photo via Public Domain Images
I remember the day I chucked my Chucks.
They had holes in the soles, the fabric’d worn so thin they should have fallen apart. Neither made me want to part with them.
It took Mum to come into my room and put her foot down.
‘Enough is enough,’ she said, ‘those shoes of yours are a disgrace.’
‘You don’t understand what they mean to me – they’re part of my identity.’
‘I understand better than you think. Let me show you something.’
In a box in the attic, her own Chucks, worn to pieces, lovingly wrapped in tissue paper.
What, it’s already
week 4 of FFfPP? How time flies…
photo by Josh Felise
Mum pours tea and shoves a plate of biscuits my way. She reckons Coeliac disease is a fad.
‘I’ve landed the celebrity wedding of the decade. I’m working crazy hours, but it’s worth it. They’re spending more on flower arrangements than I’ve spent on my new car.’
Mum tuts – not the news she’s waiting for.
I’ve run my own, thriving business for a decade. But I’m 36. I’ve neither husband nor children. In her eyes, I’m planning all the wrong weddings.
I’ve stopped listening to her long ago. I hope Dad’s back soon so we can talk business.
Inspired by this week’s
In Other Words: Remember no one can…
photo by Krista Mangulsone
The video is so pixelated it’s impossible to tell if this is us or not. I know it isn’t. Fake me’s voice might fool everyone else, it’s not fooling me.
I loathe the sound of my own voice. I hate film premieres when I’m forced to sit through my latest blockbuster and pretend I enjoy it.
Whoever’s behind the tape, they know about the affair. Still, these are actors playing other actors in a sterile hotel room. They’re not us. Her voice doesn’t grate on me like my own does.
I smile at the journo.
‘It’s a fake.’
This is one of these stories I suspect may be too long to fit into 100 words. What do you think?
(c) Sonya, 2016
The humble spoon. It looks innocuous. Some might call it benign.
Some have no imagination.
I don’t have a lot of time for people who pride themselves on their knife skills. Cutting out your victim’s heart with a knife, where’s the artistry in that? Also, a knife takes away the element of surprise. You pull a knife, people scream and fight and beg for their lives before you’ve begun to have any fun.
I get my spoon out, people laugh. They think they’ve been pranked, look for the camera.
They stop laughing pretty sharpish.
Because it’s dull. It hurts more.
It seems I’ve accidentally
started a new serial without having it planned out – it might get interesting.
photo by skeeze
‘I don’t think that’s a good idea, love. Even the smallest bloke who trains here is twice your size.’
‘Look, I’m trying to let you off the hook. Girl like you has no business here.’
‘Don’t I? Don’t pay attention to the suit and the heels – I’m tougher than I look. You should see my scars.’
‘Only woman I’ve allowed in made me seem small. You won’t last a minute.’
‘Again, don’t let the business casual fool you.’
‘Why? How about you join boxercise at the gym around the corner?’
‘I don’t need fitness.
I need real survival skills.’
(You’ll find all instalments at the bottom of the
photo from Public Domain Images
Lena leaves a voicemail. It sends my alarm bells ringing. I text to suggest we meet for lunch at our favourite coffee shop.
Lena’s waiting, looking knackered. She tells my everything. I almost choke on my panini.
‘Seemed a good idea. Still does, I quite like him.’
‘How old did you say?’
I’m as appalled as I’m jealous. If only I hadn’t pushed her into dating after Eddie left.
‘Lena, he could be your son.’
‘If I’d started too early, maybe. Eddie’s run off with a girl who’s barely even legal. Does anybody bat an eyelid? Of course not.’
Week 2 of FFfPP. I’m tired and there’s other stuff that needs writing, so this is the best I could today.
(c) 2015, Sonya
you’ve raised expectations, you will disappoint people. You’ll disappoint yourself; you’ll always look back on that time you raised the bar and cleared it by yards and you’ll wonder why you can’t clear it again. Until the day when you do, when you accomplish a bigger leap than last time. Yes, you’re back.
Only, the following day it gets harder than ever. You marvel at the evidence of your own brilliance, not quite able to believe you raised the bar higher yet.
Up and down. Higher highs followed by lower lows.
Some days, you wish you’d become an accountant.
photo prompt for FFfAW 47 by tomtomalone
Beige walls, an assortment of bottles and pills in jars, posters on the wall that show joints and organs. And a skeleton – the treatment room looks the business.
This morning, he’s had a matte metal sign put up downstairs. Understated and elegant, it will speak to those with money to burn. It matches the look and feel of his website, as well.
All that’s left is to stock the shelves with the little brown vials that contain his miracle cures for ailments from the common cold to cancer.
People will believe anything if it’s presented it with confidence, don’t they?
photo by Anthony Taubin
a black belt in restraint if anybody knew how she keeps herself under control.
Trouble is, she’s noticed cracks in the smooth façade she presents to the world. The calm demeanour for which she is known used to come easy. More often than not, these days it doesn’t come at all.
She’s taking steps – beating the stuffing out of a punching bag at lunchtime, tai chi in the evening. They have the effect of a fire blanket on a wildfire: extinguishing patches while the blaze rages on.
She wonders if years of pent-up fury are looking for release.
photo by PublicDomainPictures
Shiny like a new pound coin, innit? I’m not gonna eat that, looks like it’ll break me teeth.’
‘I don’t know what a pound coin is. Does it taste nice?’
‘Course you don’t, too young, innit. Lucky, not knowing about money. Got us into this mess and all.’
‘Oh, money. I’ve heard the old guys talk about it.’
‘Charming. True, though.’
‘Will you eat it or not? It’s softer than it seem. It tastes a bit funny, but not in a yucky way and it’ll keep you going for days.’
‘Not much like money, then. Alright, kiddo, let’s try it.’