Left Behind

Wednesday again and time for Friday Fictioneers. The weekly foray into mischief and mayhem, murder and melancholy. Each week 100 + people battle the elements of language and grammar to get jiggy with their creativity. A 100 words of flash fiction based on the photo prompt provided. Follow the link and give it a go…



“It’s not forever, 6 months at the most”.

“I know”

He lowered his head and I raised mine just a fraction. Instead of the hunger I was craving, his lips brushed the top of my hair. It was an emotionless gesture, cold. It broke my heart in two.

“Will you write?”

“If I get chance”

“I’ll write everyday” I whispered.

He smiled weakly.

I felt him move back, stepping away. My hands lowered across my increasing middle. He looked, swallowed, and turned away.

Thirty years later I watched my daughter board a plane to meet the father she’d never known.  My heart broke again.


broken heart

Often it’s not,

The act that destroys,

But the betrayal of trust,

The secrets and lies,

I could have forgiven,

If you’d told me the truth,

And buried the rough,

Beneath all the smooth,

But you stole away choice,

In pretence and deceit,

Imprisoned suspicion,

Made my faith obsolete,

You left me to drown,

In an ocean of doubt,

Floundering in silence,

Not able to shout,

So how can I love,

When I know it’s a lie,

Yet how can I leave,

When I can’t ask you why?



window 2Original Photo : http://www.flickr.com/photos/alexisnyalphotography/5183310873

I woke up this morning,

And smiled at the day,

Drew back the curtains,

Releasing the grey,

A blaze of red glory,

In a ruby sunrise,

Stole away night,

Like a thief in disguise,

A blanket of warmth,

Lay fast on the ground,

The sparkle of dew,

Like diamonds abound,

And the leaves on the bough,

And the birds in the trees,

Danced in the sunshine,

And laughed in the breeze,

I stopped and I listened,

And I waited a while,

I cherished the wonder,

As I did as a child,


A scent of tomorrow,

And a hint of today,

I woke up this morning,

And I smiled at the day.

Mavis and the Trawlerman

I’m afraid it’s another light weight version this week for Friday Fictioneers. My deep and meaningful seems to have buried itself so deep I’m struggling to find it. At least I can rely on the other 100 + contributors each week to keep up their end of the creative talent pool. I’ll just be treading water till somebody throws me a life jacket, or a brick……


The waiter brought the soup and left. Meryl scanned the restaurant, mouthing a sort of half whisper, half mime

“Did you hear about Mavis?”

Distracted by the winking fish eye, Deirdre didn’t look up,

“Mavis who?”

“Bert heard it in the Butchers; said Bob at number 6 had heard it from Big Bertha at the Café”

“Heard what?”

“Mavis Smith has run off to Cyprus with a tattooed trawlerman”

“Mavis Smith!” Deirdre raised her eyebrows.

“She hasn’t run off with a trawlerman, she’s got onto that net thingy, the internet”

“Bloody Chinese whispers” muttered Meryl struggling to lift the soup with her chopsticks.