Friday 23 November 2018

250 Words: Reveille

In the clarity of the morning light I began to make sense of the images in my mind: events from the previous evening that had been flashing before my mind’s eye during fitful sleep.

A shadowy figure at the window.

Rushing to get my keys in the door.

Raised voices, a shrill cry.

Running on the stairs.

The plunging, cutting, tearing of a knife.

A thick red mess on the floor.

Frantic digging.

Frantic cleaning.

The memories made me nervous, worried of what I might have done.  My memory takes time to reboot each morning, to extract itself from the fug of sleep and start to join the dots.  But the light quickly awakening me was soon joined by singing from the shower and remembrance became easier.


I saw the silhouette from the gate, fumbled with the keys in the lock, shouted as I came through.  A shrill cry of welcome was returned and Mike bounded down the stairs flashing the spare keys.

He knew I’d been having a hard time since demob, had sensed something in my voice, had brought cake, prosecco and a plant to cheer me up. 

As we drunk more, our division of the cake got worse, leading to the contents of several doughnuts meeting the floor.  We even tried to plant the plant, quickly as it was freezing, creating more mess, so much we felt we should clean before finally collapsing into bed.


Nothing to report, then.  I wish my mind would be less dramatic.


Written for Faber Academy's QuickFic from the following picture and quote prompt.  Well done to the winners!

Note: I actually entered the story with the title Stand To but decided to change it before blogging (Morning Report was also considered).


a quote from H.G Wells' "The Time Machine" set against a background of a cloudy sky as the sun is setting. The clouds are all coloured in various gradients of pink, white and black. The quite reads "It sounds plausible enough tonight, but wait until tomorrow. Wait for the common sense of the morning."


Friday 16 November 2018

250 Words: Losing sight of you, gaining insight

Your red hat and your height have always helped.  I could always pick you out in a crowd, even before my eyes began to fail.

After they told me I began to memorise every part of you, linking sight to touch and smell, learning to feel changes to alter that memory, keep the image up to date.  And where I couldn’t, I studied your tattoos, the formations of your unraised moles until they were as familiar as my own. 

“I won’t ever forget a single feature.”

As the black curtain began to draw in, I ramped up my efforts to recreate you perfectly when I closed my eyes.  I tested myself frequently, described you to yourself while seated in another room, drew pictures, wrote stories.  Created an avatar to serve in your stead.

“You won’t ever want another creature.”

“I don’t want to.  But what if I do forget?”


And now that I cannot even see your entire face at the same time, my hands and fingers trace your face evermore desperately while you kiss me to reassure me, tell me not to worry.

“I will be here.  By touch, by smell, by ear
Memory does not matter once love has beget.
(And when it doesn’t need to make sense.)”


I knew I feared the unknown more than anything, that an avatar was never needed when I had you.

Your worn hat full of your smell will always help.  And I’ve always been pleased that I am taller than you.



Written for Faber Academy's QuickFic from the following picture prompt (a few lines down).

This week I won and got featured on their website!  Thanks so much for picking my story!  

I should say that I was also very inspired by the memory of a column I used to read in the Guardian Weekend by Rebecca Atkinson called Losing Sight, Still Looking (I've linked to an example column, I can't seem to find a page for the whole series).



Friday 9 November 2018

250 Words: Walled Garden

Sat in the dark, dank shadow of the garden’s wall, Tom pressed his ear against its damp, cold face.  He listened to the sounds beyond, imagined the actions that made them, wondered how it was possible to do likewise.

Tom did not understand summer.  He knew about it, saw people getting excited about it, don shorts, go outside, listen to their summer soundtracks, cook meat and drink outside… while he remained outside that walled garden, listening, imagining.  

He thought of it as a music service he couldn’t afford, and so could only listen to snippets of songs.  Or film teasers that were never replaced by trailers, let alone the full feature.  He knew these things but did not know them.

In his heart and mind, Tom knew he would sit there always.  The darkness within the wall would confirm his insecurities and keep him there, listening, waiting for the winter when he would be alone again, the revellers’ noise gone until the sun returned.


Jane would often sit and look across the park, watching the lovers walk by, the dogs chase balls, the children running and playing… and a curious man across the way would always catch her eye.  Always sat alone, he would stare as if unseeing, as if there were a wall between him and everyone else.  

If she had more confidence, perhaps she would have gone to talk to him.  She guessed everyone had their own walls they would not cross; and certainly she knew her own.


Written for Faber Academy's QuickFic from the following prompt, a summery Spotify playlist

This week I was featured on their website as  runner-up!