Tuesday's Tales ~ Hill

Welcome to Tuesday's Tales  

This week I'm sharing the opening of a new longer-than-short,-short-story.

 

I love getting your feedback and find it very helpful during revisions ;-) 

 

Jack and Jill went up the hill…

 

D. I. Rebecca Greyson tapped her pen on the photograph in her hand. What was she missing that an old, and long forgotten, nursery rhyme popped into her head?

Had young Jackson Farraday climbed up the hill?

If so why?

Why would a four year old, alone, climb up the steep slope to the popular beauty spot that overlooked the city?

“We’ve talked about going up there…” Lucy Farraday had told Rebecca the previous day, not long after she’d reported her son, Jackson, missing. “All of us, for a picnic in the summer. Jim and I,” she’d added in a soft voice, her drenched eyes turned vaguely dreamy, “used to go up there a lot.” A reminiscent smile tugged at her lips and pink tinged her cheeks. “It’s possible Jackson was conceived up there.”

 

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Sunday Snippet

 

The week's Sunday Snippet  is from another short story in my current WIP

 

Daily Mail

Almost every available officer and hundreds of civilian volunteers were searching for the boy. Who could she dispatch to visit the mother again?

So far the police had managed to withhold the information from the media that they’d found Jackson’s jacket beneath a scrub of brambles at the bottom of the hill. Had he been at the bottom of the hill, or had someone thrown his jacket there to deflect attention?

Questions, questions… When would someone come up with some concrete answers?

 

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Tuesday Tales - Revisited

Welcome to Tuesday's Tales  

 

Once again, many thanks to all those who drop by each week. I also appreciate, and often act upon comments and suggestions left.  Many thanks.

 

This week we are doing something different. Each author is going back through their Tuesday's Tales offering and choosing one of their personal favourites. This week I am revisiting my first ever Tuesday Tale. Why? When it is such a dark story, and I normally write 'sweet' or Regency romances, have I chosen this one?

 

Well... because it was my first challenge and arrived so quickly it took my breath away, and because the content astonished me.

 Lies  First posted for TT. on January 2012

Jenny  skipped along the street, her pigtails flying, her eyes shining, and a permanent smile on her face. She carried her present for Shirley in the plastic carrier bag hanging from her arm, her Cinderella costume blowing in the breeze. Today her bestest friend was celebrating her ninth birthday with a fancy-dress party,
and next week it would be her turn. Somehow, the figure nine seemed more grown-up than eight. Nearer double figures.

“You going to Shirley’s party?”

She’d seen the boy in the school playground. Always on the edge of a group, always watching, and, she shivered now, something about his eyes made her uneasy. Today  was no different, and his costume didn’t help. His smile was inviting, warm and almost gleeful; yet, secretive, Shirley decided.

“What are you dressed up as?” She studied his cape and the scythe he carried, its blade gleaming in the sun.

“The Grim Reaper,” he said. “And my friend Herakles will be joining me in a moment.”

Damien, that was it! She’d never liked the name because it always made her think of demons; and demons, she knew, were scary. Lately they filled her dreams, turning them to nightmares.

She never quite saw their faces in her dreams, only heard their laughter, when it turned dark and evil and woke her up.

For the last couple of nights, she’d tried in vain to wake from the nightmares. The demon stood there watching her. Whatever she did, wherever she went in her dreams, the demon stood there watching in silent celebration.


Jenny looked at the boy walking beside her. Strange, she’d never noticed before, but if her demon had a face it would be like Damian’s.

“How old are you?” she asked in an effort to shake off her qualms. “Aren’t you too old to come to Shirley’s party?”

“Age, is in the head.” Damien smiled. “After all, you think nine as far more grown-up than eight, don’t you? When in reality it’s just the beginning of another day, another number you’ll hang on to for a year.

“If you’re lucky, that is.”

His eyes, dark as obsidian, gleamed in the sunshine, his hair reminded her of the huge raven that stole food off the bird table this morning, and cawed at her mother when she chased it away.

Sometimes, in a certain light, Damien reminded her of the old man who lived in the end house on the street. Rumour and gossip abounded about him, and the school children ran past his home; half hoping he’d come outside, and terrified he
might!

“Never see a light on in that house, me dear,” old Mr. Hawkins, from two doors down, told her one day. “Best to stay clear of the place. That’s what I say.” And cackling he’d wandered off into the nearest shop.

Jenny stopped at the pedestrian road crossing and waited for the lights to change from red to green.

“It’s safe to cross now.” Damien told her.

She stepped into the road, thankful Damien hadn’t followed. Reflected in the shop window ahead of her she saw him standing on the pavement, watching her, his smile one of satisfaction this time.

She didn’t hear the car that ‘came from nowhere,’ didn’t hear the screams of horror that filled the air when the car never stopped, never saw Damien vanish into thin air, to reappear beside the driver of the car.

“Promise me she didn’t suffer,” he demanded of Herakles. “I didn’t like lying to her, she was a sweet kid.”

“She didn’t suffer,” his companion assured him.  

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

This story and several others are permanently available over at http://authorsherrygloagtheheartofroman.weebly.com/lies.html

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

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Tuesday's Tales - Shoes. 11-06-13

 

Welcome to Tuesday's Tales!

A place where books are born. Thank you for stopping by.  This week's word prompt it Shoes.  This is an unedited complete short story.

 





 
www_pakfashiontrends_com

Some women drooled over gourmet food, Lidia thought,  while others lusted after jewellery or the latest fashion in clothes. For her it was shoes.

She stood in front of the shop window and dreamed. It was the only shop she knew that carried all the top fashion brands in one place.

Once, she remembered with a smile, she’d actually gone inside and almost turned and run out again when one of the women had asked if she needed assistance.

“No,” she said, her mouth dry with desire, her hands sweaty with longing and her fingers itching to snatch just one shoe of its display and try it on.

She looked round, if there were other customers in the sop, Lidia couldn’t see them.

Had the assistance seen the longing in her eyes? She didn’t know, but when offered the chance to try on the Jimmy Choo shoes she let the dream override her sanity. With the encouragement of several members of staff, she’d gone on to try on several more. Every leading brand, she sighed, and smiled – and drooled, and kept going back to one pair that tugged at her heartstrings.  The feel, the style, the straps dancing over the sole of the soul and twining up her calf, as soft as a lover’s touch, and the heels. Robert, her brother called the stilts and often wondered how any woman could even want to walk in them, let alone accomplish the skill.

Lidia had never entered the shop again, but occasionally a member of staff, if they saw her would come out and have a chat.

But today was different. Today was a day for dreams to come true, thanks to her winning lottery ticket earlier in the week.

Not just a win, but one of those ‘it-only-ever-happens-to-other-people’ wins, that allowed her to pay off the mortgage on her flat, and to replace her own car and that of her parents. She’d tussled with her brother before he’d allow her to pay his student fees for the next four years.

“You can pay me back,” she'd promised, and smiled when he’d finally caved.

And now…?

Now it was her turn.

Lidia caught hold of the door handle, opened it and stepped inside…

 

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Tuesday's Tales - Bite

Welcome to Tuesday's Tales! A place where books are born. Thank you for stopping by.  This week's word prompt it bite.  I apologise for the length of this week's offering ahead of time, but this is an unedited complete short story.

“Your mother has agreed to give Rusty a permanent home.  Why do you keep pushing to bring him here?”

Mark swallowed his rising anger towards his new wife. They’d been arguing about Jodi’s Retriever dog for several months before the wedding. Thankfully she’d dropped the subject during their honeymoon, but now…? After one day in their new home she’d started badgering him again.

“Why don’t you explain why you refuse to let me bring Rusty with me? We’ve never been apart and he’s getting old, and will fret if he stays with my mum.”

“He’s just a dog, for heaven’s sake. What’s so special about him?”

After a quick glare in his direction Jody turned her back on him. “You could say he saved my life.”  The livid white scar across the back of her neck glistened in the ray of sunshine,  and as ever Mark cringed and looked round the room. Reluctantly, she’d agreed to the black and white theme he wanted in their living room.

“But I get to choose in the bedroom.” She’d countered with a grin.

The three-seater black leather settee took centre stage in the room, while the white walls off-set the hanging sixty-inch TV screen. At the far end of the room Jody had installed a neat looking black desk and thrown his whole design into disarray with her soft furnished red chair, and computer.

Refocusing his irritation from the red chair back to his wife Mark stepped forward and placed a placating hand on her shoulder. “You never told me that before.” Hard as he tried, he failed to keep the accusation from his voice.

“Well, of course I didn’t. You have always refused to go near any dog, even the smallest dog that passes us in the park.  I may not have commented on it, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t noticed.  Now I think you owe it to me to explain why you refuse to have anything to do with dogs.  And it better be good, because I had Rusty before we met so you’ve always known I’d want him to be with.”

The anger drained out of him. Jody only spoke the truth. Like a selfish fool he’d hoped she’d give in and leave the dog with her parents. He’d even demanded she leave him behind. How arrogant could he get?

And how could he save his two-week old marriage if he didn’t try to explain why he wouldn’t go near dogs.

Any dogs.

“I need a drink.” When he reached the wet-bar he held up a second glass. Jody shook her head, looked over her shoulder and watched him beneath her lashes.

“Come and sit down,” Mark asked and patted the settee beside him after he placed his snifter on the coffee table.  “I’ve never talked about this before, so I don’t know how much sense I’ll make, but I do see I owe it to you to explain why I can’t have a dog in the house.”

He waited with baited breath while she studied him for several minutes, her eyes dark and troubled, her brows drawn together and her hands clenched at her sides. He released a breath when she nodded and dropped down beside him.

“Go on,” she prompted when he hesitated. “I’m listening.”

Needing the comfort of Jody’s touch, Mark gripped her hand and held it on his lap. He couldn’t look at her and focussed his attention on the shiny new wood-panelled floor.

“I was sixteen at the time when dad and I took  Bitzer to the park…”

“Bitzer? Who was Bitzer? And why have you never mentioned him before?”  Jody shifted in her seat to cast a bewildered look at him.

“Don’t interrupt, otherwise I won’t be able to tell you.”

A slight squeeze on his hand gave him the courage to continue.  “He was our dog.”

He ignored her gasp and willed himself to let the memories in.

“My dad called him a bitzer. – A bit of this and a bit of that. The people at the rescue centre told my dad he was just a puppy. I remember thinking  ‘bitzer’ was a cool name, so that’s what we called him. Bitzer.”

He swallowed, gripped the hand that somehow now held his, and took a long deep breath.

“He was  black and tan, and even then he had shoulders on him like a quarter back. In all the time we had him,  he never showed any sign of aggression- until that day…” His voice trailed off and he looked up at Jody, noted her pale face, and that her eyes were like saucers.

“Go on,” she coaxed, her voice little more than a whisper.

“We don’t know what triggered his behaviour that day, but there was a young girl playing with the ducks, her parents had just given her a slice of bread and I remember hearing the sound of their laughter.

“My dad had Bitzer on a loose lead and didn’t expect him to act any differently than usual. But this time Bitzer broke away from my dad, ran straight for the girl and caught her by the throat and shook her like a doll.”

He couldn’t stop the shakes running through his body. The child’s screams echoed in his head as clearly as if he was back in the park. Her parents’ cries for help, and his father’s curses as he attempted to pull Bitzer off the child.

“What happened?”

“I can’t remember the details. Lots of people arrived, some may have been police, in fact I’m sure at least one was a policemen, because eventually he shot Bitzer, but not before another dog hurled itself into the furore.  Everyone thought the new dog's pack instinct was kicking in, instead it positioned itself in front of the girl and attacked Bitzer. It saved the child’s life.”

Life? 

Saved a life?
 
What had Jody just said about Rusty?

The words rattled in his head and he shot an agonised glance at Jody. “Please tell me I’m wrong,” he begged, as he watched the tears track down her cheeks.  

“That second dog wouldn’t let anyone near the child for more than an hour,” Jody said in a broken voice.  “Not my parents, not the medics, no one until the policemen shot your dog.  That’s why he had to shoot him, Mark. I’m so sorry.”

He swiped a hand across his face. “You’re sorry? How can you look at me and not be repulsed?”

“Mark, until this moment I didn’t know you were the boy who begged the policemen not to kill his dog.” Jody wrapped her arms round his neck, drew him close, and kissed him.  “I love you, Mark. For better, for worse, I love you. And I’ll tell Mum to keep Rusty permanently.”

“No!”  Mark shot to his feet. “You must bring him here, but first perhaps he can stay with your Mum till I get to know him.”

“Oh Mark, I do love you. I promise Rusty won’t bite you. He has an instinct about people and I know he will accept you for who, and what, you are. Just as I do.”

 

* * * *

 

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Tuesday's Tale - Picture prompt

 

The Tuesday's Tale picture prompt this month is so fitting for valentine's Day I decided to have a little poke at 'expectations'.  I have kept it beneath the 300 word limit ;-) (This is a short one-off story, quite unrelated to my current wip that I have been posting recently.)

 

She looked at the box, then at the man, and her heart turned over in her chest. Love, as warm and red as the gift-wrapping, and as bright as the silver ribbon, neatly topping it with a tidy bow, blazed in his eyes.

Could you fall in love at first sight? It felt like it to her, but could she trust the emotions swirling inside her?

The glow in his eyes dimmed, and her heart squeezed.

Two days, that’s all. They’d known each other for two days.

And in those two days, life had been full; wonderful, and filled with meaning… and joy.

Could she dismiss the magic they generated when they were together so causally? Should she?

She stared back at the box, then up at the man again.

The sound of waves lapping against the sun-kissed shore beat a gentle rhythm in her head. His hair the colour of a setting sun, and his eyes, she noticed again, were as blue as the summer sky. The glow in them had changed-to determination.

She half wished he’d coax her to take the box, but he remained silent, as still as a statue apart from his watchful gaze on her face.

Without warning the image of a door closing filled her mind.

No!

No, she refused to let the door close and snatched the gift out of his cupped hands.

Unaware of the breath backing up in her lungs, she tore at the wrapping and snapped up the lid and stared. A plastic bubblegum-pink ring lay on a black velvet bed.

With a gurgle of laughter, she lifted the ring from the box and handed it to him and watched him slide it on her finger.

“Just stating my intent,” he said, and drew her in for a kiss.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

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Tuesday Tales 24th - Games

Thank you for dropping in to read this week's TUESDAY TALES
The prompt is 'Games'

“Com’on.” Brad led the group of fellow ten-year-olds across the park towards the trees. “It’ll be easy.”

He heard the muttering behind him and hefted his mini crossbow from one hand to the other. He patted the knotted tie that held his arrows against his back. Jeff was carrying a bag of apples, and Will and Harry had tagged along to watch.

“Hey!” Will called to his friend Logan, you coming to see Brad split an apple on top of Jeff’s head?” He’d never heard of William Tell but that didn’t matter.

“Don’t be daft, he can’t do that!” Logan loped across the grass to join the group and on spying another friend invited them along.

“Where we going?” Tyler, the tenth boy to join the group, demanded.

“Dun’ know.” Will admitted.

“There’s a clearing that’s big enough just along the path that leads to the tennis courts.” Brad called over his shoulder. “Not many people use it so we won’t be disturbed.”

Brad’s confidence plummeted with each addition to the small band of boys now crossing the park. Several adults, he noticed, were watching their progress towards the trees. Perhaps he shouldn’t have accepted Jeff’s challenge?

He looked across at his best buddy and noted the freckles standing out against the pallor of his skin. Was he regretting the challenge? And would he withdraw it? Anger joined his fear when he heard his silent prayers he wouldn’t have to follow through.

It all seemed such a lark last night when they’d been trolling the ‘net and come across the story of William Tell, who in an effort to avoid being imprisoned shot an apple off the top of his son’s head.

Now, as the group of boys increased, it turned into something more like a nightmare than a game.

From the corner of his eye Brad saw two men approaching. One was Jeff’s father. What was he doing here? Why wasn’t he watching the game on TV?

“Nah! My Dad won’t notice,” Jeff assured him last night when they plotted this. “He always stays in and watches the game, and my Mom goes round to Aunt Bella, so no one will see us.”

“What you doing, boys?” Jeff’s dad asked with an easy smile.

Hadn’t he noticed the crossbow, Brad wondered and shifted it closer to the ground, and cringed at the glee in Will’s response.

“We’re gonna’ watch Brad shoot an apple off Jeff’s head.” he shouted.

As one the group halted.

Brad wasn’t sure who the second adult was, but vaguely thought he might be the deputy sheriff he’d seen in school a few weeks ago after a spate of thefts.

Shifting his gaze from the deputy Brad stared at Jeff’s Dad and waited for his wrath to descend upon them. The man’s rueful grin disconcerted him.

“Well now,” he said, letting his glance encompass all the boys. “That’s a mighty fine idea, but perhaps we can offer a little help here.” With a gesture towards his companion, Jeff’s dad laid a hand on Brad’s shoulder.

“You heading for the knoll clearing?”

Bemused, Brad nodded.

“Let’s get going then.”

With Jeff’s dad in the lead and the deputy bringing up the rear, the boys trouped further into the trees until the clearing opened up in front of them.

“Let me look at your bow.” Jeff’s dad held out his hand took the weapon and inspected it thoroughly. “Your Dad is an excellent craftsman,” he said, after turning it over in his hand for a few moments. He leaned behind and pulled the arrows out of Brad’s makeshift quiver and accorded them the same meticulous attention before nodding.

Jeff blanched when his father instructed him to stand against a tree and dragged his feet as he crossed the clearing and leaned his back against it.

“Deputy, perhaps you’d be good enough to mark the tree just above my son’s head.”

They all watched the deputy remove his camping knife and cut a nick in the tree bark. “That do?”

“Good enough.” Jeff’s dad nodded, and ordered his son to join the group again. “Did you bring an apple?”

Dumbstruck, Brad grabbed the bag from Will and handed it over.

“As we don’t have any means of pinning the apple to the tree, we’ll have to draw a circle instead.”

It didn’t take long, and before Brad knew what Jeff’s dad intended, the man once more stood beside him.

“Now then, Brad. Do you see the mark I’ve made?” He waited for Brad’s acknowledgement . “Very well, we’ll do this properly, come over to the tree.”

His panic rising with every second, Brad found himself moving forward.

Jeff’s dad took his arm and walked beside him as together they paced out fifty yards. The distance seemed enormous to Brad and the lump in his throat threatened to choke him.

The boys no longer shuffled or whispered and it seemed even the birds and the trees were holding their breath.

“William Tell was a grown man, so I think we can make allowances for your age and size.” With a grin Jeff’s dad sought affirmation from the sheriff.

Why were the adults grinning? When he’d seen them coming, he’d expected them both to put a stop to their game, expected to be able to back out with dignity and now both men were going to force him to go through with something terrifying. The trembling started in his knees and spread to his hands within seconds. His chest tightened making it hard to breathe.

“Now then, young Bradley,” Jeff’s dad paced out twenty steps closer to the target and instructed Brad to stand on the cross he’d dug into the ground with the heel of his shoe. “Stand here, steady yourself and make sure your breathing is even and your hand is steady. Take all the time you like and then fire your arrow at the round mark I’ve made on the tree.”

The next five minutes passed in a blur, broken only by a volley of clapping. As if coming out of a dream he looked up, and round, at the shining, excited faces.

“Well done, lad.” The sheriff’s voice cut through his stupor. “That was a fine piece of shooting.”

Before he could bask in the praise, the man’s tone changed and encompassed all the children.

“Luckily for all of you, someone informed us they’d seen you in the park. What you proposed today was both stupid and dangerous. What if you’d missed, Brad? You could have killed young Jeff here.”

The nearer they’d come to the trees the more vivid such an outcome had become to Brad.

The lecture was issued in firm but understanding words and left each boy in no doubt of the seriousness of the occasion.

The boys that trouped out from the trees bore little resemblance to the ones that entered them. Each child now knew that some games could so easily end in tragedy, and heaved a sigh of relief that this time they’d been lucky.

Tuesday Tales ~ Broken

Thank you for dropping in to read this week's TUESDAY'S TALE

The prompt is 'Broken'

The rosy sun climbing above the horizon enticed the cold mist to rise and hide the road ahead of the solitary rider.

Without compunction Roul had stolen the horse from the field when his car broke down. Well not ‘stolen’ precisely, he’d left his contact number under his windscreen wiper for the owner to contact him when they discovered their animal missing.

The road ahead disappeared into the rising mist and like his thoughts left everything to the imagination.

When he’d last seen her, Serena melted in his arms with sighs of delight and promises of forever together. Now, less than twenty four hours later, she’d left a message on his voice mail retracting her promise.

Why?

What could have happened to change her mind? They’d known each other forever and been partners for six months.

He cursed the phone call demanding his presence in the office for a meeting that never happened. One his secretary claimed to know nothing about.

Who had made the call and why? Why had Serena broken off their engagement? And his car—, was the breakdown connected in some way to a sudden sequence of unexplainable events?

And the supposed meeting?

Not something that appeared out of the blue, but one he’d been expecting, connected to a long and sometimes tedious process of negotiation on his proposed offer for the failing electronics company he’d had his eye on for months now.

He rounded the corner of the village he and Serena fell in love with the moment they saw it and at the first opportunity left the road and urged his horse to follow the country tracks that led to the back of the home they shared.

The rising mist cloaked him in invisibility as he approached the woods bounding the north side of the property and he slowed his mount to a trot. When he came to the stone built wall he guided the animal to the little ivy covered gate.

Thirty minutes later, protected by the huge trunk of an old oak tree Roul stared at the two cars parked in front of the house and cursed.

The broken engagement, the phoney business call, and the vehicle breakdown, all slotted into place.

He prayed that the coffin sized box the two men carried to the back of the 4x4 did not carry the body of the only woman he’d ever loved.

He watched them slide the box inside before returning indoors then calculated the distance from his hiding place to the garage and the ancient Volvo kept there for emergencies and back at the upper windows of his home. Was anyone watching the area from there? If so, his cover would be shot to hell.

Was Serena alive?

His heart lurched. Was she a part of the cross and double cross situation? He shook his head. Surely not!

Why would she promise to marry him if she’d no intention of following through? Why not just keep stringing him along?

Roul let loose with a volley of curses when Joseph Bailey, CEO of Eagle Electronics strode from the house.

“Take the girl to the house in Scotland. Keep her there for a week and do not let her out of your site.”

Bailey slid behind the wheel of the red Ferrari, gunned the engine and left a shower of gravel behind as he disappeared round the bend in the driveway.

Thank you to everyone who visits and especially those who share their thoughts.  And last, but not east to Jean Joachim for creating the opportunities Tuesday's Tales offers the participants.

Tuesday Tales

I am delighted to be part of the Tuesday Tales group of writers. 
This week the prompt word is ‘fire’. 

So, for my first effort in Tuesday Tales, here is a complete short story.

Pictures in the Fire

Snow, silent as stealth, filled the driveway beyond her front door. Inside silence filled the room while she sat staring at the fire.

“Can you see the pictures in the flames?” Her mother’s voice came across as clearly as if she stood next to Monica.

She’d been five the first time her mother asked the question. Five and eager to experience a new adventure. For hours she’d sat in front of the fire, its orange flames curling round the logs her father cut and hauled in each morning. At first she’d pretended to herself and her mother she’d seen all sorts of things. The pony she wished for peering over the stable door that didn’t exist, the baby brother who arrived two years later, and the puppy her best friend Lillian received two days later. She even imagined she saw the letters written in the flames of the name Lillian chose for her new friend.

“You’ll never guess what I just got?” Lillian had bounced into the school playground her face glowing with excitement.

“A puppy?” Until she heard the words, saw her breath mist in the cold playground air, she’d not realised she’d spoken aloud.

Deflated, Lillian glowered at her. “How’d you know that?” Then she’d beamed her usual sunny smile. “I s’pose my Mom told you, and made you promise not to tell.”

Not quite sure why, Monica remained silent, but thought perhaps that’s how she knew.

When Lillian asked her to guess the puppy’s name, Monica sealed her lips and hoped that her best friend would not say ‘Jasper’.

“Jasper.” Lillian squealed while jumping up and down on the spot and clapping her hands together.

A frisson of trepidation skittered up Monica’s spine. How had she known? Had her friend mentioned a liking for the name? If so, she couldn’t remember. The frisson of fear grew, when later that evening she told her mother and was met by a concerned silence.

Her mother’s smile usually so open and encouraging, faltered and slipped away altogether. Her smoky blue eyes usually filled with love and laughter turned chilly. Her voice, when she answered was the most frightening of all.

“Don’t tell lies, Monica.” Instead of the usual bed-time hug, her mother stepped back from the bed, ordered Monica to say her prayers twice and to include a request for forgiveness for telling lies, before halting in the doorway, her hand on the knob. “And if this is the result of sitting staring at the fire so much, I suggest you find something more constructive to do with your time.”

The slamming of the bedroom door punctuated her mother’s words.

Miserable, confused, and suddenly tired beyond sleeping, she’d pulled the covers over her head and cried into her pillow throughout the night.

In the morning, Monica decided her mother’s smile could freeze the fires of hell. Her jittery stomach refused to accept the breakfast her mother placed in front of her and she left for school feeling sick, tired and hungry all at once.

When Lillian ran up to her Monica smiled with relief, at least she had her friend. And then she noticed Lillian’s stony-faced glare.

“My Mom said she never told you about the puppy so how did you know, and how did you guess the correct name?”

To Monica it seemed everyone in the playground stopped and waited for her answer. Isolation, heavy and penetrating weighed down on her shoulders. What could she say? She didn’t know, so took the easy way out, and simply shrugged.

In that moment everything changed.

Her life changed.

At school, when she approached conversations stopped. Instead of sharing camaraderie her former school friends ignored her. She learned to stand alone.

At home her young brother continued to give her his unconditional love, but her parents, Monica noticed, walked around her as though she’d caught the plague. She learned to stand alone. Only young Billy penetrated the barrier of self-preservation she erected.

And now? Now, nearly twenty years later she sat in front of her hearth, her hands cradled round her knees, and watched the images of her mother playing with her in the snow in the days before she’d encouraged her daughter to seek pictures in the flames.

For months before she’d died, her mother had accepted the healing her daughter offered to alleviate the pain.

Durng those months they talked. Really talked.

“I’m sorry.” Her mother’s frail voice drew Monica’s attention as she sat at the hospital bedside.

“Sorry?”

Bewildered, she searched for explanations and come up empty. Her parents had dished out edicts as she’d grown up and if she ever returned home after escaping at sixteen, she was usually met with disapproval.

“Your grandmother had the ‘gift’,” her mother started. “It frightened your father, and when you developed it he threatened to walk away from us. I promised him I wouldn’t let you develop your gift if he stayed.”

No wonder her father treated her like a pariah, Monica thought as she struggled to marshal her thoughts.

And the irony?

He’d left anyway. Maybe not for ten years, but he’d left her mother for a ‘newer model.’ And she’d been shattered. Filled with an unexplained guilt about the breakup, Monica had taken off a few months later.

At first she’d buried the experiences that bombarded her. Later when new friends discovered her ‘gift’ they’d come to her for help and advice. Finally after some hefty pleading she’d succumbed and let the feelings and ‘knowing’ in.

The sense of isolation, both inner and outer, eased, and in time disappeared. She felt complete, if not quite comfortable with circumstances. And now her mother informed her it was genetically inherited.

The relationship between them grew closer, and finally Monica recognised that barely remembered loving glow in her mother’s eyes.

“Yes, I remember when you encouraged me to look for the pictures in the fire.” Monica’s words shimmered on the silence around her.

“Never stop.” Her mother’s voice, as loud as her own, filled Monica’s mind. “Never stop watching. Never stop dreaming.” Her mother’s voice faltered, dropped. “Fire, like love can burn or warm. Never let the fire within you go out.”

A log in the grate shifted, sending sparks soaring up the chimney. The silence around her shimmered and settled, and a warmth like a scarf, wrapped around Monica’s heart.

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Six Sentence Sunday

Today is the ending of Thanksgiven, my short story.  Thank you to everyone who has been following it every Saturday and Suday this month.  I hope you enjoy this final snippet.

And thank you for your company and comments, every week, they are all appreciated. 

"Did you really say you've always loved me?"

He nodded, captured her carressing hand and kissed her palm.  "Always and forever, only you."

"Good," she said, reasting her head against his shoulder.  "I feel the same way about you."

"Then let's go home," Luke suggested, and gave thanks his love of a lifetime lay cradled in his arms.

Thank you for following my short story, Thanksgiven all this month.

You'll find hundreds more great snippets at Six Sunday Sentence. 

Sweet Saturday Samples

Welcome back to another Sweet Saturday Sample.  And thank you to everyone who visits, and leaves comments.

Today I am carrying on from where I left off last week on Six Sunday Sentence.

“So do I, sweetheart. So do I.” He wrapped his arms around his children and rested his chin on their soft golden curls.

He’d tried her cell phone.

Nothing!

He’d checked with the police. No accidents reported in his vicinity. Did that mean…what? His fingers tunneled through his dark hair.

Since he’d brought Alice, the wrong twin, to the ranch, six years ago, she’d never stopped moaning. The isolation gave her the creeps; she wanted kids. He gave her two. They were noisy, dirty and a nuisance; she wanted out of the marriage. He negotiated total parental rights, and Alice smiled sweetly before disappearing from their lives. A week later Jim, the local Sherriff, informed Luke of his wife’s death in a head-on-car-collision.

Please come back tomorrow for another six sentences of this story.