Hand

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She woke to find a handprint on the bed. Smiling, she pressed her own over it, noticing how her smaller hand fitted within it. She breathed in deeply and knew within her heart that her husband was watching over her.

Transformation

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Lance always struggled with shape shifting despite the curse running strong within his family. Tonight, though he was determined to master it. Closing his eyes, he willed himself into a wolf. However, the distant cries of sheep distracted him and when Lance opened his eyes he found the transformation hadn’t gone well.

(Inspired from; https://katmyrman.com/2017/08/15/twittering-tales-45-15-august-2017/ with thanks).

Holiday

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Finally, she had broken through all her fears and now she had arrived at her holiday destination. Taking in deep breaths of clean air and feeling the hot sun on her face, she stepped into the hotel. After checking in and abandoning her things in the room, she hurried to the pool, ready to relax.

Modern Love

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I liked the new girl. She was quiet, polite and hardworking, plus she knew how to be a receptionist unlike the last woman! She had been here three months now and we were a good team. Settling into lunch that day which sadly was a working lunch like the many we had to have due to staff shortages, she suddenly switched the conversation.

‘Emma? Can I asked you a personal question?’

‘Sure, Alia,’ I replied. There was nothing I liked better then talking about my life.

‘How did you met your boyfriend?’

I looked at her. She was dressed in her normal long black coat, floor touching black skirt, loose and long black top and a black hijab which covered her head and neck, only showing her dark face. I had often wondered if she was in mourning since she was always dressed in black, but I hadn’t been able to bring myself to ask.

In contrasted, I always dressed in bright colours, favouring; blues, greens, purples and whites. I wore knee or ankle length skirts with leggings or tights, some days I put on trousers. My blouses and tops were sensible enough but some of them did draw focus to my large chest. I’d wear a matching jacket or cardigan as needed. With it being late summer, my skin was lightly tanned. I wore my long med brown hair up or down, depending on how I felt.

I had never seen even a wisp of Alia’s hair so I didn’t know what colour it was. she didn’t wear any makeup either whilst I went through the whole colour plate in time with the seasons and the weather. We both wore glasses- me thin metallic purple frames and her’s thick, round and black old fashioned frames.

I also carted a large and very full handbag around with me, whilst Alia seemed to keep everything in the deep pockets of her coat. Alia had a ring of keys attached to her which constantly made sounds as she moved and reminded me of the housekeeper in The Secret Garden movie.

‘My boyfriend?’ I questioned.

Alia nodded and waited for me to launch into the story. She was use to my length talks now.

‘On a dating website,’ I answered, ‘that’s where I’ve meet all my boyfriends, expect the ones I dated in education. I guess I find it easier, you know? I have a habit of creating bad first impressions with men. Plus, there’s so many different kinds of men you can meet and I’ve found it far better then bars and nightclubs.’

‘Oh,’ Alia responded.

‘Of course, if I could meet a boyfriend naturally I would do. I like the build up of friendship then the slow falling in love and the realisation of it,’ I explained then give a small shrug.

‘So, you’d like it as a fairy tale? Love at first sight?’ she asked.

‘That would make it easier, wouldn’t it? But life doesn’t happen like that.’

I laughed and give a little shake of my head.

The phone rang and our conversation was interrupted by someone making an enquire. After I had dealt with them I turned back to Alia.

‘Why did you want to know anyway?’ I asked her.

She looked a little guilty and there was a slight flush to her cheeks, slowly and almost in a whisper she said, ‘because I would like one.’

Alia pulled her hijab to cover more of her face as if she had told me a dirty secret and now needed to hide away.

I thought over her words for a moment. Sipping my water slowly.

‘And why can’t you?’ I asked.

She didn’t reply and had suddenly found something to do on the computer before her which totally had all of her focus. She ignored me as if I hadn’t spoken.

Casting my mind about, I wondered if Alia came from a family were arrange marriages were traditional. Perhaps, her parents were very strict about her seeing men? I wouldn’t know the truth if I didn’t ask, but I was nervous too and knew it would effect how I saw Alia.

Instead, I asked, ‘you know, online dating is normal now. It’s how most people met. Would you like me to show you how to sign up? I’ll put you on the free site I used. I meet my current and last three boyfriends off there.’

‘But how did you know they were….okay?’ Alia asked.

She looked at me shyly over her shoulder.

‘Well, because I set myself some rules and stuck by them. Plus, once you’ve talked to them online for a bit you get a feel for them. Then you can meet up with just the ones you want too. You have to meet in a really crowd place that you know well. Like in town,’ I added.

Alia waited for me to go on. Her interest peaking and her expression becoming more relaxed.

So, I did, ‘and never go to their houses or a location they suggest that you are not happy with. Art galleries and museums make for good first dates. Or meals out. Whatever you feel comfy with.’

She nodded.

‘So, would you like my helping signing up?’ I asked.

Alia paused then in small voice said, ‘yes, please.’

I smiled broadly and wheeled my desk chair over to her corner. With my help Alia would be fine and I’d make sure she found a suitable boyfriend.

Summer Cold

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You had been feeling run down all of yesterday but you had thought you were just tried after running from meeting to meeting. Now though, as you wake up, you realise you have a cold. Struggling to get up, you hope a shower and a cup of tea will help. Doing that seems to help but even before you get dressed you know you’re not going to make it.

You phone in sick and crawl back to bed, feeling guilty. You should go in but your head is pounding, your nose dripping and your eyes feel so tried, you don’t feel like you’ve just been asleep. You pull the duvet over our head, nestle into the pillow and let sleep cart you away again.

Green

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I had never seen a stone like it before on the beach. With the waves and wind whipping around me and Betty, my cocker spaniel whining, I bent and picked it up. The coat of my hood and loose hair strands got in my face, I blinked them away then looked in my hand. The stone was there. Sparkling wet, but perfectly round and a clear lime green colour.

I turned it over and it was the same on the back. Slipping it into my pocket, I straightened and began battling the storm back to my house. When I arrived, cold and dripping wet. I took my coat off and forgot about the strange stone. I had Betty to dry, myself to dry and though it was the height of summer, a fire to make up.

So it wasn’t until I put my coat on days later, to protect me from a miserable drizzly morning, that I rediscovered the stone. Taking it out of my pocket, I looked and felt it’s smooth edges. Betty was bouncing at my feet, eager to go out and wondering what was keeping her master from getting a move on.

I looked more closely at the stone and realised it wasn’t a stone at all. It was a piece of glass which the ocean had worn smooth and softened the edges of. It wasn’t unusually to find glass fragments on the beach, it was the fact the piece was so green that got to me. Wondering were it came from, I placed it safely on the little sill next to the front window. I took Betty out and once again forgot all about the green glass.

Happy 3rd Anniversary to The Story Files!

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Hi everyone,

WordPress has just told me that today is The Story Files’ 3rd anniversary even though I started writing this blog in the middle of 2014. I don’t know how the dates and times work out, I’ve a disability in maths. I’m also dyslexic, so how I ended up with a love of reading and writing, I’ll never know, but I’m thankful for it.

Writing stories has been my escape and stress relief since I was a child, despite the challenges I’ve had with letters, words and grammar! I’ve always found that novels- the ones I read and the ones I write, were there for me when no one else really was. Luckily, things are different for me today but I still finding writing good for dealing with my problems.

I started writing this blog soon after a graduated from a Masters degree in Creative Writing. I had serious depression and was feeling at a lost as to what to do with my life. In doing this blog, I forced myself to write a story a day, thus giving me an active thing to do each day no matter what. This and also rediscovering a love for crafts, helped me get over the depression.

Now though, I’m in the habit of writing stories for this blog. I enjoy it and I know for an hour or so each day I can escape into writing. if I can’t make time for it, I work it into whatever I’m doing during the day; I’ll write at lunch and my breaks, sometimes even when I’m meant to be working! Sometimes though, I don’t write a story everyday because I might be away for a weekend etc and it’s good at that time to give my mind a small break. In that case, I’ll write the number of stories needed on other days and that helped to mix things up for me and allows the creativity to grew further.

Originally, I started this blog to give myself some space. I didn’t care who read it or liked or commented because that wasn’t important to me. Over the years, that has changed and now I love feedback in anyway. It’s important to help my writing improve and I feel so happy every time someone lets me know they’ve liked a story and or they take the time to comment to tell me so.

I don’t know what the future is for this blog or my stories. I hope to continue as long as possible. Perhaps, one day I’ll make an anthology, or work on some stories to publish or maybe even write another novel – been awhile since my last one! Whatever happens, I just want to say a big thank you to everyone who follows, likes, comments and shares my blog. I appreciate you all so much and you help inspire me to keep writing.

If you’d like to know more about me and also read the book reviews I write please check out my other blog; https://hailscrazyblog.blogspot.co.uk/

Thank you again!

Hayley.

 

Vacation

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It was that time of year again and as she looked out of her office window, she long to be away. Some place quiet and warm. Where it was always sunny and not raining. Where blue ocean meet white sands and the sky went on forever. Turning back to her computer, she did a quick search on a travel site and a few clicks later, she had booked a week’s holiday on a beach.

Lost Wings

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I often went to sulk in the cemetery. It was my go to place if I was feeling upset or angry and wanted to be away from the world. No one really visited this unimportant corner which was mostly hidden in a small wooded area. There were maybe about sixty headstones and the little chapel which had been forever abandoned.

Plucking at the long grass growing in-between the treeline and edge of the cemetery,  I recalled why I was here today. It was because Minnie and I had fallen out again. Perhaps this time for good. She had been secretly dating Dalton Walton, who I had a huge crush on and had wanted to date for an age. Minnie had always known that and still she had….

I ripped the grass up and threw it away. I felt like screaming and crying, stomping around and throwing myself dramatically over a gravestone. I didn’t though. I walked into the cemetery and began reading the names off. It always helped to calm and distracted me.

The only statue was of an angel and it stood in the middle row. The angel was short, made of grey stone and was crying. She watched over the grave of Annabelle Leyton, born 6th October 1887 and died 6th October 1903, on her 16th birthday. Rest Sweetest Angel. Annabelle’s parents and still born brother were in the grave to her left. On the right side; Annabelle’s older sister, Bethany, her husband James and there three children.

I felt a strange connection to Annabelle because we were the same age. Today though as I stood before the angel, I noticed something odd. Her wings were missing! Looking, I saw they were laying on the ground, having snapped off from her back. How had this happened? I nudged one with my toe whilst I wondered what to do.

The wings were too heavy to lift back up and even if I did that, how would I get them to stay again? I walked to the back of the statue and looked. It was an odd sight seeing the large marks were the wings had cracked away from. I couldn’t tell if they had fallen off natural or if someone had cut them off. But why would you do that and just leave them?

Feeling sadder, I sighed and knelt down in the grass. I touched the wings. They were cold, solid stone but the feathers were raised and I could feel each outline against my finger tip. I didn’t know much about angels but I was sure when they wings got cut off bad things happened to them.

Looking up at Annabelle’s angel, I decided that she just didn’t look right anymore. It seemed up to me to fix that. I went home, did some research on my phone and came up with a plan. The next day, a Saturday, and whilst my parents were busy with their own lives, I went out and brought from an arts and crafts shop some white plastic sheeting, wires, metal tags and pliers.

I took all of this to the cemetery and there in the late summer sun, I built angel wings. I made the frame out of the wire, shaping it and joining it with clips. I used the old stone wings as a guide. Then I covered the white plastic over it, shaping the ends to try and look like the feathers. I wasn’t an arty person and it didn’t look very good, but it would have to do.

Using more wire, I fixed the wings in place to the back of the angel. That took awhile, as I didn’t get it straight the first few times. Finally, I felt I had done the best I could. I was tried, hungry and thirsty too. Stepping away, I looked at the angel and her new wings. The contrasted of the grey stone and bright white plastic wings didn’t look good. It was too childish.

I felt disheartened. We had read Frankenstein for English Lit last year and that’s totally want the angel now reminded me off. I wanted to go over and rip the wings off. She would look far better without them but I didn’t. I was too tried. Tears rolled down my cheeks and I wiped them away.

I clenched my fists and told myself to stop. The wings would do for now and maybe in the future I’d find a way to fix the original ones. It was time to go home now. That night I had a strange dream. I was walking in the cemetery and it was snowing. I went to the angel statue but it was missing. Looking around, I couldn’t spot her anywhere and then I heard the fluttering of plastic.

The angel appeared before me. She held out her arms, a large smile on her face and behind her the wings I had made glowed white.

‘Thank you,’ she said in a soft, clear voice.

I nodded, too shocked to speak.

Then she took to the air again, disappearing into the snow and I woke up feeling a lot better.

 

(Inspired by; https://janedougherty.wordpress.com/2017/08/09/flash-fiction-challenge-lost-wings/ with thanks).

Mind Falling

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Everyday I was falling through my mind. Imagines and thoughts tumbling by which I could only half process. Strangely, my current thoughts seemed to be with me and I could think as if I was on the outside again. Mostly, I wondered about when this was all going to stop and what had been the cause of it? How does one man become trapped inside of his own mind and how can he break free?

The answer hadn’t come to me yet, so I was still falling though memories. There were flashes of things I’d totally forgotten but somehow had been stored here and other flashes of things I’d rather not see ever again. There were happy scenes, sad scenes, holiday, birthday scenes and dangerous scenes that triggered all kinds of things deep within me.

After awhile, I stopped paying attention. That was until, I reached my childhood memories. A weird feeling grew and I realised how little happy memories I had at this time. Also, how much I had forgotten. Had my teacher really had green hair? Had my painting really been in that gallery display? What had been my best friend’s girlfriend’s name? Where were all this people now?

I couldn’t really answer any questions, that knowledge wasn’t stored here. What did that matter anyway? The past wasn’t going to happened again, even though right now I did feel like I was re-living it. When all those memories ended there was nothing but blackness. It seemed I was drifting through space, but I didn’t think that was true.

What was going to happened now? Was this for eternity? Or would I cycle back around. I tried shouting, but like last time nothing came of it. I tried to stop moving, but couldn’t. Then all my thoughts stopped.

 

(Inspired from; https://whatthehellisreal.wordpress.com/2017/08/10/photo-fiction-99/ with thanks).