The Interpreter – Five Sentence Fiction

July 27, 2014freyathewriter 12 Comments

“So, where were you when this photo was taken, Granny?”

Marilyn wrestles with her conscience, but only for a moment – wrestling is so unfeminine after all.

“I was behind the camera!” she claims breezily, waving her perfectly painted nails in the air above the black and white photo.

Marilyn glances down at her granddaughter’s questioning face, but all she sees is the French maid outfit, the black satin sheets, the red silk scarf draped artfully over the bedside lampshade and the captain’s uniform lying at the foot of the bed.

“Oh, I was definitely in uniform too, darling girl, without a doubt!”

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.