I revisit the harbour every day now. I usually arrive as the sun is setting. The sky is full of reds, pinks and golds, colours which give me hope. It’s been six months since my love set sail, off to explore a new land. The children are getting to the stage where they no longer ask “where’s Daddy?” They’re so young that I worry they will soon forget his face. My skirts billow in the salty wind as I take my seat on the wooden boards. As my children sleep soundly at home I continue my wait, knowing that I’ll never give up hope that he’ll return: my husband, my love, my life.
note: I am currently away at Leeds Festival. Any comments will be answered when I return!
I wake to chattering and giggle as I glance around the cave and notice the empty moonshine bottles on the floor. Last night there was a crazy sense that anything could happen as we cut across the beach and headed for the spot we’d decided to celebrate in after our nerve racking graduation party. I scoop up my clothes and head back to halls where I load all of my possessions into my parent’s car. The thought of real life shatters my happiness as I come to realise that it’s time to become an adult.
This short story was inspired by this week’s Sunday Wordle which you can view here.
Dylan came from a poor family but his life was rich with love. Every year his mother gave him a sunflower seed and he tore himself away from his day to day activities of colouring books and toy trains to plant himself in the garden and nurture his budding project.
My predecessors had disappointed Dylan. He poured his heart and his soul into looking after the tiny shoots but they never grew to as tall as he hoped. Still, every year he sped out with his trough and watering can to try again.
I’d been in my new home for quite a while now, engaged in the constant struggle to grow. Every day Dylan would come and check on me and leave disappointed. I dreaded hearing the phrase his mother would come out with each time “Don’t worry, we’ll try again next year”.
Dylan refused to yield to his mother’s requests to occupy himself with something else and as I saw him close his eyes with sadness again and again, my willpower grew. I pushed and pushed and eventually my spring green shoots came through the top layer of soil and connected with the sun’s warm beam. I felt layers of fertile soil shift as I anchored my roots.
The next day Dylan came into the garden and I saw his heart leap with excitement. His hard work had paid off and as I grew to unprecedented heights I saw his confidence grow with me. I felt blessed that even though Dylan had a huge range of other things he enjoyed doing, his current play thing was a yellow sunflower.
This short story was inspired by this week’s Sunday Wordle which can be found here.
This week I have two lots of Friday Fictioneers for you as I forgot to post Haversham Heights last week. Enjoy!
“This all looks a bit Miss Haversham to me”
I was yet to be convinced that this was where me and my fiance should spend the rest of our lives. The building looked like it had been beautiful in it’s prime before it became covered in dirt and dust.
“You’re kidding nobody my love. You’d love to do this place up. Imagine living in this beautiful house with our newborn”
He put his hand over my slightly swollen stomach and it filled with butterflies. I stubbornly argued but then he showed me the garden… I changed my mind.
I had 20p and one chance. Who would I call? The police would be the obvious choice. I was in deep trouble and the law could help. I’ve heard about the police making things more difficult for people though.
My best friend? He’s been with me thick and thin. He’d surely have some advice? But he’d never let me live this moment down.
I don’t think so.
It was obvious. The one place I could call. Someone who would help me without judging me. Who would hug me and give me hope.
The Sunday Whirl is a new challenge I am taking part in where every week a poem or short piece of prose is written using as many words from the wordle as possible. Here’s my first attempt.
I’d been waiting all month for this nerve wracking moment and I was running late. The full moon was floating above the forest while I hurried to gather the final ingredients and get back to my work. For some reason I never could get the timing right. I rambled through the bleak wilderness, cutting through some bare trees and tripping as my long skirts got caught on the roots. I pulled loose and felt a rip go all the way up the side of my dress. Nothing was going to stop me this time though and I battled on with my blazing torch. My breath was heavy and becoming opaque as it hit the icy air. I stumbled through the clearing and suddenly saw the slab of concrete I’d been looking for. The cauldron was waiting for me as I dumped my heavy bag on the floor. I crushed the beetles and added them to the waiting liquid that was already warm to the touch even though I hadn’t lit any fire. As the liquid began to boil my vision was blurred from the nebulous smoke as I watched it hover over the cauldron. After the syrupy mixture had cooled I dipped in my glass decanter and filled it to the rim, knowing that in 24 hours my troubles would be over. I would be free.
I’m running, stumbling through the forest. Bits of tree bark snapping beneath my feet. The autumn wind chilling me to the bone. I’m lost.
There’s a gap in the trees. As the sun caresses my skin I see a building looming large over me. An eerie mixture of a castle from a horror film and the dream like manor from a fairy tale, enticing me in.
Panting for breath, I tentatively strike the front door with my knuckles.
“Hello? Is there anyone there?”
My heart beats faster as a shadow builds against the frosted glass. I am not alone.
Friday Fictioneers is a weekly writing challenge where R0chelle Wisoff-Fields gives us a photo and we have to write something creative to go with it that is under 100 words long. This week I had a little help from Steven from In Amongst The Ebb and Flow!
My favourite place.
So many shelves filled with so many stories.
I pass a section where dragons come to life,
Where witches stir cauldrons and aliens invade earth.
Another with gourmet food you can only dream about,
Decadent gateau’s and tureens of steaming soup.
One with epic tales of times past and present,
Where Napoleon and Obama sit shoulder to shoulder.
In this sanctuary all walks of life adjoin as one.
I find a dusty volume on the top shelf and pull it down.
I carefully open the cover, sink slowly into a chair and disappear into a literary paradise.
This is a new challenge that I found on another blog. Friday Fictioneers is where every week Rochelle Wisoff-Fields posts a picture and we try and write a 100 word story about it. Sounds like a brilliant idea! Here’s my contribution for this week:
“Your mother says you’re grounded all month!”
“So unfair. What am I meant to do on Saturdays now?”
I gestured to the bike I’d been working on for months.
“I’m not going near that!”
“There’s always your bedroom to clean…”
He grabbed a spanner.
We spent every Saturday fixing the bike and listening to the radio. One day I went down stairs and Kyle was leaning on the wall.
“You’re not grounded any more. You can go out if you want.”