Under her Wing : Sunday Photo Fiction

Under her Wing

Angelique, the last born of the triplets, is swaddled with Angie on the sofa. A Natural History documentary is showing on the television but the sound is muted and neither of them are paying attention. The only sounds come from the fire crackling in the grate and Angelique’s soft sighs as she sleeps peacefully.

Angie cradles her daughter protectively, and preens her blond curly locks with a mothers touch.

Angelique sleeps on undisturbed.

Angie runs her fingers softly over the thin white scars as she continues to fondle Angelique’s hair. Uncomfortable memories of illness and invasive treatment sweep over her, uninvited. She forces herself to take a deep breath and shuts out the uninvited memories, relieved that all this is now behind them.

Without warning, Abigail and Amelia tumble noisily into the living room and skip joyfully towards the sofa. They clamber under the soft covers and snuggle in for a cuddle.

Angie scoops them up as close to her as possible, then pecks them ceremoniously on their foreheads, one after the other.

“My brood!” she chirps.

Sunday Photo Fiction is a weekly challenge, the idea of which, is to create a story / poem or something using around about 200 words with the photo as a guide.

The Deep End : Literary Lion

The Deep End

When he was 5, Stewart’s Dad threw him in the deep end to teach him how to swim.

Stewart sank, thrashing wildly with a total lack of coordination.

Stewart’s Mum dived in to save him.

As Mum helped Stewart out of the water, he looked towards his Dad with a fierce expression from his hitherto angelic features.

That day, all the respect and admiration he had for his Dad, remained in the pool, as he left it for good.

Stewart didn’t learn to swim until he had children of his own.

He didn’t make the same mistake.

(97 words)

It’s good to have a Literary Lion challenge once again! Thanks Laura Gabrielle Feasey.

The Anniversary : FFftPP

The Anniversary

The last time, everything fit in three duffles, that Stan had found in his attic and thrown into the boot of the car.

The three of them had met outside the bank, just before it closed, on a late September day in 1973.

Fred stood watch at the door while Al covered the clients. Stan went straight to the bank teller and within 3 minutes had obtained, with the help of a rather impressive firearm, wads of banknotes that he stuffed into the bags.

They left the bank, and escaped into the sunset, £120K richer.

Robbing a bank was so uncomplicated in the seventies.

On the top floor, of an anonymous whitewashed building in the suburbs of Monte Carlo, the three of them meet once again to celebrate, as they do on a random day each year. This year marks their 43rd anniversary.

Fred checks the door and stairway for any signs of strangers, while Al takes the laptop from his briefcase.

Stan boots up the machine and enters the password. At the prompt he types : £120,000 and presses the return key.

“OK Gentlemen, we are all £40K richer once again, let’s move to the next item of business.

“Champagne!”

 

Yes I’ve gone with the acronym today! Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner is quite a mouthful! Thanks once again Roger Shipp for this excellent weekly challenge!

 

Fireside Melodies : Tuneful Thursdays

Fireside Melodies

I stream Erik Satie to the speakers and Gymnopédie Number 1 starts to play.

Freya and I are listening, together, in front of the fireplace, as the flames curl and sway, licking the dry wood and making it pop and crackle.

It’s turning into a perfect evening. The chilled champagne, and the dark Swiss pralines, await us on the round polished walnut table.

Freya is curled up on the sofa and I am lying on the fur rug.

After a long moment Freya says, ”It’s a sad tune”.

I nod of my head vaguely, and continue to listen, with eyes closed.

I haven’t been able to listen to Satie with anybody else since you left, but after 3 years, I realise that a lot of the pain seems to have dissipated.

“It’s very beautiful”, Freya adds, her voice seeming softer and very enticing.

The pianist continues to play, as you dance before me in my mind. Coming slowly to a halt, you lean over and whisper in my ear softly, “It’s time to let go”.

Yes, I think, it is time to move on.

As I sit up, I reach for Freya’s hand.

“What would you like to listen to now?”

This is my third week of Tuneful Thursdays where I pick some music from my collection and use it to write some Flash Fiction.

I hope you enjoy both the music and my words.

Sandcastles : Friday Fictioneers

Sandcastles

We were childhood sweethearts and spent a lot of time on the beach.

Life seemed simpler then, ice creams, beachballs, and of course buckets and spades for building endless sandcastles.

No matter how elaborate they were, the incoming tide always destroyed them.

As children, it never worried us, and we accepted it without discussion.

When we bought our house we chose to call it ‘Château de Sable’.

Then the relentless waves of the housing downturn bore down upon us, leaving us outside to contemplate the locked gates.

My anger is rising. You are weeping.

We are heartbroken.

(97 words)

I have a bad head cold this week, it started in my throat and seems to be working its way up. Ugh.

As I’m bilingual English/French I’m aware of the subtle double meaning of ‘Château de Sable’ which besides meaning Sandcastle also means to build something on flimsy foundations. ‘De construire des chateaux de sable’, something not meant to last.

So when I saw this weeks excellent prompt (©ceayr) I decided to use that as my inspiration. Thanks again to Rochelle for organising this excellent Flash Fiction Friday Fictioneers Challenge!