Tag Alastair’s Photo Fiction

The Right Stuff – Alastair’s Photo Fiction

freyathewriter 9 Comments

Here is my offering for Alastair’s Photo Fiction this week, inspired by the photo below.  Why not take part? And why not visit his photography and writing blog to take a look at his other photos…?

Copyright - A Mixed Bag

Copyright – A Mixed Bag

– The Right Stuff –

“Isn’t this what you wanted, Alex?”

“No, why on earth would it be?”

“But you always courted attention, you were always at the centre of things! This should be perfect!”

“If you think a plaque, memorial gates and a champagne reception for the city worthies represent my life’s work, then I wasted far more time than I care to think about.”

Silence follows. Some things never change.

“Sarah. Sarah? Are you alright, dear? Are you ready to go in now?”

I look at the man – some titled chap who had taken it upon himself to ‘look after’ me, the ‘poor Mrs Albright’.

I stand, pull back my shoulders, take a deep breath.

“I’m sorry, I need to cancel all of this. Alex wanted the focus to be on his causes, not him as a person. The money you have raised should go to charity, not be spent on this. I’m so sorry…”

The man takes my hand, a shockingly intimate response. I realise that I haven’t been touched by another person for weeks.

“My dear, I quite agree. Leave it with me. I will deal with the hangers-on.”

I sit down with a thump. I feel a huge relief.

“Thank you, sweetheart.”

The silence that follows this time is somehow comforting.

Head in the Clouds – Alastair’s Photo Fiction

freyathewriter 12 Comments

Here is my offering for Alastair’s Photo Fiction this week, inspired by the photo below.  Why not take part? And why not visit his photography and writing blog to take a look at his other photos…?

Copyright - Kattermonran

Copyright – Kattermonran

– Head in the Clouds –

Sitting here in my eyrie, buffeted by wind and rain as it barrels in from the sea, I imagine myself in a tiny boat, storm-tossed and battered, far out in the oceans on the other side of the world.

I am alone, but not lonely.

At nights, I lie on the deck, bathed by moonlight, washed by showers of shooting stars. I lace my fingers behind my head, feeling the varnished boards still radiating the day’s heat.

As dawn breaks, clouds scud across the face of the sun. I remember with fondness the people of my past; family, friends and strangers who I have met on my journeys. I see them, living their lives in the sky above.

I pick up my pen, and begin to write.

Fevered – Alastair’s Photo Fiction

freyathewriter 16 Comments

Here is my offering for Alastair’s Photo Fiction this week, inspired by the photo below.  Why not take part? And why not visit his photography and writing blog to take a look at his other photos…?

Copyright - Kattermonran

Copyright – Kattermonran

– Fevered –

I will never reach the end – the heat will sear me like meat on a spit. I imagine my hair crackling and frizzing, my skin crisping.

We are all but flesh.

I pause, blinking against the searing sweat flooding my eyes. The sting takes me back to a buried schoolgirl memory; a cross-country run in freezing January, the finale a lung-bursting incline to the crematorium.  The irony is not lost on me.

I would kill for that biting wind, for breath torn from my chest in frozen gasps, for skin encased with gooseflesh. Now all we have is a furious orange sun, farther away from our planet than ever, yet burning us alive latitude by latitude.

Winter is a myth.

I wipe my eyes against a sweat-soaked shirtsleeve and resume my climb.