Anchor – Magpie Tales

August 17, 2014August 17, 2014freyathewriter 20 Comments

Yell Sound, Shetland, 2014, by R.A.D. Stainforth

I am finding it hard to watch. My ship is pulling away, not from the shore, but from its sister ship pitching and yawing as it heads out of the mouth of the bay and into the open sea.

There is no protection out there, no place to hide from either the gale force winds, or the waves as high and hard as mountains. The battering will be relentless.

I turn away, feeling a rush of betrayal. My betrayal of him as I turn my back, and his betrayal of me as he has once again refused my pleas to stop, to stay on board with me in the safety of the harbour.

It is complex, our relationship. Built on shaky foundations – built on none at all, some would say, those who are sticklers for truth, those who are pedants. Ships do not have foundations. Only hollow hulls.

I whip round, face out to sea once more. I lift the binoculars, blinking as the ship fills my vision. A solitary figure is standing on the deck, binoculars trained on me.

I wave.

He waves in return.

I wait for his return. There is nothing else that I can do.

————-

Here is my latest entry into Magpie Tales – please do pop over there for more writerly goodness!

Submarine – VisDare

August 17, 2014August 17, 2014freyathewriter 2 Comments

I am used to going unnoticed.

I can’t recall all the different streets that I have walked down, the shops, the bars, the hotels that I have passed through where my presence has barely warranted even the tiniest flicker of interest.

It is as if I don’t exist.

Some days, I prefer it that way. Those days are the ones when I desperately want it to remain so, I want anonymity so much I can feel it in the sweaty grip of my palms, the constant turn, turn, turn of the lighter in my trouser pocket, the slight shake of my hands as I light yet another cigarette.

Other times, I have to fight the urge to scream, to roar lion-like, to rip the air in two with my hunger for attention.

There is no easy middle ground. With me, it is all, or nothing.

——

Here’s my latest entry to the lovely Angela’s VisDare. What an inspiring photo! I’m not sure where my imagination unearthed this story from, but hey, at least writer’s block isn’t hauting me!

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

Deluge – Five Sentence Fiction

July 20, 2014freyathewriter 12 Comments

The raindrops pelt my hair, my face, my arms, my hands until I am drenched.

I stand in the empty street, arms outstretched, palms turned upwards, embracing the clouds above.

I know eyes are watching me from behind nets, behind doors held slightly ajar and deep in the shadows just out of reach of the streetlight’s glare.

I know they are whispering behind hands and underneath raised eyebrows – to them I am the woman who has lost her mind with grief, for nobody sane stands in the street, in the rain, in her nightgown.

But I do – it is a relief to feel something other than the weight of profound loss – it is a relief to feel so refreshed.