The Conversation – Magpie Tales


“This is where we marked her passing,” you say.

“She didn’t die here?” I hardly dare ask the question, my voice barely a whisper. You are a man for statements, not explanations.

“She did not die here,” you say. It is a bald statement.

Yet again, as has been our custom, I let the silence hang between us. It is a new routine, to replace those of my prior, solitary existence.

“She died out there,” you say, pointing to the hills that brood on the horizon.

“I am sorry,” I say, looking at you. You are staring towards those hills, as if to destroy them with your thoughts. I kneel down, reach out to brush the dust and lichen from the worn stone, to reveal her name to the elements.

“NO!” You grasp my arm, pull me up and away from the headstone. I bite down on the yelp of protest as pain arrows across my shoulders. You do not like dissent. I have learned this lesson well.

“She was careless,” you say and stride away from me. You mount your horse, landing in the saddle in one, supple move.

I turn my back and walk into the house.

You will return.

You will return.



Here’s my latest entry into Magpie Tales. There is a theme running through my weekly writings once again. If you want to know more about Sarah, please read my Five Sentence Fiction and Three Word Wednesday entries. Can you identify with her at all?

Little Men – Five Sentence Fiction


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“Graham, you simply have to pull yourself together, old chap, it won’t do any good.”

“She’s gone, gone off with your wife, no less – I knew she was a bad influence, flighty, undisciplined and full of crackpot ideas. You should have kept her in hand when you had the chance!”

“Now steady on there, it takes two to tango, don’t you know!”

“Yes… doesn’t it just!!”



Here is my latest entry into the lovely Lillie’s Five Sentence Fiction. I’ve once again, tied it in with my entry into Angela’s VisDare – this is the husbands’ reaction!

Please do visit here to read more Five Sentence Fiction! No two pieces will be the same…

Deluge – Five Sentence Fiction


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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.