Tag Archives: Short Stories

Priceless Gift

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This is the piece I wrote in response to the photo prompt of the locket on Saturday 🙂

Hope you like it, and any suggestions, or comments are as always, gratefully received.

Sophia sat with her back pressed firmly against the chair and watched, with a blazing jealousy, the scene in front of her.

Did he know she would be here today? Was that why he’d brought that whore here? To make her jealous?

She lifted her coffee cup and took a sip, her eyes fixed on the table in the corner.

James looked good, but then he always did. He playfully flicked a strand of hair from his companions face. Sophia felt instantly sick. She thought about where that hand had been. The parts of her he had explored with his fingers only last week.

Feeling the anger rising in her chest, pushing hatred into her throat she took another mouthful of coffee. But it was no use, no amount of sweet hot liquid would be able to eradicate the bitter taste that had developed in her mouth.

Clutching the gold locket at her neck she glared at the slim attractive women who was now laughing. Willing her to turn around, but she was too engrossed in James. Too caught up in lust to be aware of anyone else in the cafe.

James fumbled in his jeans pocket as his guest rose to her feet. Sophia grabbed her bag and flung it over her shoulder, shifting to the edge of her seat.

The red head kissed James on the cheek and tottered on her six inch heels in the direction of the ladies. With head down, Sophia stood, and followed her into the toilets.

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Oh come on, you know I don’t do happy? Did you really expect anything else? Lol 😉

In my mind I was thinking along the lines that Sophia is one of those women who James can pick up and put down whenever he wants, a shag buddy, but in his eyes, nothing more. She’s not slim and attractive, but she is available. Lets face it, Sophia is in love with him, and in her eyes, its not his fault, its all these gorgeous women who keep throwing themselves at him. James bought her the locket as a gift out of guilt, Sophia thinks that it means they have a future, if only these other women would leave him alone. But the question is……

What does she intend to do in the toilets? 😉

Six Sentence Sunday 23rd September

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Here are my six sentences 🙂

Douglas ran his fingers through his chestnut brown curls and sighed.

“But you promised Douglas.” Nancy whined.

“I know, I know, but what do you expect me to do love?”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, I hate this place!”

Douglas winced as Nancy stormed from the kitchen, slamming the door and stomped up the stairs.

Awwwww, poor Douglas lol. Nancy is one of them trophy wives, and when she doesn’t get her way, Douglas ends up on the sofa lol. She wants one of those swanky new apartments down on the river, but Douglas is running out of dosh, and fast…..she’s bleeding him dry.

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So what should Douglas do? Which in my reckoning probably isn’t what he will do 😉

New York New York

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This is the piece that I wrote for the photo prompt I posted last Saturday 🙂

Stefano arrived in New York with 50 dollars in his pocket, a back pack and a small scrap of paper, on which his Mama had written his uncles address.

He soon found the restaurant, Casa Mia, along a road filled with Italian Deli’s, shops and Cafe’s. He pushed open the heavy oak door.

“Stefano!” An elderly man with white hair rushed towards him and enveloped him in a welcoming embrace.

“Uncle Roberto?”

“My boy, my boy, si, si.”

Stefano returned the hug and began to talk in Italian, but Roberto held up his hand.

“No Stefano, English, we is in America now.”

“Sorry uncle, you received Mama’s letter?”

“Yes, yes, please, sit.” Roberto put his arm around Stefano’s shoulders and guided him to a chair. As he sat down opposite he shook his head.

“Such a catastrophe, such a sad event that you should come here.”

Stefano hung his head, he could feel the tears pricking his eyes.

“Your father was a good man, yes? A good man for my sister.” He sighed. “But, this has brought you to me, yes? Your Mama says you can cook?”

“I…err…well, a little uncle.”

Roberto laughed. “Ahhhh…no more farming for you Stefano. Now, you come to America, be famous chef, yes?”

It was now Stefano’s turn to laugh. “We’ll see uncle, we’ll see.”

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photo courtesy of Carlos Porto/freedigitalphotos

I have a bit of a thing about Italians, have you noticed? Lol 😉 Must be something to do with my Italian blood (my great grandparents were Italian Trapeze artists….how cool is that?).

Anyway, I like Stefano, I think this one could definitely end up a very happy story (that makes a change!!!!!!). I’m thinking Stefano turns out to be an excellent chef and really turns the restaurant around. But his cousin (Giovanni) is not happy (bit of conflict is always good)
and is worried that Roberto will hand the business over to Stefano (as he’s getting a bit too old to run the place). What actually happens in the end is anyone’s guess 😉

But, how did the dialogue seem? Any tips to getting across an Italian accent would be much appreciated 🙂

Edited to add commas as per Dianne’s suggestion – See below

Six Sentence Sunday 16th September

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Today is Six Sentence Sunday!

I’ve finally managed to get my link up on the site so this week I am participating officially! 🙂

Still experimenting with first person POV, and d’ya know what? I’m really enjoying it 🙂

In my first life, when I lived in France, my bed was straw. In my second life, in Italy, I laid on a large white bed, surrounded by vases of flowers, my body draped in the finest silk. Now, in what I call, my third life, I am a prisoner in a two up two down tiny terraced house in a small town in Northern England.

I don’t mind the cold and the rain, i was expecting that. But what I wasn’t expecting was how much John would change. I’m trapped and he has my passport.

This was part of a piece that a wrote about a poor French girl who tries to better herself. Unfortunately, in Italy she meets a man who, after promising her the earth, whisks her back to England to a life of misery (he turns out to be a right nasty bit of work!).

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photo courtesy of Darren Robertson/freedigitalphotos

Poetic justice for being greedy? Or will the Italian Stallion come to England to rescue her?

Day of Rest? – Swanwick Day Two

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Ha ha ha, yeah right 😉

Up and ready to go at 7am yesterday morning, but it did give me the opportunity to do some writing on a bench outside in the morning sunshine 🙂

After breakfast it was off to my first course, which was Characterisation with Steve Hartley (the children’s author who was the speaker last night). A great session where Steve told us all about the Behaviour Model which is based on Carl Jung. If you follow the system it helps you focus on keeping your characters behaviour consistent throughout your novel. Very useful!!!!
I know this photo is gunna look really confusing but you need to know the whole system for it to make any sense.

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After tea on the lawn it was off to the Short Story writing class with Linda Lewis who was as amusing and interesting as ever 🙂

I had my one to one with Linda where she critiqued a short story for me. She pointed out where I was going wrong and we discussed my thoughts about giving up short story writing. She’s given me a lot to think about, so I’ll wait til I get home before I make a decision and look into some of the advice Linda gave me.

After a roast beef lunch it was off to Show and Tell with Roz Southey which was an excellent workshop, but, I think I came out even more confused than when I went in! Lol. For me, it’s one of the hardest parts of writing 😦

In the evening, our speaker was Stephen Leo Davis the author and screenwriter. A very interesting man who told us about his experiences of writing for the TV and the film industry over the last 38 years. Two things he said that I took away from the talk….

1. There are no professional tips (ie shortcuts)
2. Learn how to control the fear of failure

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My evening was rounded off by watching the closing ceremony of the Olympics in the bar

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Do you struggle with show and tell or is it just me? 😉

And now…..I need sleep lol

On The Pull

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Nooooo, not me, I’m a married women…..but then so is she 😉

This is the piece I wrote that was inspired by the “powder room” photo on Saturday 🙂 In first draft, I’m still experimenting with first person POV.

“Quick, hold the door and keep watch.”

“But Sara, I can’t physically stop people coming in?”

“Yes you can, go on, stand in front of the door.”

I rested my weight against the door and tried to focus my attention on the flock wallpaper rather than my friend, stripping down to her bra and knickers.

“I don’t know why we have to go through this every time. You looked fine.” I muttered under my breath.

Sara laughed as she pulled up the scarlet Lycra mini dress.

“Oh please, you know if Dave saw me going out like this he’d kill me!”

I had to admit she was right. Sara’s husband was possessive. She was only allowed to see me once a month and as far as he was concerned you didn’t need to dress up for Bingo. But then, he didn’t know that we never actually went.

Sara folded her jeans and T shirt and placed them in her bag. She was already wearing high heels, Dave loved her in stilettos.

“Right, all done, just the makeup.” She twirled “How do I look?”

I wanted to say like a whore, but I bit my tongue. It wouldn’t have worried her anyway, that was the look she wanted.

“Great, very sexy.” Well, it was partly true.

She quickly applied some more makeup and pouted her blood red lips.

“Now, just a little something to get me in the mood.” She winked and laid a small mirror on the shelf above the sink. I bowed my head and listened to her snorting.

“Do you have to do that in a place like this?”

“Oh, stop being such an old woman Chlo. Right, let’s go get em.” She shrieked with laughter and as she leaned over my shoulder to the door handle, she paused. “and don’t forget, if I pull, I’ve stayed at yours tonight.”

I smiled, I knew the drill.

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Hmmmmm, not too sure where that one is going. Perhaps tonight, Chloe will tell Dave the truth?

I’m open to suggestions?

Home Sweet Home

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Here’s what I came up with for Saturdays birdhouse picture 🙂

George lay down his chisel and admired his work. The small plain pine birdhouse lay in front of him on the kitchen table.

“What colour should we paint this one Sam?”

The black Labrador laying at his feet looked up when he heard his name. Then immediately put his head back down on his paws.

George eased his elderly frame out of the chair and bent, rummaging in the cupboard for his paints. He groaned as he tried to straighten.

“I think this one should be red don’t you? Mum liked red didn’t she.”

Sam scratched his ear and rolled over.

;

Several hours later George sat back and stretched. “This is a good one Sam, she’ll like this one. We’ll just have a cuppa, give it time to dry, then we’ll go for a nice walk.”

He filled the kettle and looked out onto the small green below the flats. Memories of his wife standing on the grass, throwing seed to the sparrows as she’d done every morning, played in his mind. She’d hated moving to this flat. They’d both missed their garden, the one they’d tended for over forty years. The one with the birdhouse George had lovingly made for Eileen, just after they’d moved in. Year after year they’d watched the sparrows raise their babies.

How long had he been alone now? Ten Months? Eleven? The tears welled in his tired grey eyes. He preferred remembering her like that. Not how she’d been in the final months of her life, when the cancer had taken hold.

;

Arriving at work that morning, Clare found her colleague Diane standing outside smoking a cigarette.

“Hi Clare…..look!”

Clare spun round and looked at the wall Diane was pointing to.

“Is that the bosses idea of brightening the place up?” Clare laughed.

“No, Jim doesn’t know anything about it. It wasn’t here before the weekend that’s for sure. My mate Sue told me about this, apparently they’re cropping up all over town, have been for about a year now.”

The two women stood, both deep in thought, looking at the small red box. They held their breath and watched as a tiny male sparrow alighted on the roof. It chirped and then was joined by a female.

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Photo from Wikipedia taken by Fir0002

Well, I tried, ok, it was sort of happy, but sad at the same time lol 😉 It must be awful when your spouse dies, when you’ve been together that long 😦

Ok, I’m depressing myself, and probably you lot too lol. I actually got quite upset writing this 😦

Let’s pretend that if I continued this story, George’s son calls him, they’ve just moved into a huge house and it’s got a lovely garden. They want George and Sam to go and live with them and look after the garden. Oh, and he’ll have his own granny flat. Better? 😉

The Prayer

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Here’s what I wrote in response to Sundays photo 🙂

“Have you seen them?”

“Seen who honey?”

“The men, the men in the van.” She grabs my arm and digs what is left of her bitten down finger nails into my skin. I steer her towards the bed and ease her down gently onto the rough blanket.

“How are you doing Jan?” I ask. She turns towards the window as I prise my arm from her grip. “Has mum been in to see you?”

She remains silent and stares at the window.

“Jan, I miss you.”

She turns, a wry smile forming on her face and pats my leg. For a second, there is a flash in her eyes, a moment of recognition. A glimpse of my beautiful sister, the woman she used to be before this disease took over.

“Have you seen them?”

I don’t need to ask who this time. “I’ll come and see you next week Jan.” I stand and hug her, but she flinches.

I hold back the tears as I walk to the door and turn. She’s staring at the window, lost in her own world.

I make my way to my mothers room with the smell of disinfectant filling my nostrils. I pause at the door and wonder, when will it will be my turn.

There’s a whole debate isn’t there, on whether mental illness is hereditary. Not really sure where this story is going, or even what genre it is lol 😉 I think I’d have to do a lot of research into mental illness if I wanted to continue with it. It must be soul destroying to see someone you love end up institutionalised 😦

Sorry, hope I haven’t depressed you all too much lol 😉

In Service & Where I’m Guesting

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I’m guesting over on Chris Stockings Blog today 🙂 So please pop over and read what I have to say about Inspiration A huge thank you to Chris for posting my ramblings!

Remember Sundays photo? Probably not, because it seems that WordPress had a paddy and those of you who usually receive my posts by e mail probably didn’t get it 😦 Bound to Serve – Elizabeth Mourant’s Bedroom. Well, i don’t know if you picked up on the title, and the furniture in the room itself, but, this was the bedroom that belonged to the house maid, sooooo, I decided to go with that 🙂

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“I Should Like To Make My Own Living by William Thomas Smedley (1858-1920)” Illustration via Wikipedia

Elizabeth opened her eyes as the early morning light filtered through the small attic window. Pulling the covers up to her chin, she thought about the endless tasks they would be expecting her to perform that day. Her hands were raw from scrubbing and every muscle in her body ached. At 19, she had already lost the rosey cheeked flush of youth, her face now sallow and vacant.

She placed her hand on her stomach and felt the flutterings of the life growing inside her. What could she give this child? What choices were available to her? There was a tap at the door and a whispered voice.

“Elizabeth, come on, it’s time to get up. Cook says if you’re not downstairs in 5 minutes she’ll tell the Mistress.”

Reaching out to the bedside table she clasped the small bottle she had taken from the gardeners shed. The dark liquid tasted of bitter almonds and made her gag as she swallowed every last drop.

Resting her head back on the feather pillow she closed her eyes and imagined being whisked away by a cloud of butterflies, to a fairy tale land, where she was the mistress.

Awwww, poor Elizabeth. It was a hard life being a servant/housemaid in those days 😦

Now….who was the father d’ya think? 🙂

The Tale Of The Converse

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As promised, a little extract I wrote on Sunday, prompted by the feet picture 🙂

“Sophia Jackson! You get down these stairs right this minute!”

Sophia hated having an older sister.

“Sophia, I mean it, don’t make me come up there!”

“Ok, ok, I’m coming, keep your knickers on.” She made her way reluctantly to the top of the stairs and stared down at Annie’s red face. “What?”

Annie glared and Sophia found herself trying not to giggle.

“Where are my Converse? I know you’ve had them.”

“Converse? I haven’t touched them!”

It was always the same. Since Annie turned sixteen, two years ago, the four year age gap just seemed to be getting wider.

“Don’t lie to me, you’re always touching my stuff! I’m gunna get Dad to put a lock on my door.”

Sophia watched her sister flounce off down the hallway. Annie seemed to do a lot of flouncing, so Dad said. Sophia stood at the top of the stairs, listening to Annie wailing to Mum.

“Can you search her room, I know she’s got them, I’m meeting Tom in half an hour.”

Sophia appeared at the kitchen door. “Go search my room then, I haven’t got them!” She skipped off down the hallway and out into the garden, knowing full well that Annie would be on her way up to her room.

Dad was at the bottom of the garden putting the last of the autumn leaves onto a huge pile.

“You ok Soph?” He smiled.

Sophia knew she was his favourite.

“Do you want to light the bonfire?”

She nodded enthusiastically as Dad handed her the box of matches.

“Careful now, arms length.”

Sophia struck the match and bent down. Slowly the flames began to lick the old shrub branches and leaves. She stood back and grinned. For several minutes, they watched the flames take hold of the large mound.

“Oooo, what’s that smell?” Dad sniffed the air. “I don’t remember putting anything rubber on there.”

Sophia smiled sweetly and put her arm around his waist.

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He he he, I just don’t do nice 😉