Time Flies – Five Sentence Fiction

August 24, 2014freyathewriter 2 Comments

I can hear my Mum’s voice, clear and bell-like as if she is standing right next to me.

“A watched kettle never boils, Ellie!”

I shrug off the words, shoulders tight and tense, staring intently at the clock on the wall opposite – the second hand barely seems to be moving.

Time is elastic.

My patience, however, is not.

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Here is my latest entry into the lovely Lillie’s Five Sentence Fiction, where she has provided this gorgeous photo for us as this week’s inspiration. Please do visit here to read, read, read some more! No two pieces will be the same…

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.

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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.