Leaving – A WWBH post

This post is part of the Writer Wednesday Blog Hop, a weekly meme designed to inspire creativity and encourage sharing of stories.

For more information and to see my other stories, check out my Writer Wednesday Blog Hop tab.

So, this weeks pictures:



And this weeks story:


Sitting here on the deck, my body keeps a rhythm with the sway of the ocean. The nachos I chose for lunch are as much as I can keep down, while my drink threatens to spill over.

It’s been at least two hours since I left the mainland, and I can only imagine what he’s thinking about me at this moment. I just couldn’t bring myself to face him, to look him in the eye and be honest. He’ll get the idea soon enough.

I just couldn’t be all the things he wanted me to be, no matter how much I wanted to or how much I tried. I want my own life, with my own interests, to explore what there is beyond the city.

I’d felt something within me yearning for a better life, wanting to persuade me to get out before it was too late, before my life was wasted. The idea had always remained in my mind though, a popular daydream to dwell on when things were boring me. It was happening more often than not lately too.

One afternoon, gazing out the office window at the sprawling city and busy traffic I had my epiphany moment. We heard the crash just after lunch, and down below we saw the aftermath of the four car collision. Smoke poured out from the vehicles, people were running all over, some screaming. There was a young woman I could see lying on the pavement, close to the accident site and not moving. From here she didn’t look much older than I was. I couldn’t take my eyes from her, and as I stared I realised she was gone. Her life had ended recklessly, and she wouldn’t be able to fulfill any of her dreams.

This thought sent a chill through me, one I found hard to ignore. What of my dreams? What had happened to them? They’d been buried deep down by the ambitions and plans of another. I couldn’t let them stay there, I needed to give them their own opportunity to flourish. But I knew he wouldn’t understand, wouldn’t let me go.

So here I am now, setting off on my own adventure. I haven’t told him where I’m heading, or even if I’ll be back. He’d only send his men after me to bring me back. How often he’d tell me about where my place was, what my duty was. There’s a tremor of fear in my limbs, but in my heart there is only excitement. Finally I am getting out from my life and doing something for myself.

The ferry may be making me sick, but despite that all I could feel was optimism and hope, and it felt wonderful …

Word count: 455

Fun With Freewriting – Week 3: Alone now …

Time for another prompted free-write, a 30 minute activity writing whatever flows from a given sentence or idea.

Here’s my favourite from last week. It’s a day later than usual due to yesterdays Write…Edit…Publish post, but we’ll be back to the usual Wednesday slot next week.

Please bear in mind that it’s very rough and ready, and hasn’t been through much editing other than spell checking! I hope you enjoy …

I’d been crying for so long now I could hardly see anything in front of me properly. Everything around me just seemed to ebb and flow like the currents of the ocean, the walls themselves seeming to be covered with my watery tears. The sobbing had subsided at least, the hideous noises that could take the breath right out of me and now all that remained were the free-flowing tears.

I wish I could say I’d been crying for so long that I couldn’t remember the reasons for it, but his face and his memory fill my thoughts. Lying alone in our bed when I’m trying my best to go to sleep, if I squeeze my eyes shut tight enough I’m sure that I can still feel his presence next to me. His warmth drifts towards me even under the sheets, and I can feel his weight in the space next to me, pulling the covers his way.

At these times when I concentrate the most, when he feels to be the most real, it takes all of my effort not to reach out my hand to try and touch him, to feel that he’s there once again beneath my fingertips and to know the whole thing had been just a terrible and frightening nightmare. But I can’t move, no matter how much I want it, because I know deep down that if I do it’ll just shatter the illusion. The harsh reality of what has happened will come crashing down around me once again, and my heart will break just that little bit more. I really thought it had taken all that it could handle, had suffered enough in the first few hours and days, but I know differently now. Each and every day it seems to crack just that little but more and by now I imagine it to be in a million pieces. And at this moment in time I cannot see a single thing in my future that could even begin to start putting it all back together again.

How could there possibly be anything to look forward to without him here to share in it with me? Whenever I looked towards anything happening in my life he was always right there beside me to help guide me when I needed it, or to hold my hand as I strode forwards in confidence.

Now all I can see before me is a blackness of unknown, filled with uncertainties. I don’t even know what to expect in the next few days, never mind the next few years. Whatever it is though, I’m doing it alone now, left behind on this Earth without him …


To ‘my little one’ … – A Write … Edit … Publish post

This is my contribution to this months edition of Write … Edit … Publish.

For more information on this monthly challenge check out Write…Edit…Publish tab at the top of the page, where you can find out more about the host and how to get involved.

This month’s theme for the blog hop is:

I wanted to do something a bit different for this month’s theme and tried having a go at a little poetry, however I think I need to hone these skills a little more before unleashing any on the world.

Instead, I’m posting a letter that I’ve written to ‘my little one’, who will be emerging into the world in the next few months. This idea came to me as I was waiting for my five year old to come out of school, and just seemed fitting for the theme of New Beginnings. I hope you like it …


You’re so small at the moment; I can barely feel you moving around. I know you’re in there though, there have been plenty of signs to let me know, and most of them uncomfortable. Don’t worry, I won’t hold it against you, once you’re here and in my arms I know it’ll all have been worth it.

We’re already halfway there my little one, but it still seems like some kind of dream that you even exist. I wonder, do you know what’s going on in there? Can you hear me yet?

I wonder what you’ll make of this big wide world when you’re here. It’s a scary place to be, but you don’t need to worry. I’ll be here for you every step of the way.

I can’t wait to see what kind of person you’ll turn into, how much of me will come through and how much of your daddy. I wonder what you’ll want to do with your life; will it be creative or sporty? Will you be more technical and logical?

Whatever you decide it’s your life to lead and you can choose whatever path you want to follow. We will be here to guide you as much as we can, to offer advice and assistance, you will never be on your own while I am here.

There will be lots of things for us to share together as you grow up, and most of the times will be joyous, filled with laughter, fun and merriment. Some of the times will be tough, with unwelcome heartache and pain. But, whether the times are good or whether they are bad, they will be filled with love and we’ll all have each other to see us through.

So, don’t you worry in there, I’ll keep you safe and warm so you can concentrate on growing healthy and strong. Don’t grow too big though, remember I still need to get you out 🙂

If you make it easier for me, I’ll make it as easy as I can for you too. After all, it’s just you and me kid, working together. Let’s make our start as a good team.

It won’t be long my little one; I look forward to meeting you soon!


Missing – A WWBH post

This post is part of the Writer Wednesday Blog Hop, a weekly meme designed to inspire creativity and encourage sharing of stories.

For more information and to see my other stories, check out my Writer Wednesday Blog Hop tab.

So, this weeks pictures:



And this weeks story:


‘And she hasn’t been seen since yesterday, you say?’ repeated the officer, making notes.

‘No,’ said the landlady, ‘I saw her come down for her paper before breakfast, but since then I’ve seen nothing, heard nothing.’ She sat at the dining table staring out the window and down the street. ‘I keep expecting her to walk through the door, or be walking home along the street.’

The officer glanced at the landlady and took a moment from his notes to pass her a box of tissues.

He wandered around the room, observing, absorbing, trying to get a sense of the young lady who had disappeared.

‘Have you tidied anything in here since yesterday?’ he asked.

‘No, nothing. The only thing I’ve done is put some food out for Chester, but he seems to have lost interest. He hasn’t moved from the sofa, just keeps staring at the door.’

‘Does he usually go out much?’

‘Only when she’s out or at work. As soon as she gets back he follows her in, and stays with her the whole time.’

‘And the breakfast?’ he gestured, ‘would that be, Chester’s is it?’

‘No, no,’ said the landlady, taking more tissues. ‘That was hers. What could have happened that she would leave her breakfast unfinished?’ She looked toward the officer, hoping he’d have the answer.

With a gentle smile he turned away and continued around the room. ‘Is this how she usually keeps the room?’

‘Yes, I-I think so.’

‘And, I assume this is her bag?’ he asked, lifting the handles with his pen. ‘Her purse appears to be inside, as well as keys.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘No signs of struggle, nothing stolen,’ he said, while scribbling down the details.

‘Is that good? Does that mean anything?’ asked the landlady, shifting to the edge of her seat now. ‘Maybe she’s just gone out and lost track of time.’

‘Without her keys?’ he wondered. ‘I’m afraid this opens more questions than it answers.’

He made one more sweep of the rooms before putting his notebook and pen away in his pocket.

The landlady jumped to her feet, ‘you’re not leaving already are you?’ she said quickly, ‘what about finding her?’

‘There’s not much more I can do today,’ he said, guiding her gently to the door. ‘I’ll make some enquiries and let you know.’


Becky shuffled as much as she could in the confined space. Her arms ached from the restraints behind her back, and her ankles burned where the rope dug into her flesh. As she breathed deeper, trying to get some noise out, the tape around her mouth fluttered but didn’t budge. All she could do is look up through the floorboards, watching the officer and her landlady leave her in her prison. As they left and closed the door behind them, her hope went with them.


Word count: 475

Fun With Freewriting – Week 2

Time for another prompted free-write, a 30 minute activity writing whatever flows from a given sentence or idea.

Here is my favourite from the last week, but please bear in mind that it’s very rough and ready, and hasn’t been through much editing other than spell checking! I hope you enjoy …


It’s too quiet as I sit here, It’s the eve before the big ceremony and there doesn’t appear to be a single soul about. There would usually be a servant or two scurrying about, fetching and carrying something for one of the kings demands. They all seem to have disappeared tonight though. Maybe he’s finally done it and run them ragged, to exhaustion.

It’s just me sitting here now though, a lone soul amongst the statues and greenery. I can feel as well as hear the breeze flowing from one end of the courtyard to the other. It blows through my hair and rustles the longs folds of my dress. It is a welcome sensation against my bare arms, its coolness releasing some of the heat from the day.

The walls surrounding the courtyard are too high for me to see over, but I know what lies beyond them. I remember the dense woodland that hugs this side of the palace and its grounds, remember hiding out in them for days before bing captured. I hoped they hadn’t found my ship too, that would bring up far too many questions for them, more than they would be able to deal with. I’m sure that if it had been found someone would have made plenty of noise about it, so the silence at this point was a comfort.

It had been three weeks now since I’d been discovered, plenty of times for the others to locate my ships tracking beacon. I was sure it wasn’t more than a few miles away from here, surely a simple extrapolation from is crash site would give them my location. Something must have happened. Maybe the crash had been worse for the ship than I’d expected, the tracker could have been destroyed along with most of the rest of it. If that were the case it’s not a very good advert for the designers back home. who guaranteed that it would continue no matter what they threw at it. They obviously hadn’t taken my piloting skills into consideration.

The thought made me half smile; memories of home were becoming more painful with each day that passed now, and each day a tiny little piece of my hope died. I’d read hundreds of reports on rescue missions in the past, but not many were wholly successful after this length of time …


Family Time – A WWBH post

This post is part of the Writer Wednesday Blog Hop, a weekly meme designed to inspire creativity and encourage sharing of stories.

It’s been quite a while since I last joined in with this hop, and since then the lovely girls behind it all have jazzed up the format. Instead of having a picture and five words to include, there are now two pictures to trigger all that you can come up with.

So, this weeks pictures:

And this weeks story:

Family Time

As the last of the frost receded from the grass, we began to emerge from our enforced hibernation. For five days we’d been holed up in the house, all six of us and the dog. We’d prepared for it, provision-wise. I’d purposely stocked up on the essentials, plenty of meat to put in the freezer, enough canned goods so the cupboards were bursting.

It reminded me of when mum used to shop for Christmas, but at least then we’d get the festive treats to look forward to. This time it felt like we were locking down for the whole of winter.

With the sun shining high, the kids rushed to the hall in a frenzy grabbing for coats, hats and scarves. In all that time they’d had no chance to get out in the garden, let alone go out on their bikes. They were ready to blow off some steam, and I was more than happy to let them.

I watched them pile out, and then moved through the house, opening the windows wide to shift the stuffiness that had settled. As the breeze came through it blew the cobwebs out of my mind as much as out of the house.

Moving from room to room, I started picking up the remnants that had scattered over the last few days. Boards games were stacked on the table, DVDs and video games left open next to the television, mugs left in random places seemingly, just abandoned when something else became more appealing.

As much as the kids seemed to hate it, I’d actually enjoyed having everyone together for a while, spending time as a family for once. The older they got, the harder it seemed to be to get all four of them to be in the same room for more than half an hour.

It was nicer when Thomas was tiny, and the others all chipped in to help with him, and each other. At five years old the twins had been full of excitement about having a baby brother, and Louise felt all grown up when I left her in charge of any of them. I’d never told her I was only ever in the next room, but it was good to see her getting some confidence.

Just five years on though and they couldn’t wait to get out with their own friends, doing their own things. So often these days it was just me and Thomas, enjoying the quiet and space to be on our own.

After this week though I’m not sure if he could handle having the others around all the time. I popped my head round the door of the office and looked in on him and his daddy. While the elder Thomas worked away at the computer, the younger had snuggled up in the cardboard box leftover from the last delivery. Pillow under-head, he breathed deeply as he became lost in the land of his dreams. I wondered if it was quiet there …

Word count: 500

Fun With Freewriting – Week 1

This year I’ve started doing a daily prompted free-write, spending 30 minutes every day writing down whatever flows from a given sentence or idea.

I would like to share with you my favourite of these from the last week, but please bear in mind that it’s very rough and ready, and hasn’t been through much editing other than spell checking! I hope you enjoy …

It was just a silly prank, nothing more than that. None of us meant for it to happen and it wasn’t entirely my fault either. But that little technicality doesn’t stop everyone from thinking it was me, it was all my idea and so had to be my fault.

Everyone looks at me with shame in their eyes, sometimes with anger too, sometimes with pity. They all look and act as though a sudden bad taste has come into their mouth, or a horrid smell has wafted in their direction.

‘Why did it have to happen this way?’ they’re all thinking, ‘why couldn’t it have been him instead of the other two?’

I ask myself the very same questions, you know. I wonder why it wasn’t me instead of them, and I wonder if they’d have to put up with the same disdain from people as I do, if our fates had been reversed. I seriously doubt it somehow, none of the others seem to have developed the reputation I had.

Even though we all got into the same things, we all ended up in the same scrapes, and we all took our turns to think of them in the first place. I guess that’s what comes from having vastly different parents.

But what does it matter if I’ve never known my father, not even his name? Does that make me a bad person?

So what if my mother hardly says two words to me, leaving me to sort out my own dinners and get myself to school in a clean uniform on time. Does that mean I’m a bad student?

Just because I have nobody to vouch for me, to step up every now and again and say ‘he’s a good kid’, the automatic assumption is that I’m no good. I can’t possibly have a decent bone in my body, or be capable of any kind of goodness.

Not like the others, from their stable families, their parents with good jobs who help them and spend time with them. How could they possibly be capable of such atrocities as arson?

There is no way for me to even begin to tell my side of it, to explain how they’d locked me in the tree house and smoked it out like a tepee.

Trust my good sense to get myself out of it, while the idiocy of the others left them trapped inside while the whole thing burnt to ashes.