Tag Archives: #flashfiction

100 Word Story? Is it possible?…..

As an indie-author one of the questions I get asked on a regular basis is “How do you do it?” My standard answer is “One word at a time.”

However, how many words do you need to tell a story? How many to add a bit of intrigue? How many to add a hint of romance?

I decided to set myself the challenge to write a 100 word story.

Anyone who has read my books will understand that limiting the word count is perhaps not my forte! Ha Ha.

However, I was strict with myself here and rose to the challenge.

So, in a 100 words here’s  Cat’s Eyes.

 

Cats’s Eyes

 The cat watched the car approach. Recognised his owner in the passenger seat. As he licked his fluffy paws, he watched as the car stopped at the end of the driveway.  Squinting into the early evening sun, the cat saw the driver reach over to kiss his owner. Pausing to wash his long tail, the cat continued to watch the long, slow, passionate embrace. The car’s window was open but all he could hear was music. As he licked his bits, the car door opened. His owner stepped out. With a wave, the car drove off. Cat and owner smiled.

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On Butterfly Wings (short story)

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For the first time in weeks, she felt safe and secure. She felt calm as she sat on a thick carpet of dry pine needles. Deep in the heart of the small cluster of trees, she was hidden from prying eyes, protected from the world about her. No one knew she came there to think, to read and now to write, well, journal, to be more precise. She was finally alone for the first time in weeks.

She had discovered this small quiet sanctuary by chance. Or had something guided her towards it? How many times had she walked past that stand of trees without a second thought? Something had caught her attention though and, on a whim one sunny summer day, she had strayed from the path to take a closer look. The second she had stepped into the hidden clearing deep with the circle of pine trees, a tranquil silence had enveloped her. She immediately felt as if she belonged there. Was something from the past, from another lifetime, reaching out to tell her she was supposed to be there?

Over the months she had visited the small clearing regularly. After several idyllic afternoons spent hidden there, she realised that she wasn’t the only one spending time in the space. Someone had hung some wind chimes high up on one of the branches. Their gentle tinkling notes were soothing as she hid beneath them, sheltered from the outside world, recharging the batteries of her soul.

Now though, as she settled herself on the thick layer of dried pine needles, her heart and soul were troubled.  Time was running out. Sitting cross-legged, she stared down at the journal resting in her lap. It was slightly larger than a desk diary with a silvery pink cover decorated with multi-coloured butterflies. Its lined pages were blank. She had bought it on a whim over a year before, attracted by the bright butterflies. She never could resist a butterfly.

With a trembling hand, she opened the small, hardbacked journal at the first blank page and began to write. Time lost all meaning as she poured her hopes and fears into the pages. Now that she had opened the lid on the well of emotions that had been bubbling inside her since mid-winter, the words flooded the pages. Safe in the freedom of her journaling, she wrote about feelings and emotions that she had barely consciously acknowledged. She wrote about love. As her spidery writing covered page after page, the pain in her heart and her soul lessened. Her fears of rejection and of failure and of loss and regret gradually began to melt away. Seeing her own words written down in front of her for the first time, she recognised that she had never been the one at fault. Her only fault was to care too deeply about life and some of the people in it.

If she had known then what she knew now, would she have lived her life any differently?

Turning to the last blank page, she smiled to herself and silently acknowledged that she wouldn’t change a second of it. Reliving some of those memories had made her smile, something she had had little cause to do of late.

Staring at the final blank page, she paused. Over the course of the spring afternoon, she had filled the journal with her innermost thoughts. This last blank page was her final chance to have her say, to say how she really felt. The only opportunity left to write a long overdue letter. It was a chance to say goodbye.

Keeping her handwriting small, she swiftly filled the page with words written straight from the heart.

A warm red glowing light was swathing the clearing. It was the colours of sunset. Time was almost up.

Closing the journal over, its magnetic cover snapping into position, she let out a sigh. A little unsteadily, she got to her feet, brushed the pine needles from her jeans and slipped the journal and her green pen into her tote bag. Glancing round for one last time, she whispered, “Thank you.” then ducked down low as she stepped out of the sanctuary into the late afternoon sunshine.

The sun was low in the sky, almost touching the hills across the river to the north. It was casting streaks of red and gold across the virtually cloudless sky, promising a stunning sunset when the golden orb finally dipped below the horizon.

Slowly she made her way along the path then down onto the deserted stretch of beach. Breathing in the salty air, she smiled. Listening to the waves gently lapping ashore, she smiled. Feeling the damp sand under her unsteady feet, she smiled. Feeling the last of the sun’s warmth on her pale cheeks, she smiled.

It sapped the last of her strength but she made it to her favourite spot at the far end of the beach just as the sun began to disappear. The view was perfect. Unable to resist, she reached into her bag for her phone, ignoring all the alerts about missed calls and messages, and photographed one last spectacular sunset.

The bag fell open and, unseen, the butterfly journal dropped out onto the sand. The magnetic cover sprung open.

“There you are!” came an exasperated cry. “Where the hell have you been? Everyone is out looking for you!”

 

Long after the sun had set, a gentle breeze blew in from the west. It caught the pages of the journal flicking them over, setting her emotional confession free.

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A Little Christmas Eve Tale…

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Happy Christmas Eve, folks. Amidst the chaos of shopping and wrapping and cooking I hope you find time to enjoy this festive tale.

When I was seeking inspiration for this week’s blog I decided to use a writing prompt and to come up with a festive short story instead of a blog moaning about the mania that surrounds Christmas shopping. The prompt words I chose were  “a party dress and an ugly sweater.”

And here’s the result….    happy reading and a very Merry Christmas when it comes.

love and hugs to you all

Coral

 

A Party Dress, An Ugly Sweater And A Christmas Surprise

“How did I let myself get talked into this?” she asked her reflection in the mirror.

She hated Christmas parties, hated corporate Christmas parties even more. She hated getting all dressed up. She hated feeling as if she was on display. And boy when she walked into that function suite would she be on display!

Amid flurries of snow, she had arrived deliberately early, checked into her room under an alias and then spent all afternoon sitting gazing out of the huge picture window at the view of the beach and the ocean. How she longed to walk along the sand but she daren’t risk bumping into anyone who would recognise her. She had procrastinated all afternoon until at five o’clock she surrendered that she had to start getting ready.

Now, two hours later, she was sitting at the dressing table gazing into the mirror.

Her midnight blue dress was a perfect fit, it’s empress line flattering to her figure. A narrow diamante outline accentuated her full breasts, the deep V of the neckline revealing just enough cleavage. Her long sun-bleached hair had been coaxed into soft ringlet curls. Her make up natural, the eyeshadow emphasising the blue of her eyes.

Behind her on the bed lay her silver evening purse and her phone. A green flashing light indicated she had a least one message. Her heart told her it was from him.

Lifting the hem of her dress, she slipped her feet into her silver ballet pumps. Common sense had overruled her love of spike heels and she had reluctantly packed her flats in her suitcase that morning.

Taking a deep breath, she gazed one last time into the mirror.

“It’s now or never,” she said to her reflection.

As she crossed the room to lift her phone, her gaze fell on the chair by the window and the ugly sweater she had been curled up in all afternoon. His ugly sweater.

She’d had it since Easter. She’d had it since the last time she’d seen him before he left to go on tour. She’d had it since they had spent a blissful week together in this very hotel, spending most of it in bed together hiding from the paparazzi. Every time they had left the hotel to enjoy a walk along the beach, they had been followed. Every time they had gone out to dinner, they had been followed. After three days they had given up and stayed in their hotel room, a penthouse suite, and lived off sex and room service.

On their last morning together, he’d wakened her before five, instructed her to wear his big ugly sweater then, with baseball caps pulled down low to hide their faces, they had crept out of the hotel to walk along the beach to watch the sunrise. They had sat snuggled together on the sand watching the first light of dawn and marvelled together at the splendour of the colours of sunrise. They had kissed. They had promised to keep in touch daily. They had promised to meet up at the record label’s Christmas party.

He had left a few hours later to tour Europe, Asia and Australia for eight months. She had re-joined her band, finished their US tour then headed into the studio to record their fourth album. Closeted away in a remote mountain studio she had kept out of the public eye. It had kept her out of sight of the paparazzi who hounded her.

She had kept her promises to him. They had messaged daily. They had spoken most days as their schedules and time differences allowed. There had been a few brief Skype calls too. Every call ended the same way.

“Counting the days till December 23rd.”

Now, here she was back in the hotel keeping her final promise.

With her hand trembling, she picked up her phone. The message was from him. In fact, there were six of them. The last one read “It’s December 23rd. Where are you? I thought we had a date, angel?”

Guilt washed through her for ignoring her phone all afternoon.

“On my way down. See you in a few minutes. X” she typed quickly before nerves got the better of her.

She slipped her phone and the key card into her purse then glanced round the room. Her eyes lingered on the ugly sweater and she smiled anxiously, wishing she was still wrapped in its warmth.

Taking a deep breath to steady her nerves, she smoothed out the soft fabric of her dress and left the room.

 

The hotel’s main function suite was crowded, a veritable sea of tuxedos and ball gowns of every shade. Wearing his own newly purchased tux, he stood at the bar keeping an eye on the doorway, hungry for his first sight of her.

With a smile he remembered the last time he had visited the hotel, recalling the days secreted away in his suite. His loins twitched at the memory. The key card to the same suite was in his pocket and, ever the optimist, he hoped they could pick up where they’d left off. In his other pocket his fingers played anxiously with a small token that he had bought for her. In his mind, he had the entire weekend mapped out, including Christmas morning.

Suddenly he saw her.

For a few seconds she paused in the doorway, her sapphire blue eyes scanning the room. She looked stunning. Unlike the other celebrities that filled the room, her beauty looked natural. He caught a glimpse of her bare tanned shoulders, nothing fake about her skin tone.

Setting his drink down, he made his way through the guests to greet her.

 

A wave of anxiety swept through her as she entered the crowded room. Already around her she could hear the whispers and feel all eyes on her.

Where was he?

She turned her back on the room, ready to retreat to the hotel foyer when she heard his voice.

“Anna.”

Taking a deep breath, she turned round and found herself face to face with him.

“Anna!” he exclaimed.

“Ben,” she whispered, forcing a nervous smile.

“You’re….” he began lost for words and struggling not to state the obvious. “Pregnant.”

“Just a bit,” replied Anna with a nervous giggle.

“Pregnant?” he repeated loudly no longer able to hide his shocked expression.

Around them their fellow guests were staring. A small space had opened up around them.

“Eight and a half months pregnant to be exact,” said Anna struggling to remain calm. “I didn’t know how to….”

“No!” he yelled sharply. “No. No. No.”

“Ben?”

“This wasn’t meant to happen, Anna.”

The words were out before his brain had thought them through.

Her blue eyes filled with tears. Without another word, she fled from the room.

 

The crowd closed in around him and before Ben could push his way through Anna had vanished. Pacing the foyer, searching for her, he cursed himself for being so stupid, so insensitive. She was nowhere to be seen. Knowing that she wouldn’t have returned to the party, he figured she’d have gone to her room but which one was she in? Hoping that his celebrity charm would work, Ben approached the reception desk to check which room Anna was in. His enquiry was met with a strict “guest confidentiality” reply. Resorting to the “don’t you know who I am?” card, Ben tried to coerce the information from the receptionist.

“Mr Storm, I know who you are but I still can’t tell you which room a guest is staying in. I suggest you call your friend and have her meet you.”

Angrily he turned away from the desk before he vented his frustrations on the girl.

A flash of colour caught his eye over by the entrance. He’d know that pattern anywhere! It was the sweater Anna had pinched from him. By the time he reached the front steps of the hotel, she’d vanished from sight into the cold dark December night. He had to find her! Slowly he walked down the white polished steps of the plush ocean front hotel, trying to decide which way she would have gone. Beach? It was the obvious answer but would she venture down there in the dark? Would she risk going down there alone and pregnant at night? In his heart he knew she would.

 

Tears were blinding her as she stumbled along the beach in the dark. Cold sand had filled her silver pumps within seconds of fleeing from the hotel. She had known Ben would be surprised but she had never imagined the horrified look on his face that she had seen when he saw her bump. She knew she should’ve come clean and told him about the baby months ago but she hadn’t been able to find the right words at the right time. Their relationship had barely been four months old when she’d fallen pregnant; their schedules for the year had already been packed with work commitments leaving little room to spend time together.

A sharp pain in her side caused her to stop. Breathing heavily after practically running from the hotel, Anna carefully lowered herself down onto the soft sand. She’d been lucky to enjoy an easy healthy pregnancy so far but with less than two weeks to go to her due date her baby bump was huge and low and heavy. At her last pre-natal appointment earlier in the week she had been warned that the baby could come at any time. Sitting cross legged, facing the ocean, Anna focussed on her breathing in an effort to calm herself down. Stress and anxiety weren’t good for her or the baby. She could feel it shifting restlessly and a few strong kicks thumped into her already tender ribcage.

Rubbing her swollen belly, Anna whispered, “Sorry, little bean. Daddy wasn’t exactly thrilled to see us.”

Fresh tears flowed down her cheeks as she listened to the waves crashing in onto the beach in dark.

 

There she was! He breathed a sigh of relief, marvelling at how far along the beach she had come in such a short space of time. In the pale moonlight, she was a picture of fragile beauty. Even from this distance he could tell she was crying. He knew he was the cause of those tears and he felt consumed by guilt. Stress couldn’t be good for her or the baby and he hated that he’d caused it. She looked cute wearing his ugly sweater over her chiffon dress. With a smile forming on his lips, he gazed at her large baby bump. It looked like a leftover Halloween pumpkin resting in her lap from this angle. Then it hit him…. that bump was his baby, his son or daughter. In a few days he’d be a daddy. Subconsciously, he found himself hoping it was a little girl.

He was going to be a daddy…. if Anna would let him.

 

“Anna?”

She hadn’t heard him approach and looked up like a startled rabbit.

“I’m sorry. I acted like a total jerk back there,” he apologised softly. “Can we talk?”

Silently, she nodded.

Gracefully, he sat down on the sand beside her then reached out to touch her hand that was resting on top of her firm belly.

“You ok?”

“Not really,” she replied, her voice barely more than a whisper. “I should’ve told you but I didn’t know how. Everything was so good between us. I didn’t want to ruin that. The longer I left it, the harder it got.”

“Is it a boy or a girl?”

“I don’t know. I never asked.”

“Guess we’ll find out soon,” he said putting his arm around her shoulders. “I am so sorry about earlier. I had this whole holiday worked out in my head. Had it all planned. That plan’s been what’s been keeping me going these last few weeks. The tour’s been tough. Seeing you. Seeing you pregnant… well, I guess I panicked. Over reacted.”

“Are you still mad at me?” asked Anna gazing up at him with tear filled blue eyes.

“No, angel, I’m not mad at you. I’m pissed at myself for not realising, for upsetting you, for embarrassing you back there.”

With a giggle, she said, “I’m guessing our social media feeds have lit up like a Christmas tree.”

“Probably,” agreed Ben. “But I don’t care. Let them talk. I just want you to be ok. Want us to be ok.”

“You sure you still want to be seen with me like this?” she asked, her hint of sarcasm not lost on him.

“Forever.”

“I don’t want to be pregnant forever,” she said, smiling at him. “I’m about done with carrying this little bean around.”

“How does it feel? I mean, isn’t it strange to have a little human in there?”

Taking his hand, she pressed it to her belly then moved it a little lower. His eyes widened as he felt the baby, their baby, kick for the first time.

“Wow!”

“Quite something isn’t it?”

He nodded as the baby kicked out again.

Together, they sat in silence, listening to the waves.

 

Beside him, Anna began to shiver. A quick glance at his watch told him they’d been sitting there for hours. It was after eleven.

“Let’s head back,” suggested Ben. “You’re cold.”

Reluctantly, she nodded then allowed him to help her to her feet. As she shook the sand from her dress, he smiled at how beautiful she looked. Everything about Anna was always perfect and it didn’t surprise him that she had grown a perfect, if larger than average, rounded baby bump.  In the moonlight she looked like a goddess.

With his arm protectively around her waist, they walked slowly back towards the hotel.

As they had both feared, the paparazzi were still swarming about the front of the hotel. Hand in hand, the celebrity couple stared straight ahead and walked purposefully through the sea of flashbulbs, ignoring the cries of “Anna!”, “Reuben!”, “When’s the baby due?”, “Anna, is it Reuben’s?”

By the time they crossed the foyer and reached the elevator, there were fresh tears in Anna’s eyes and she was trembling.

“You ok, angel?” asked Ben as the doors of the elevator closed. “You’re safe now.”

“I just hate getting caught like that by those guys. I can just see the headlines now,” she said forcing a smile. “Comes with the territory though I guess.”

Anxiously Ben watched as she placed her hand under her bump as if she were holding it up.

“You sure you’re ok?”

“I’m fine. Baby’s fine,” she assured him. “You might be surprised to hear that this bump is quite heavy to carry around. I’m tired. It’s been a long day.” She paused then said, “We’ve passed my floor.”

“Have we?” said Ben trying to act innocently. “Guess we’ll just need to go to my room then.”

“Ben, I’m exhausted,” protested Anna softly.

“Spare me an hour, angel. Half an hour even. Please?”

“Half an hour then I’m going to bed.”

“Deal.”

As if on cue, the elevator stopped and the doors opened. Slowly Ben led her along the short corridor to the door of his suite. He slipped his hand into his pocket to check if his gift for her was still there. It was. Chivalrously, he opened the door then stood aside to allow Anna to enter first.

She gasped when she saw the room. It was beautifully decorated in silver and red. A huge Christmas tree stood by the window, several small beautifully wrapped packages stacked underneath it. Beside the couch sat a champagne bucket and two crystal champagne flutes.

“Did you have this all planned?” quizzed Anna as he guided her over to the sumptuous cream leather couch.

“I had something planned,” confessed Ben sitting down beside her. Resting his hand on her belly he added, “I think you win for surprises though.”

“You sure you’re ok about…” her question was lost as Ben’s lips me hers.

He kissed her slowly and passionately, trying to ignore the hardening bulge in his pants. Sex would have to wait he suspected. She tasted so good though. Seeing her in the glittering fairy lights of the room made her even more desirable. All he wanted to do was make love to her on that leather couch.

Digging deep for some restraint, Ben said, “Champagne?”

“I shouldn’t,” replied Ann, rubbing the side of her bump. “Oh, what the hell! Half a glass can’t hurt, right?”

“I’d say it was medicinal in the circumstances.”

Glancing at the time, Ben noted he was right on cue with his original plan. Expertly he opened the chilled bottle of Moet and part filled both glasses.

Right on the stroke of midnight, he handed her the flute.

“Happy Christmas Eve, beautiful,” he toasted, raising his glass to hers.

“Happy Christmas Eve,” she echoed, aware of a sudden sharp tight feeling across her stomach.

Taking a sip from the glass, Anna noticed something at the bottom of it. Squinting through the bubbles she saw it was a diamond ring.

“Ben?”

Moving to kneel in front of her, Ben cleared his throat, took her hand in his and said softly, “Will you marry me, Anna?”

Tears filling her eyes, Anna said “Yes,” as she felt a weird popping sensation then a wetness spreading between her thighs. Just as a contraction began to build, she added, “But I think we’re about to have a baby first. My waters just broke.”

“What?”

“Ben, we’re having a Christmas baby.”

Laughing, Ben raised his glass, “Who needs wise men with gold, frankincense and myrrh. We’ve got gold, champagne and sand.”

“And your ugly sweater,” giggled Anna.

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Red Wine and Candlelight (flash fiction)

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The creamy white candle flickered in its glass votive holder on the low coffee table. Two glasses of red wine sat beside the jasmine scented votive – one full; one half empty.
He was late. Thirteen minutes late.
Fidgeting restlessly, she tugged at the hem of her little black dress then adjusted the deep neckline, pulling the dress down to reveal more of her cleavage, conscious that she had a photo to live up to. For the fiftieth time, she re-read their message chain from earlier in the day to reassure herself that he was definitely coming.
It would be the first time they would actually meet face to face. Since they’d met online thirteen days before, they had messaged each other constantly. They had exchanged photos. They had talked on the phone late into the night.
He was late. Twenty-six minutes late.
Lifting her glass, she took another mouthful of cabernet sauvignon then sat down on the couch, stretching her long, bare, slender legs out in front of her. Her heart was pounding. Where was he? Why was he late? Why hadn’t he called or messaged her? What if he’d changed his mind? Imagining all sorts of scenarios, she watched the time tick by……
He was late. Thirty-nine minutes late
The doorbell chimed.
Taking a deep breath, she got up from the settee. She checked her dress was sitting properly then walked slowly in her stiletto heels to the front door. With her heart pounding, she reached to open the door.
There he was. All six foot two of him. Tall, muscled, close cut hair. He was holding a bunch of red roses and a bottle of wine. He smiled; her heart skipped a beat.
“I’m so sorry,” he apologised as he stepped into the hall. “I got held up at work.”
“I was getting worried. You could’ve called.”
“Sorry. Phone’s flat.”
Together they entered the candlelit lounge. An awkward silence hung in the air as they stood face to face for the first time. He towered over her. His grey/blue eyes looked her up and down, slowly undressing her as a small smile formed at his lips.
“You look amazing,” he complimented, presenting her with the flowers and wine. “These are for you.”
“Thanks. I’ll just pop them in some water,” she replied, inhaling the heady perfume of the blood red roses. “Take your jacket off. Make yourself at home. There’s a wine for you on the table.”
As she stood at the sink, filling her only vase with cold water, her hands were trembling. He was here. He was as hot as his profile pictures had led her to believe. He was everything she had imagined and then some.
When she returned to the living room, he’d taken off his jacket and draped it over the back of the chair. Sitting on the couch, she could see the outlines of his tattoos through his crisp white shirt.
“Will I put some music on?” she suggested, trying to sound calmly confident.
“Sounds good,” he agreed as he lifted the full glass of wine.
Within a moment or two, she had plugged her phone into the speaker and had one of her favourite Spotify playlists playing. Smiling at him, she crossed the room and sat beside him on the couch.
“So, how was your day?” she enquired as she lifted her own glass to her lips.
He was here. Thirteen minutes after he arrived they were deep in conversation.
Three songs later, he set his glass down, took hers from her and said, “Let’s dance.”
“Here? Now?”
No one had ever asked her to dance in her own living room.
“Here. Now,” he repeated, taking her hand.
He was here. Twenty-six minutes after he arrived they were dancing a slow dance in the middle of the living room.
As the last notes of her favourite song faded out, he bent down and began to kiss her. Placing his hand on the small of her back, he drew her towards him. She could smell the exotic spice of his aftershave. Lifting her hair back, he slowly and sensually kissed the sensitive spot behind her ear. She moaned softly as he ran the tip of his tongue down her neck. Teasingly, he ran his tongue along the length of her collar bone then resumed kissing her hard on the lips. She could feel his tongue forcing her lips apart as he kissed her harder. As she parted her lips a little further she felt him bite the inside of her lower lip hard. The fresh ferrous taste of blood filled her mouth as he continued to kiss her. Putty in his hands, she became aware of a tell-tale twitch deep inside her. Suddenly, she felt wet and ready for him to take her right there on the living room floor. From the bulge in his jeans that was pressing into her, he was experiencing the same desires. Her mind began to fantasise over what would happen next. Was he as long and hard as she hoped? She felt his hand cup her breast firmly then felt the pressure of his thumb as it moved in a circular rhythm. Through the fabric of her dress and padding of her bra, she knew her pierced nipples were erect.
Oh, she could surrender herself to this guy in a heartbeat.
He moved his hand from the base of her spine and, before she had time to wonder where he was going to caress her next, she felt a fiery, hot pain thrust up through her ribcage. She felt the coolness of the sharp blade as it plunged deep inside her. She felt her own warm blood flow freely to soak the silky fabric of her little black dress. Around her, the living room began to fade out.
He was gone. Thirty-nine minutes after he’d arrived she lay dead on the floor, stabbed through her romantic heart.
The candle flickered and guttered as the flame died.

 

(image sourced via Google – credits to the owner)

Reflections On A Creative Journey…

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I’ve spent the past few days reflecting on my “creative journey” among other things. This reflection was triggered by a question during a brief interview with a journalist from the local paper. (My first ever face to face interview and I don’t mind admitting I was a nervous wreck). The journalist asked me how long I’d been writing for.

Now, that should have been an easy question to answer but the genuine answer is that I don’t know. I’ve written stories for as long as I can remember. As soon as I could string a sentence together, I wanted to write stories. Fact.

This got me thinking (oh, no…. here she goes again….) It got me thinking about the various pieces I’ve shared on here over the past four and a half years.

Something I rarely do is re-blog past articles. The initial challenge I set myself at the end of 2013 was to write at least one blog post per week to get over my fear of letting people read what I write. I’ve risen to that challenge every week since so I think this week I will allow myself a moment of reflection on past blogs. Who knows some of these you may have missed along the way…

 

I might as well start at the beginning.

 I remember being terrified posting this

 https://coralmccallum.wordpress.com/2013/12/29/deep-breaths-and-begin/

All the fears- could I do this? Would folk laugh at what I wrote? Would anyone read what I wrote? Would I be able to write something new every week?

 

I’ve played games with my blog – the Glad Game-

 https://coralmccallum.wordpress.com/2014/03/24/what-makes-you-smile/

 

I’ve picked favourites-

https://coralmccallum.wordpress.com/2014/08/

 

I’ve seen some RnR dreams come true…several…but this was the first

https://coralmccallum.wordpress.com/2014/12/09/a-green-triangle-to-paradise-city-dreams-do-come-true/

 

I’ve introduced characters from my book babies. Remember the first time I introduced Jake Power? No? well, it was here.

https://coralmccallum.wordpress.com/fiction-short-stuff/him/

 

I’ve shared poems

https://coralmccallum.wordpress.com/poems/private-bubble/

 

I’ve shared confessions

https://coralmccallum.wordpress.com/2016/10/27/cluttered-confessions/

 

I’ve shared beach analogies …. have I mentioned that I love the beach?

https://coralmccallum.wordpress.com/2017/08/28/an-hour-at-the-beach-a-day-keeps-the-blues-away/

 

I’ve written some flash fiction

https://coralmccallum.wordpress.com/2017/08/22/in-the-heart-of-the-book-1000-word-flash-fiction/

 

I’ve written some erotic fiction

https://coralmccallum.wordpress.com/2017/11/29/twisted-silk-a-dark-tale-adult-content/

 

And I’ve shared some serialised short fiction. For some reason, this dark angel had proved to be a popular lady. I first introduced her here:

https://coralmccallum.wordpress.com/2014/07/10/silently-watching-a-short-story/

 

It’s been a creative journey of experimentation and self- discovery. Along the way, I’ve self-published the first three books in the Silver Lake series and am on the brink of releasing my fourth book baby aka Ellen in a few days.

Have I overcome the fear of letting people read what I write? Not entirely. Some blogs are easier to share than others. Nerves set in big style when the release date of a book baby looms on the horizon. My stomach flutters and somersaults every time I press “publish” on here.

Have I enjoyed the journey so far? YES! Every word of it.

I hope you have too. Thanks for sharing this long and winding journey with me.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Forget Me Not – a piece of flash fiction

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Birds were singing in the trees that cast cooling shadows across the path in the small graveyard. It had been many, many years since she had walked along the narrow, red gravel path but her heart was leading the way. The stones crunched beneath her feet.

Their friendship had always been unique. “Love at first bite,” he had joked on occasion after their first intimate encounter. An encounter that would last a lifetime.

Both of them knew the dangers associated with the secret they’d shared. Both of them watched family and friends grow old and pass. Both of them had watched each other remain exactly the same as if time itself stood still.

In the small village, local friends and neighbours started to notice. Rumours began to spread and, eventually, they both knew it was time.

Late into a mid-summer’s evening they had debated with each other as they hatched their plan. It was a plan to be together forever but one that would mean a lifetime apart. Both of them knew in their heart that this was the only way.

 

The day of his “funeral” had been a hot and humid June day. As they’d gathered at the graveside, the mourners were plagued by midgies that had swarmed incessantly around them. Keeping his sermon brief, the minister had blessed the “deceased” and offered up a prayer of thanks for his long and healthy life.

She had been the last to leave the graveside. Kneeling down, even although she knew he wasn’t actually buried deep below the freshly turned soil, she had wept then dropped a single Forget Me Not into the depths of the grave.

Two days later she had left her cottage in the village’s main street never to return….until now.

 

A hundred summers had passed since she had last entered the graveyard. The world had moved on. Technologies and fashions had evolved and come and gone. She, however, remained exactly the same. Her hair and clothes identical to the day she had said her last farewell.

Many times, over the years, she had thought to seek him out but her love for him held true and she kept her promise to only return on the agreed date.

She was early by less than an hour, still loathing to be late for anything.

Stepping from the gravel path onto the lush green grass, she found the grave with ease. A smile formed on her lips as she noted that a Forget Me Not had been engraved on the edge of the otherwise plain headstone. She noted too the series of numbers engraved beside the detailed flower. Seemingly meaningless to others but to her they were the confirmation that she had the date and time of their reunion correct.

 Time passed quickly as she waited. After all, what was forty eight minutes when compared to a hundred years? She passed the time meandering through the cemetery, reading the headstones, noting the graves of former friends and neighbours. Her heart ached as she realised that no one from her previous life in the village was left. Her friends were long gone.

What if he never came? A wave of panic swept through her.

Could she stay here without him? Rebuild her life in her old cottage? Would she want to if he wasn’t finally there to share in it?

What if he’d made a better life for himself elsewhere and forgotten their pact?

Anxiously she made her way through the labyrinth of granite stones to stand by his grave.

A cool breeze wafted across her pale cheek. For a second, she thought she felt the air behind her stir. A familiar musky aroma teased her senses, tugging at her heart.

She felt a hand rest on her right shoulder and gasped.

Looking to her left, her view obscured by the bright sunlight, she saw his profile. His left hand was extended towards her, palm up. In the centre of his long slender hand lay a single Forget Me Not.

“You came,” she breathed.

“Did you ever doubt I would?”

Coffee And Caramel Shortcake (flash fiction)

coffee and caramel shortcake

For such a beautiful Spring afternoon, the coffee shop was surprisingly quiet and she had no problem securing her favourite small window table. With her usual order placed, she turned her attention to her kindle and resumed reading.

 Hooking his sunglasses into the neck of his black t-shirt, he glanced round the unfamiliar coffee shop looking for a table. He spotted a small table over by the window and headed for it. Within moments a waitress was at his side with the menu. He only wanted a coffee so politely declined the menu and requested a large latte. 

When the waitress returned, she had two coffees on the tray and a piece of caramel. The sight of it was making him regret ordering just a coffee. Carefully, the young waitress set his large mug down then delivered the other smaller mug and the caramel shortcake to the adjacent table.

 As the woman looked up from her e-book to watch the waitress, she became aware of a pair of eyes watching her.

 The man and the woman made eye contact.

 She found herself spiralling into his brilliant blue eyes. Within them was a kaleidoscope of music, of lights, of songs, of guitars, of travelling, of hotel rooms, of restaurants and bars, of exhaustion, of jet lag, of loneliness.

 He found himself drowning in two still liquid pools of molten chocolate. Within them was a sea of contentment filled with calm thoughts of books, of writing, of scented candles, of soft music, of home cooked meals, of wine enjoyed out on a sea front terrace, of relaxation, of unbroken sleep, of loneliness.

 In that split second, the two strangers silently exchanged their worlds.

 She looked away first.

 A cloud fell over his world as he stared down into the milky depths of his coffee cup.

 “Excuse me,” said a honey soft voice beside him. “I don’t normally do things like this but you look like you need this more than I do.”

She offered him the slice of caramel shortcake.

“It’s medicinal,” she added with a smile that lit up his dark world.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice still husky from singing too many shows over too few nights. “How about you join me and we share it?”

Still smiling, she moved to sit down opposite him and cut the chocolate square neatly in half.

“You choose.”

 

(image sourced via Google – credits to the owner)