I.’

‘I’m not sure, will you tell me?’

Silence

Sadness envelops her; her worst fears confirmed.

Later when they leave he holds her arm. Safe again, he looks at her with shining eyes, and wide smile.

She smiles back at him, immediately recognising her new role.

 

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Dementia is a cruel and unforgiving thing. This story came to mind as soon as I saw Erin’s photo. It is based on a close friend and her husband – a former accountant with a brilliant mathematical mind. She always described his illness like  ‘a mist that slowly descends until the way becomes totally obscured.’

 

 

 

Still Living at Bankside Farm


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

copyright-janet-webb

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)

 

 

Lost years


Here is the prompt for Friday Fictioneers this week from Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Genre: Memoir (100 words)

rochelle2

He should be here, you say with that trembling voice,

Will you ask him to hurry?

Why is he taking so long?

Years ago you voiced the accusations of your doubting mind

Out loud, deceit, faithlessness, disloyalty,

He had no chance to stay your ranting onslaught,

You were frighteningly ferocious, they say.

I was too young to know him,

Too young to understand the words I may have half heard before sleep,

You are too old now to realise that he can’t come back,

But I repeat again the soothing words

There there, don’t worry you will see him soon.

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