The Bootlegger – Five Sentence Fiction


He stole me.

He reached inside, breached the battlements, and stole me.

Took my heart, my body, my soul and stole me away.

Stole me away from here, from there, from then, from now.

I am his contraband.


Here is my latest entry – in poetic form – into the lovely Lillie’s Five Sentence Fiction, where she has provided this photo for our inspiration. Please do visit here to read the entries from other writers who love to keep it short too.

Porpoise – Magpie Tales

Tooker Bathers-George-Tooker-1950

Cassie hated the changing rooms and the feeling of being sized up, assessed, compared and found wanting by the other women. With their sleek limbs, muscles rippling under their skin, and flat stomachs, oh yes, she could imagine their thoughts as their eyes travelled up and down her own mis-shapen, lumpy body in revulsion.

She wished she could wear a sign hanging from her neck, explaining to people who she was, what she had been through, how much it took out of her to come here every week, how the memories assaulted her every time she passed through the doors and the chlorine tickled the back of her throat. But that just wasn’t the done thing. And she didn’t want pity, just recognition.

“Excuse me, I’m sorry, aren’t you..?” a teenaged girl was swiping her index finger furiously over her phone, looking first at Cassie, then down again.

“Oh, I can swim, even though it looks impossible. Well, kind of, anyway,” Cassie plastered a smile on her face, practised but not yet used to the sharp stab of pain in her heart. ‘Not the pity, not the pity,’ she thought.

“No! No! It’s not that! You’re Cassie Anderlecht, aren’t you? The Olympic swimmer..?”

“I was the Olympic swimmer, once, yes,” Cassie sighed. “Not any more, as you can see.”

The girl looked Cassie full in the face, ignoring the crutches, the ill-fitting swimsuit, the twisted legs, the scars that bore witness to the story of her past.

“But you’re still Cassie Anderlechts. I’m so very pleased to meet you.”


Here’s this week’s entry into Magpie Tales. Please visit here for more creativity, and why not take part, if you feel the urge!

Haven – Picture It & Write


The automatic doors slid apart, as if drawn by ghostly fingers. She paused, heart thumping, sniffing the air. Scents assaulted her nostrils – the sweet, heavy, unctiousness of lands far from here. A distant memory trickled into her mind, of laughter, warmth, worn-smooth chairs, a battered dining table, dented pots and pans with bases scorched black by blue gas flames. A home, not just a house. A safe haven.

Here, the scents were clean, new, knife-sharp. There, they had been soft and mellow and lazy. Here, the floor shone with the brilliance of constant attention and bleach. There, carefree foot-fall had worn the flagstones smooth and crumbs had nestled in the cracks in-between.

“Hey! Get out of here! Go on!”

She froze, stared at the man wielding a broom like a weapon – then ran. Ran as if the wind had caught her in its icy grip, ran as if she had somewhere else far better to turn to.

“That bloody old dog!” grumbled the man to himself. “Time somebody put it out of its misery.”


Once more, I have taken part in Picture It & Write this week. It’s strange how even the most seemingly mundane photo can inspire a story! Please take a look at Ermilia’s blog and why not take part in Picture It & Write yourself? She posts a new image for inspiration every Sunday, and this week, I am posting my entry on the very first day!