Reaping and Sowing – Five Sentence Fiction

September 7, 2014freyathewriter 9 Comments

Kit was an utterly marvellous boy – I called him that because he seemed so young, such a rough diamond and oh! such a refreshing change from the insipid and polished eldest sons of eldest sons Father insisted I meet.

Of course, I knew it was impossible – Father would no more have let me walk out with Kit than if I had asked to marry one of the toads ringing the marshy edges of our lake.

Sadly, oh so sadly, Kit never could understand how these things worked – as far as he was concerned, an honest job meant he was an honest man, and that should be good enough for anybody, even the likes of Captain de Riviera.

It was partly my fault, I confess that now – I had no way of knowing how to handle such a virile and passionate creature, and I led him on, far too far…

Poor Kit… and not to mention, poor me.

————–

Here is my latest entry into the lovely Lillie’s Five Sentence Fiction, where she has provided this beuatiful photo for us as this week’s inspiration.

This week, my tale follows on from a flash fiction piece I wrote for VisDare, as the images seemed to work well together.

Please do visit here to read, read, read some more! No two pieces will be the same…

Oil and Water – VisDare

September 7, 2014September 7, 2014freyathewriter 4 Comments

Photo source

Little Mo is well-known in these parts.

We’ve all seen her, even Lighterman Roberts with his tricorn hat and air of disdain. He won’t admit it, won’t confess to a sighting of the supernatural, but I’ve heard him as he walks down the streets, lighting the lamps at dusk-fall. He claims to be talking to his dog, a grizzled lurcher by the name of Mutt. In public, and especially when he’s in his cups, he treats that poor animal like dirt. There’s no way he’d bill and coo at Mutt as if he was wooing a lady. No, he’s seen Little Mo alright, and I fancy she tippy-toes alongside him in the cobbled streets every night.

She came to a dark end, did Little Mo. She was Captain de Riviera’s youngest daughter. He spoiled her so, and she got to thinking she could charm the birds off the trees. Instead, all she charmed was a feckless youth from our mean streets, teasing him with her fancy ways. It was enough to drive a poor young man wild.

That’s what Lighterman Roberts tells her, anyway.

I reckon he knows all about Little Mo. and I reckon she deserved it.

——

Here’s my latest entry to the lovely Angela’s VisDare.

I hope you enjoy this week’s tale – I’ve tied it in with my Five Sentence Fiction entry this week, where you just might get to hear Little Mo’s side of the story!

Please do visit VisDare for amazing poetry and prose!

Paix – Magpie Tales

August 10, 2014freyathewriter 6 Comments

My father is staring at me, hard.

It has been years since we spent any time alone. I had been a judgmental daughter, belligerent, unable to accommodate the shades of grey in a life that I was convinced could only consist of black or white, right or wrong

I had grown into an adult, still believing my teenage views.

The past few months had ripped the rug from underneath my feet.

“Not a traitor? Not a traitor?”

I see him with new eyes. He is just a man. Just a human being like the rest of us. He is not a monster, just like my mother was not a traitor. They had paid high prices for living through times when making the right decision depended on so many inconceivable and unimaginable horrors.

And I had judged them both with hindsight.

“No. Not a traitor.”

His body sags. I can’t tell if this is with relief, or despair.

He reaches out a hand, an old hand. He has aged since we last met. I take his hand and my index finger caresses the thin gold wedding band he still wears despite everything.

“Thank you for telling me, Celine. It will never bring her back and you may never forgive me for taking your mother away so brutally, but at least she never betrayed us.”

Semantics, I think. It is all but semantics.

——

Here’s my latest entry to Magpie Tales. This is the finale in my six part story which began in the midst of World War Two. Here are the fiveprevious instalments in order, if you want to indulge! Croix de Guerre, Collborateur, Oubliette, Verité and Honneur.

I hope you enjoy this week’s entry- and please do visit Magpie Tales for amazing poetry and prose!