Postcard Story

Dear Shelly,

It’s September now and six months since I last held you in my arms. I don’t know if you have been receiving anything from me. Your mother is probably withholding all my letters and gifts. I forgive her. She was angry but I hope one day, to get a note from you.

The leaves are falling against the cabin’s windows. The river is running cold and I am more alone then I have ever been before. I miss your sweet smile and small, warm hands.

Perhaps, in the spring I can return to you.

Papa

Late Night

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Just one more chapter, I tell myself as I lay in bed. Rain is patting against the window and I’m wrapped up cosy.

Just one more chapter, I say, turning the page and carrying on. The rain continues and the window mists over. I’m too comfy to move.

Just one more chapter, I declare, determined this time to make it so. Night peers in at me, her soft voice whispering me to sleep and the rain is my lullaby.

Just one more chapter, the book calls to me, how can you stop right now? I turn the pages read more and more until dawn’s light sends night to her rest.

Yellow

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I followed the girl in yellow through the woods. Sometimes, she would look over her shoulder as if she sensed me. I would pause and duck low, hoping the underbrush would hide me.

Through the trees we went, last autumn’s leaves decaying and silent under foot whilst spring flower pushed upwards. The wind stirred the young leaves and I moved away to keep my scent low.

A deer took fright and we both stopped to watch it leap between the trees and away.

The girl tugged her yellow hood up and bent her head to watch her footing.

I padded behind her, licking my lips. She was going to be tasty. Just like the girl in red.

Three To Dance

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The conjoined triplets waited for the signal to come onto the stage. They had longed for this moment since the dance teacher had told them she had made a part for them.

As the lead ballerina finished and the audience broke into clapping, the conjoined triplets stepped into the light.

Paint #FridayFictioneers

With paint and canvas, I could disappear. It didn’t matter what was happening in the world or what my mood was, I could always find peace with brushes, colours and images.

People asked me where I got my inspiration from and how I came up with all this strange but fascinating paintings. I shrugged and told them I had a great imagination and eye for the unusually.

‘I can’t stop looking at it! It’s grotesque but for some reason it’s calling to me. I have to have this painting!’ People told me.

I would smile and sell my paintings to them whilst the Daemon laughed as he claimed another victim.

 

(Inspired by; https://rochellewisoff.com/2020/07/22/24-july-2020/ with thanks.)

Nun

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Dear God, I don’t want to be a nun anymore. I’m sorry but that’s just the way it is. I don’t feel cut out for what you are asking me to do. Mother says that you’ll help me but so far I’m struggling to see that hand. How can I bring new sisters to you when they are not interesting?

The world has changed and I fear we all must change with it. People don’t want a church anymore, they want something more, something we can’t give them. Perhaps, it’s a something even you can’t give it to them…

 

Coffee Art

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I had always admired the art designs on top of my lunchtime coffee from the posh cafe next to my office.

Since working from home though, I had missed it. My home coffees looked so plain, so normal and I missed that treat that broke up my day. In the morning, I looked forward to the coffee art; what design would I get today? In the afternoon, energised, I enjoyed thinking about the creativity.

There was only one thing for it. I had to learn how to do the designs myself. Perhaps, that way, I would feel better about working from home.

Duckie #3LineTales

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The bright yellow duckies had always attracted me. I loved playing with the one I had as a toddler in and out of the bath. Often, I went to bed with it too and my parents were baffled by my attachment to the plastic bath duck.

When we went to anywhere that had a ‘hook a duck’ or something similar game stall, I had to play like an addict at a gambling machine. I didn’t want the stuff animals or other toys for a prize though, I wanted to keep all the duckies!

‘She’ll grow out of it,’ my dad often said but he was wrong. Now, I’m twenty-eight and my collection of plastic duckies has just got me a place in the Guinness World’s Records.  

 

(Inspired by; https://only100words.xyz/2020/07/09/three-line-tales-week-232/ with thanks).

Market #FridayFictioneers

For the first time in two months the market was awake once more.

People set up their stalls under a orange-yellow sky, greeting each other. Plastic and paper rustled in the breeze whilst the heavenly scent of fresh bread, cakes and pies called to be tasted. 

Harriet and her mother set up their small farm’s produce stall. There were eggs laid by their chickens. Homemade jams, marmalade and chutneys using fruit and veg from their field. Golden honey from Harriet’s beehives and goat’s cheese from mother’s goats.

The nervousness in the air was broken by the first customers arriving. Harriet let go of the breath she was holding. It felt like things were returning back to normal.

 

(Inspired by; https://rochellewisoff.com/2020/06/24/26-june-2020/ with thanks)

The Scent of Roses

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The Lady hadn’t left her home when she had passed on. It wasn’t that she was trapped there, she could come and go as much as she wanted. The Lady had loved the house so much that she couldn’t help but walk the corridors and through rooms still.

The Lady was glad people still came and stayed in her house. She loved hearing them praise the decor and paintings, the gardens and the water fountains. Also, it was so nice to hear the laughter of children once more as they dashed from room to room.

She knew her presence was felt because people talk about smelling her perfume. It was one she had made herself using roses from the garden and water from the spring. The Lady felt pleased by this, she liked them to know she was still here watching over her house.