Interwoven – (not quite) Trifecta Week 88

July 30, 2013July 30, 2013freyathewriter 21 Comments

Below would have been my offering for week 88′s Trifecta challenge word, which is ‘band’ except I didn’t use it as a verb – whoops! Too much rushing, not enough time and reading on a smartphone! As you will see from the relevant blog post, the challenge is to write between 33 and 333 words of fiction, non-fiction, poetry or prose, based on the 3rd definition from the Merriam Webster’s Online Dictionary. This week the 3rd definition of ‘band’ is:

– to gather together: unite <banded themselves together for protection>

Here’s my offering below – I hope you like it! Please check here for the other entries!

I’m going to leave this piece as it is though, since it means a lot to me.

*****

– Interwoven –

The sisters stood, arms slung around one another’s waists, motionless in the soporific heat of the summer dusk.

They had done it. They had reached the end of a day which at its start, none of them had secretly thought they would achieve – not without falling by the wayside, not without splintering with exhaustion and despair.

In the middle of the triumvirate stood the eldest, uniting them all. Battered by the implosion that had threatened to shred them all to pieces, she felt old, so very old, as the sun drowned itself in the evening sky. She knew that grey hairs had silvered her dark mop in the past few weeks, that new lines had etched her once-smooth forehead.

Badges of honour, she thought.

Despite everything, despite the tearing at their flesh as they had said their goodbyes, she felt a tiny glint of happiness deep in her chest. She had regained her sister after all these years. She had found a bond with a step-sister she had hardly known, not until recent weeks.

She imagined a band of bright steel, sparkling in the now violet gloom, linking the three of them together. Their separate pasts had made them who they are. Their united futures would honour the man they had each loved in their own, unique ways.

She raised her eyes to the stars above, grasping the lifeline of her sisters a little closer.

Thank you, Dad.

Mouse – Trifecta Week 87

July 23, 2013July 23, 2013freyathewriter 32 Comments

Below is my offering for week 87′s Trifecta challenge word, which is ‘charm’. As you will see from the relevant blog post, the challenge is to write between 33 and 333 words of fiction, non-fiction, poetry or prose, based on the 3rd definition from the Merriam Webster’s Online Dictionary. This week the 3rd definition of ‘charm’ is:

– to control (an animal) by charms (as the playing of music)

Here’s my offering below – I hope you like it! Please check here for the other entries!

*****

– Mouse –

Graham can charm anyone. It’s just how she is.

Of course, her name is the best ice-breaker ever. ‘Oh, Mum is American,’ she says, as if that explains everything. In middle-of-nowhere, suburban England, it works like magic.

She accompanies that breezy statement with a flick of her perfect blond hair. Everything is so effortless for her. I adored basking in her reflected rays when I was younger. I was ‘Graham’s friend’. Often it was ‘Graham and Sarah’, like we came as a package, which we did. Still do, really.

All that innocence and mystery started getting to me when I reached that awkward teenage stage. I got spots – she developed breasts. My chest remained flat as a pancake for so long, even my mum wondered if I should go to the doctors, muttering about hormones.

I really resented all the attention she got from boys. They couldn’t keep away – she was perfect, a vision of youth and beauty. I stood in her shadow, getting her cast-offs who were just not interested in a short, stocky, brown-haired, teachers’ daughter.

I was jealous. I admit it.

Then, I wasn’t. I must have been about fifteen. I turned up at Graham’s one day, unannounced. I’d left my cherry lip-gloss in her bedroom and I really, really needed it. So, I sneaked into their house, quiet and unobtrusive, like the mouse that Mrs Edwards chose to call me.

There was Graham in the kitchen, cowering in front of her shouting, red-faced mother.

‘You will not do that ever again! Do you hear me? When I tell you to cook the dinner, I mean prepare it properly, not just heat up leftovers in the oven!’

And then she swept all the plates, the cups, the saucers, the food, everything off the table. Crockery smashed, cutlery bounced and food spattered, mostly over Graham herself. She stood, dripping in gravy, head down.

I backed out, unseen.

Envy cured, instantly.

Nocturne – Alastair’s Photo Fiction

July 21, 2013freyathewriter 15 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…?

– Nocturne –

There was no way out. Sandra slumped onto the seat.

She knew there wouldn’t be a train coming in 1 minute, or in 6 minutes. The display was broken, frozen in time. It was 3am, she had fallen asleep at the station on a Sunday morning after another heavy night, and all her so-called friends had left her to it.

‘Acquaintances,’ she said firmly to herself. ‘Not friends.’

She thought about last night, or what she could remember of it. Her life had been chaotic since The Accident. She always thought of it like that, turning the horrific events into a novel. Anything but admit that it was real, that it had happened to her, that in one moment, she had changed so many lives.

‘Ruined lives,’ she thought.

A single tear tracked its way down her cheek.

She closed her eyes. She could wait. Nothing really mattered, not any more.