Category Story

Good times – Writing Prompt #161 “Collage 24”

freyathewriter 6 Comments

“Sometimes your only available transportation is a leap of faith.” Margaret Shepard

collage-24

“Drink me.”

“Eat me.”

Alice stared at the buffet-laden table. The sausage rolls, the pork pies, the little triangular sandwiches with their crusts cut off, the cheese and pineapple cubes speared on cocktail sticks, the trifle, the jelly, the little clementine segments floating in their sweet, sticky juice, the bottles of cherryade and ginger beer, they grew in size, reached for the ceiling, loomed towards her menacingly. ‘No, no, invitingly’, she forced herself to think up a better word than the one that towered in her mind.

She gulped, panic turning her throat to sandpaper, gluing her tongue to the roof of her mouth. She took slow, steady breaths, just as she had been taught.

“Darling, isn’t this wonderful? All your favourite foods from ‘The Best Christmas Ever!’ Do you remember? We struggled so hard that year, what with your dad on 3 day weeks and no money to speak of, but it was the best one ever, for you. We were so happy!”

“Thanks, Mum,” Alice whispered, clenching her fists, magicking up a smile. Mum was doing her best, they were all doing their best.

She reached for a cheese and pineapple morsel, closed her eyes and took a tiny bite, the cheese clagging itself to the roof of her mouth, the pineapple tang making the back of her jaw tingle with the sweet, acidic bite she had barely thought of in years.

Suddenly, she was transported back in time to the 1970s, to laughter, to fun, to warmth and comfort, to when food was a joy and not a monster to be battled with every day.

‘One bite at a time,’ she thought, her therapist’s words echoing in her ears. ‘One bite at a time.’

 

And this time, thanks to Michael for inspiring me to take part in this prompt, hosted by Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie. The initial prompt is the quote above, this week form Margaret Shepard, and then to provide more inspiration, we have a little tableaux of beautiful images to ponder as well.

I hope you enjoy my piece and do head on over to Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie to read other contributions and… take part!

 

Impressment – SoCS May 28/16

freyathewriter 7 Comments

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The pressgang pillaged our hamlet. We women, we thought we would be safe. We thought our men would be safe.

We were wrong.

I could not let them take him, my brother. he was too weak, too young, too necessary to keep Mother company. I could be spared, I could adapt. Dickon could not. He was Mother’s favourite, she and I were too different. Not a day would pass when we did not bicker, when I tended the crops one way, and she would undo all my handiwork. I could not stitch or spin or weave to her satisfaction. Dickon – he knew how to manage her, he could do all the things that I failed at so miserably.

I dressed as a boy, looked like a man, and the men of the impressment took me.

I am here now, aboard HMS Magnanime, about to go into battle with the French, yet again. I am slight, I am nimble, I can ascend to the very top of the highest mast and not succumb to the pull of the sea. I am the youngest, the best, so says the captain.

I am homesick. I am seasick. But I am glad.

Her’s this week’s entry into the lovely Linda’s Stream of Consciousness Saturday prompt, where she has asked us to use the word ‘press’, either on its own or as part of a word beginning or ending with press as our inspiration.

The British Royal Navy was in the habit of using pressgangs to forcibly recruit people into service. For non-officers, there was no real concept of choosing a life at sea in service as a career, so the pressgangs (formally the Impress Service) would scour the country to select suitable men. Contrary to popular legend, they did not have the power to recruit anyone other than seafarers. But why let the truth get in the way of a good story!

Please do take part in Linda’s weekly prompt – you never know what will come into your mind! Please also pop along to read other entries – they will be many and varied!

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Cancelled stamp* – SoCS May 21/16

freyathewriter 9 Comments

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Morning break was always Ella’s favourite snippet of free time. It lasted fifteen minutes, so Mrs Fothergill had told her, showing her what that looked like on the grandfather clock standing at a perilous yet comforting lean in the schoolroom. Its left feet were on a firm footing, planted on the red, cream and not quite navy blue diamond Victorian floir tiles, its right feet touching nothing but thin air, hovering above that place where the neighbouring tiles had mysteriously disappeared long ago.

Fifteen minutes, one quarter of the way around the dial with its smiling sun and moon faces painted perfectly in the middle of the Roman numerals. Fifteen minutes was just about long enough for her to watch the other children running round and round, the boys arms outstretched pretending to be one of those marvellous new aeroplanes or, every now and again, chasing after Polly, the prettiest girl in the whole school. All they wanted was to be in her presence, bask in one of her glowing, all-encompassing smiles.

All Ella wanted was to watch. She didn’t want the attention of the boys or the other girls, for that matter. She didn’t want to face their obvious delight at her threadbare blouse, her skirt with the pocket that was obviously a patch meant to disguise a hole that could no longer be darned, her shoes that had been soled and heeled beyond the life of the cracked and worn leather, her stockings that should have seen the bin last winter. Worst of all, she had no coat, no scarf, no gloves. She wore the same clothes season upon season. She was poor.

Miss Fothergill watched Ella hovering in the shadow of the schoolhouse wall, knowing without being told that the little girl was trying to soak up any warmth that might be seeping between the bricks at the back of the fireplace, where the coal fire burned merrily indoors to keep the schoolroom warm. She wondered if she could find a coat to fit the poor child, alter one of her own even, but knew it would be in vain. Mrs Adams (and everybody knew that she’d never been married in her life, everyone knew that Ella had been, as some more kindly put it ‘an accident’) was far too proud to accept. Miss Fothergill sucked her teeth in momentary disapproval at Ella’s plight and shook her head. She supposed the little girl would have to learn. Life wasn’t going to improve that much for her, given her wretched start in life.

Such a shame. She really did deserve a break.

Hello! Welcome to my entry this week to the lovely Linda’s Stream of Consciousness Saturday, where we were invited to use break/brake as our inspiration.

Do you know what I love about these prompts? I have absolutely no idea what Im going to write until I’ve tapped out the first few words, and even then, the end is rarely what I thought it would be when I first began! It’s so much fun.

Please do consider taking part, or at the very least hop on over to Linda’s blog and enjoy the writing – our entries are in the Pingbacks at the bottom.

*And in case you were wondering, ‘cancelled stamp’ was 1920s slang for a shy, lonely female, a wallflower. I think it’s quite sad.

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