She envies trees who shed their old looks
to return fresh-faced and bright come spring
while she’ll have turned more grey.
There will be a round-up later today or tomorrow. Now excuse me while I try to catch up on NaNoWriMo…
‘You must take off your coat and dress.’
‘Pardon?’
Everyone had warned her to stay away from him. She’d insist he wasn’t bad, merely different. Yet as the icy water seeped into her boots, she wondered if she ought to have listened.
‘It won’t work if we’re dressed.’
He shrugged off his coat in a grand gesture.
‘Trust me?’
Her freezing fingers fumbled with the fastenings.
When they had shed their clothes, he touched her and turned into something else and so did she. Slipping into the water, she found it warm and breathable. Fin to fin, they swam away.
***
Written for Jane Dougherty’s Microfiction Challenge #15 – yep, I finally made it. Still on the Akismet naughty list, though, so I won’t even bother commenting this week…
So WordPress seems to have decided my comments are spam. If you joined Three Line Tales last week and you’re in the upper half of yesterday’s round-up, it might be worth checking the comment spam on your dashboard. I gave up when I realised nothing I wrote got published, mind.
Now, I don’t know how WP (and/or Akismet) decide what constitutes spam. And I won’t be able to find out this week because of course this happens while WP are away on their annual get-together.
Just as I was going to ease myself back into blogging regularly, as well.
true luxury,
not available for purchase:
time to just be
*
**
***
We know how it began and when,
and if we’re honest we could have nipped it in the bud had we opposed them then
(the price we pay for saving our skin).
***
**
*
She has learnt to endure Father’s punishment without so much as a flinch – if she flinches, whimpers, cries, he’ll get angrier.
But she’s inherited Father’s anger. The first time it flares up when she finds a bruise on her baby brother.
The second time, it makes her fling herself at Father’s fist as he’s about to hit her brother again. The look of shock on his face is almost worth the pain of the beating she takes in return.
She doesn’t want there to be a third time. She will have to talk to someone before she turns into Father.
***
Story 30 of 31 for Story A Day May, using this week’s Moral Mondays prompt.
In the darkest, dankest corner of the cellar, you go through another spoon. Futile, digging tunnels. But it takes your mind off what’s next.
***
Story 16 of 31 for Story A Day – today’s prompt is Twitter fiction.
He comes home way past dinner time again and acts as if it’s okay he ignored my calls all night.
‘Soup might still be warm if you’re lucky.’
I don’t know why I’m even talking to him.
‘Sorry, honey. Work meeting ran over.’
To the pub? Does he really believe I can’t smell the booze on his breath?
‘Better late, right?’
There’s nothing different about tonight, with one exception.
‘Yes, better late.’
I’ve dutifully swallowed his lies for weeks, but I can’t leave standing up for myself until late turns into never. Tonight, I take my bags and start over.
***
(Story 2 of 31 for Story A Day, inspired by this week’s Moral Mondays prompt: better late than never)
There are days, days like today, actually, when she needs to remind herself that there are only 24 hours in a day and that she, despite pretending to be a superhero, is, in fact, only human and she needs to eat and to sleep and to take her mind off work because if she doesn’t, she’ll end up staring at the screen for hours without the first clue of how to begin or to continue or to end the story and is there anything more frustrating that this great idea that just never went anywhere, y’know, and… where was she?
***
Written for this week’s Moral Mondays – thanks for the reminder, Nortina!
Same guy who tried to chat her up earlier’s waiting for her when she steps out of the ladies. He’d better try something stupid because splashing her face with cold water didn’t help. She’s still furious.
‘Lost your bodyguard?’
He takes a step towards her.
‘I wouldn’t.’
She has to warn him so she can say he’s been warned.
‘Or what?’
He lunges to grab her. She slams him to the floor. Before she gets to throw a punch, though, Herman stops her. He looms over the guy and snarks, ‘Didn’t your mum teach you never to talk to strangers?’
***
It is, again, entirely coincidental that the Moral Monday’s prompt this week seemed tailor-made for one of my scenes today – cheers Nortina!
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