John inserted his key almost apologetically. Amy greeted him, hair towel-turbaned. “There you are.”
He expected more. “I had to go away.”
Her laugh held no humour, “To get your head straight?”
She turned the hair dryer on full. After a brief blow through, she flung it down.
“I’m moving out.” He knew anything he said would be weak.
“It’s not working. Is that what you want to hear?” She railed.
“I love you…” the words seemed to come from outside him.
“And it’s not me, it’s you.”
The rest was weighted silence as he helped her load her car.
Flash Fiction
Chapter 19 – The Weight of Conscience
“I feel devious, dirty almost.”
“Not dirty, don’t say that, it’s pure,” he countered, “That’s why there’s nothing else we can do.”
As though confessing to a priest, wracked with shame she said, “I’ve already lied to him. It’s driving me mad. I’m struggling to keep my head.”
“Having lost your heart.” He quipped
“Not funny…”
“I’m not making light, just releasing the valve a bit.” He reached a hand to her face; she caught his wrist and held it.
“We must be sensitive; we tell Amy and Stuart, immediately.”
“That’s a high hurdle.”
“I couldn’t live with myself otherwise.”
Suicide’s Not Painless
copyright – Liz Young
Company rules be damned, Sean wouldn’t do this job without a bottle in hand. He’d signed to maintain railway lines, there wasn’t mention of collecting body parts.
At least they’d found the head today. He stared through death’s pallor at the wide eyes, the freshly applied make-up. “Were you trying to look your best? Presumably, nobody told you how pretty you were.”
He took a swig before, grabbing hair and avoiding the ragged scarlet ring of decapitation, he placed the head into a sack.
His thoughts turned to the driver, “Poor Larry’s just returned from the stress of the last one.”
Written for Friday Fictioneers – a 100 words story based on a photo prompt. Hosted by Rochelle. Read the other entries here.
Chapter 18 – Love Hurts, Love Destroys
At the diner, they sat on the same side of the table.
“I dreamt you kissed me. I wondered if I kissed you in your dream. Is that two dreams or one shared?” He asked.
She leant into him, her mouth slightly open, “There’s no going back,” he warned.
She patted her eyes with a tissue. “What about free will? We’re not forced to become lovers.”
“We’re already lovers. Only the physical is unconsummated.”
She smiled, “The physical’s unimportant?”
“It’s inescapable.”
She took his hand, “We’re fated to be together, I know. Just wish it wasn’t so destructive. Poor Stuart…”
Mother Warned Me About You, Harold Halfsharp!
PHOTO PROMPT © Ted Strutz
Eileen Halfsharp stood arms crossed, biceps like hams, her bottom lip assaulting her nose.
“What’s that look for?” stammered Halfsharp.
“It seemed appropriate for the occasion. Why is one of my chairs in the river?”
“Thought I’d catch us dinner, you like a nice trout. When the fish are used to the chair, I’ll get on it and pull ‘em out”
Eileen’s brow creased menacingly, “In all these forty years, you’ve never got it quite right,” she rumbled.
“It’s the thought that counts?” Halfsharp offered nervously.
“And if I catch the bugger that coined that phrase, I’ll swing for him!”
Written for Friday Fictioneers – a 100 words story based on a photo prompt. Hosted by Rochelle. Read the other entries here.
Chapter 17 – Time Has Proven That We’re Right
John lived a hermit’s life for two days, wandering in thought and body. There was time and distance between them, but love doesn’t recognise such obstacles.
Alison lived in his mind but if he didn’t hear from her, he’d stay away. He would sacrifice. He wouldn’t let her suffer under a burden.
Alison roiled in her bed at night, in the day no physical activity dispelled her dreams of John.
She could fight no longer; she surrendered. She saw now that she needed him.
She hated the pain and anguish it would bring but, she called him back to her.
Chapter 16 – No Matter Where I Go
John drove, his thoughts out-spinning the wheels. He didn’t like what he was doing, the cruel pressure exerted on the girl he loved.
He thought of Amy, his partner, how did she deserve this? He thought of Stuart, a stranger to him but a life he seemed predestined to shatter.
He feared Alison’s decision; either way held awful consequences.
He found himself in the Peak District, checked into a bed and breakfast and for two days roamed the rolling countryside, trying to understand what he was wreaking.
On the evening of the second day a text pinged, Where are you?
Blooming Through the Morass
copyright – Roger Bultot
An eccentric professor could have been comfortable, a charlady would have demanded a bonus up front even to contemplate the room; a chaos of piled-high dusty files, books and dirty coffee cups.
Bamford pondered the young woman seated client-side of his littered desk. He hunted clues to her character. He followed her gaze to the windowsill.
“You like my flower.”
“It’s an elegant light in dismal surroundings,” she answered freely and unselfconsciously.
He smiled at the result of his examination.
“It’s a white orchid, it symbolises innocence and beauty. I shall be very happy to take your case, Miss Stevens.”
Written for Friday Fictioneers – a 100 words story based on a photo prompt. Hosted by Rochelle. Read the other entries here.
Chapter 15 – Flight to No Escape
Alison rushed for the door, the atmosphere in the café suddenly heavy and humid.
Outside her legs trembled, her vision tunnelled. John held her, trying to channel his strength.
“I fought it too. I don’t want to unsettle your world but, I believe we have no choice.” Then quietly he added, “If you feel the same way, of course, because it doesn’t hold otherwise.”
“If I don’t feel the same?” She regained her composure, “If I decide to stay loyal?”
“I’ll disappear.” She felt the laden words sting her heart.
“I need time.” Without looking back, she walked briskly away.
Chapter 14 – Love is Tyrant
Her eyes widened at their clasped hands.
“What’s happening?” she stammered.
“Nothing.”
“Don’t tease.” Alison seemed scared
“Nothing you don’t want. Who do you love?”
“Stuart…I don’t know, I feel so helpless.”
John tried for reassurance. “We’re all weak against love, nature; they’re irresistible forces.”
“I must do what’s right.” She said robotically.
He pulled both her hands toward him, her head shaking, her eyes pleading for respite.
“And what’s that? Right by society or right by love? The two are incompatible.”
Alison wrenched from his grasp and stood sharply, the chair squealing across the floor.
“I need some air.”
Michael Wynn 