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Weekly Contest #330
I was forty-seven when I felt my first real hug. Not the stiff kind you endure at weddings or funerals — all elbows and air. A real one. The kind that melts something inside you that you didn’t even know had hardened.Until then, I’d never let anyone get too close. Not even my children. I held them, fed them, rocked them — but I didn’t hug them. Not really.I raised them well. Mostly alone. But always at arm’s length.I couldn’t give them the touch they needed.Not after…That sort of thing. Then one day a hug came along and cracked my prison ope...
Weekly Contest #328
According to the guide, this had been Agnes Ganley’s bedroom. The young visitor — about the same age Agnes had been when she lived here — paused before a framed picture: a cluster of mostly older women in dark cotton dresses, looking fiercely solemn. She was drawn to the woman in the back row, and not just because she was younger. There was something about the fragile yet resilient figure; she was holding an hourglass that looked like the one on the walnut chest of drawers standing next to the window. Typically Edwardian, the drawers had swa...
Weekly Contest #326
CW: Mental health, bullying Today, when my granddaughter returns from school, she is silent, the usual laughter absent. I think I can guess the reason. “Tell me a story – about when you were my age,” she says, her voice quiet. So I tell her a story– a small window into the 1980’s, when beauty and cruelty often shared the same face.*** I hope Tess Hartless doesn’t return from whatever has kept her away.Forever wouldn’t be too long. A high-pitched thrum in my head.A pulse fuelled by dread.My choices are limited.Essentially – fight or flight. F...
Weekly Contest #325
Coming off the sea, the breeze is restless, but not unpleasant. Savouring its feel, I taste the salt and fear that it carries. Somewhere beneath the tide, I almost hear children laughing – or maybe it’s only the wind rehearsing old sounds. If I could, I’d roll back time like a beach mat and start over. Here, all I can do is make the most of the golden hour, and October’s latent warmth before winter claws its way back in. Apart from the odd straggler, the beach is deserted in the deepening light. I’m rarely drawn this way and hope my wait won...
Weekly Contest #323
Mummy TW: Some gore mentioned. Darius lifted the flap of the ‘ibu’ tent, his step heavier than usual. On the embalming table lay a woman’s body – and for a moment he was no longer the jackal-headed Anubis, protector of the dead and conductor of souls as chief embalmer – he was simply a man. Breath catching, he half expected the family friend who had helped raise him to rise and tease him about his big feet, as she had when he was a boy. Darius had never minded the teasing. Having lost his own mother at a young age and with a father who was e...
Weekly Contest #322
“You know what, Karen?”Irene’s voice was brittle, stripped of its usual warmth. Karen looked up from the till.“What?”“I’m too old for all this crap. I don’t need it. I’m sorry, Karen, but I’m quitting.” The words landed like stones. Karen’s heart sunk, gripped by a weight that seemed to drag her down. For a wild moment, she wanted to unclip the keys from her belt, throw them clattering on the wooden floor, and say, “You know what? I quit too.” Floundering, all she could come up with was, “Oh. Right...” Irene’s face had a set look. “The trou...
Weekly Contest #316
TW: contains themes of abuse. It’s that time of night when you have no business being awake, with thoughts for companions no one would want. Switching on the lamp, you fiddle with odds and ends in the bedside drawer. Earplugs. Vaseline. The odd paperback you’re no longer able to read. You scrabble for a pill only to find all the packets are empty. Story of your life. Can it really be thirty years since his life ended? If you can call it a life. Only thirty years — forever wouldn’t be enough. Your bony hands grip the bannister. Another fall w...
Weekly Contest #315
TW: Some swearing and mentions of self-harm. Fingers catching on a loose thread, I smoothed down the sequin top.The voice always started when I was ready to go out. Her voice.“Aren’t you a bit old to go clubbing?”I picked up my eyeliner, hand trembling slightly.“Why do you say that?”My eyes met my own reflection, star dust sprinkling the sides of my face.“Well, look at you!”“What do you mean?”“Hardly love’s young dream!”“Maybe not, but—”“But what?”“But…”“But, but, but…”“Don’t be mean.”“Isn’t it time you faced facts? You’re too old to dress l...
Weekly Contest #304
TW: Mentions physical gore.Any moment now Mike’s motley crew, which was how he thought of his art group, would be joining him. He turned the radiator up two notches in the attic room that currently served as both studio and workshop.With sheets spread over his most recent canvases, a faintly surreal air hung about the place. Regarded as a successful artist in his heyday even if that was some time ago, the only work on permanent display was the self-portrait painted in oils not long after leaving art school. It depicted a man with white-blond...
Weekly Contest #295
Forty years after leaving Kevin’s seaside home, the decline is palpable along the winding streets. Many of the old places are boarded up, and some businesses have changed hands more than once. He passes the usual tawdry trinket shops designed to trap tourists into paying exorbitant prices. Less than five minutes from the sea, with the seagulls circling, he finds himself making a detour into one of the dilapidated side streets.That’s when he sees it.Set back a little and squeezed between two equally insalubrious establishments, a blue plaque ...
Weekly Contest #284
Nothing is more challenging than the start of a new year when people have been clearing out their unwanted items after Christmas and the donations are piling into the charity shop filling up every inch of spare space. It’s not unknown for this state of affairs to continue even after we’ve closed when you get donors literally banging on the window demanding to bring in boxes of goods they can barely lift themselves. You’re expected to receive all this with a smile of undying gratitude, even though you’re desperate to cash up so you can get ho...
Weekly Contest #281
Christmas is round the corner and I’ve never felt less Christmassy.Here I am surrounded by all manner of festive gifts and must-have seasonal cuties. The boxes of crackers may look appealing but seeing the person I want to pull them with is no longer around, maybe not so much.However, even I have to admit the very reasonably priced snow globes with their miniature snowmen in funny hats and colourful scarves, have a certain charm. One of the store’s best sellers, only one remains waiting to be shaken and given a good home.These new goods are ...
Weekly Contest #276
The Social WorkerNames and places have been changed. Some who played a part in this are not included, but in essence this is a true story.Whatever I was expecting, Mrs Lauren wasn’t it. An older woman, well spoken, with not a hair out of place, wearing heels and a power suit, she didn’t fit my image of a typical social worker, whatever that was. The first time I saw her; I didn’t think she’d be much help.***A voice called from the half-open door where my favourite teacher Mrs Swanson was conferring with the school secretary.“A quick word, He...
Weekly Contest #274
Amber EyesFor thousands of years cats have been teaching humans a thing or two, including how to live in the moment and when to let go.It was just after dusk when the cat tiptoed its way across the garden. Fur ruffled by a breeze blown in from the desert, it regarded the woman through languorous amber-gold eyes. Carrying a lantern, she trod the path cautiously, anxious to avoid the sting of a passing scorpion. The animal already knew she was special, but this marked her out as wise. The woman whose name was Zara made h...
Weekly Contest #272
Turn over your shoes to stop the pixies and ogres walking in them. Shut the drapes so the moonlight doesn’t drive you mad.Keep your ladies of the bedchamber close for tis now you need them most.Gold and silver thread shimmer in my candlelit chamber. The figures of three noblewomen standing beneath a garden tree in the tapestry opposite feel as much part of me as the veins in my still slender hands. One holds a bunch of flowers, one carries a basket of eggs, and the third stretches out her hand to a pelican. Symbol of motherhood, it is said t...
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