‘Why aren’t the lights changing Mum?!’ the whine in Maisy’s voice is reaching new levels. I don’t have an answer. ‘I need a wee!’ she shrieks. ‘I know love, you’ve told me that already haven’t you?’ Amazingly, I’m still in full calm parent mode. My heart’s bouncing around in my chest with the stress of… Continue reading Writing Wednesday: Seeing Red by Anna Rymer
Harold Snow wiped his hands down his apron and admired his handiwork. Twelve perfectly sculpted gingerbread women smiled up at him, their sweet scent wrapping like a blanket around him. ‘Grandpa, Grandpa, are they done, are they done?’ cried Izzy. She ran to fetch her step, dragging it screeching across the floor, before climbing up beside… Continue reading Friday Flash: Gingerbread Kisses
Epoch At the edge of one I wait For doors to open, and welcome me in A pause A breath Then time hurries on With me its captive. ____________________________________________________ A word prompt to get your creativity flowing this weekend. How you use the prompt is up to you. Write a piece of flash fiction, a… Continue reading Weekend Writing Prompt #146: Epoch
You may think this is trivial but trust me, if you were me you too would be sobbing as hard as I am right now on the kitchen floor. Oh yes, you too would be letting the snot, the tears, the saliva dribble freely, as the cool stone presses hard into your hands and knees,… Continue reading Friday Flash: Spilt Milk
‘Woah, now just slow down there’ a voice hollered from the next aisle seconds before a tiny child came hurtling around the corner pushing a basket on wheels. His beam almost entirely covered his face and his eyes sparkled with mischief. Susie leapt away from the wine bottles she was perusing, just in time to… Continue reading Friday Flash: Always is a Long Time
It had nothing to do with the dog. Yeah, it was sweet, sitting in the window of the old Bennett house as I’d waited at the bus stop. Its doleful eyes peering out at me, relentless. I’d watched it barking incessantly as the bus pulled away. Silent barks, I’d heard all the way into town. … Continue reading It Had Nothing To Do With the Dog
I like to pretend I am the conductor of an orchestra, like the ones Pa took me to see when I was small. We'd sneak in at the interval and hide within the shadows, until it was safe to choose our seats. Now on the cold days, my hands become my baton, like I’m Nadia Boulanger conducting… Continue reading Urban Symphony (Friday Fictioneers)
Blissfully Buried in Books 