Tag Fear

Juggernaut – Trifextra Week 77

freyathewriter 14 Comments

 This weekend, the Trifecta team have supplied us with these three words –

– ring

– water

– stage

We need to add another thirty and send back a total of thirty three for their delight and delectation. I assume that they would like something cohesive from us, rather than just a random collection of words – oh the temptation to string together offerings such as dodecahedron and antidisestablishmentarianism, with no punctuation or linkage…

Resist, resist, resist…

I hope you enjoy my offering – please visit here to read many more!

*****

– Juggernaut –

The shrill ring shatters your sleep.

Your mouth shrieks for water.

Fearful, knowing.

‘Hello?’

That stage in your life has come.

Too soon; too late to say all that needed to be said.

*****

Tainted – Alastair’s Photo Fiction

freyathewriter 20 Comments

I seem to be hungry right now, and not just for food. I’m hungry for external inspiration for short pieces of writing. It’s a good job that Alastair’s Photo Fiction is here to curb the gnawing!

Alastair is both a writer and a photographer, so the image he provides each week as inspiration is also one of his own – visit his photography and writing blog to take a look!

Here is my offering this week, inspired by Alastair’s black and white image below.  Why not take part?

*****

Tainted

It had been her dream to live here. As a child she had imagined standing at the edge of the cliff, her grown-up self silhouetted by a setting sun, shawl wrapped tightly against the cool breeze. Solitary, not lonely.

Yet, she had been careless as she wove her dreams, crafting her future as she slept. In her innocence, she had forgotten to wish for pristine oceans, perfectly balanced as nature intended. Now, as the waters boiled far below, whipped by the winds of an approaching storm, their sterility broke her. The last whale had beached itself in desperation two nights ago, blanched and blistered by the chemical seas. She would never dip her toe and shriek at the cold, never run ecstatically through the surf, never dive into the white horses crashing on the silvered sand.

She had waited for perfection. Now, everything was tainted.

Copyright - Kattermonran

Copyright – Kattermonran

The Red Dress

freyathewriter 13 Comments

This story isn’t very pleasant, so please be warned.

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We’ve never had much money.  Put it this way, I come from the sort of family where we don’t buy cream. Mum uses a syringe to syphon off the ‘top of the milk’ to drizzle over puddings, and it’s strictly doled out to make sure nobody has more than anybody else – even Dad.

We spend a lot of time at jumble sales, helping out as well as buying. Anyone who knows anything about jumbles will know that if you help set up the trestles, pile up the clothes, toys and bric-a-brac, sort out the tea urn and custard creams, you get first pick before the crowds surge through the doors. It’s amazing what people chuck out. We get some pretty good stuff, but not knickers though. Mum draws the line at underwear.

Anyway, that’s where my dress comes in. I see it, shoved under an old dressing gown, right before they open the doors and the old biddies elbow their way in. A bright red sundress, hardly worn. Mine. It’s cotton, broderie anglaise Mum calls it, and fitted at the bust and waist. Since I’m finally getting boobs and hips, I will definitely look grown up in it. Best of all, it’s short, way above my knees, and it makes Mum’s eyebrows rise in that way that means she’s really not happy, but won’t say why. It’s perfect. Continue reading “The Red Dress” →