Once Upon A Blog Crime – Death Comes Syncopated

Chief Inspector Rory has asked me to write a blog post about a crime.

See his post here:

Once Upon A Blog Crime ……..

The Crime is to involve the following bloggers:

Perp 1

Cheryl of The Bag Lady

Perp 2

Clare of Dreams and Adventures of Cosy Cottage

Perp 3

Carol Anne of Therapy Bits

Perp 4

Cyranny of Cyranny’s Cove

Perp 5

Sandman Jazz

 

So here is my tale:

Arriving back from his Easter Break was always tough. You just had time to relax and forget about work, when before you knew it you were back in the office staring at the computer screen. Inspector Kristian had made the most of the beautiful weather they’d had and taken a trip to the seaside. There was something about sitting on a windy beach and eating sandwiches with real sand in them, that really made him feel happy. Dipping his toes in the sea and seeing how long he could keep them there before frostbite set in was a fun game too.

The Chief poked his head around the side of his cubicle wall, plastered with pictures of his pet chickens, and jovially said “Did you enjoy the beach? Well if you’re yearning for the sea, you’ll enjoy this next assignment then.”

“No rest for the wicked,” thought Kristian to himself.

He grabbed his coat and ran out of the door in a hurry.

It took quite a while to get to the scene of the crime. He had to drive down to the coast, which took about thirty minutes but then had to wait for a ferry to take him over to Crab Island.

The island was a popular spot for holidays, with two beaches one on the sheltered side that had a family holiday park on it, complete with caravans and a swimming pool. The other beach was a bit wilder, facing the open sea. This was a popular nudist beach in the height of summer, but this time of year, there was a chilly wind that was not at all kind to exposed areas.

He was surprised that anyone would be around that part of the island to wind up dead at all.

Finally, he arrived at the Cove to be greeted by a local constable, Constable Carruthers.

“The Body’s down here, Sir, on the beach.”

“Was it a suicide, Constable?”

“Well, it could have been, but I’d say it was more likely Murder. It’s a nasty sight, Sir, Brace yourself”.

They had to carefully negotiate their way down the steep path and the narrow concrete steps to the secluded Cyranny’s Cove and there on the beach lay the naked body of a man, half buried in the sand. A Tenor saxophone lay discarded by his feet and a plastic bag was tied around his head.

From the deep gouges made in the sand by his feet and the sand under his fingernails, it was clear that the man had put up a struggle.

Combing the beach, the Inspector found an empty pizza box, A box of matches and a revolver.

Above the beach was a Café called the Cornucopia and a small cosy looking cottage. There were several pairs of footsteps crossing the sand that must have been made fairly recently. The tide came in almost to the cliff edge and would have wiped out any footsteps made more than six hours ago.

“Constable who lives in these buildings?”

Constable Carruthers looked up from removing the plastic bag from the victim’s head.

“The café’s only open in season from the beginning of May to the end of September. The owner lives in the village on the other side of the island. Cosy Cottage is lived in by a lovely lady who moved here for some peace and quiet about a year ago. She keeps to herself mostly.”

“While forensics come and take the body away, we’ll best go and ask the lady some questions.”

The forensics team were coming down the narrow steps, Inspector Kristian walked over to take one last look at the victim’s body, before the autopsy. The face was grossly swollen and purple from blood and a terrible welt was around its neck where the bag had been tied on tightly.

“Nasty” though the Inspector.

Knocking on the door of Cosy Cottage, it wasn’t long before a lady answered it, wearing a loose-fitting fisherman’s smock embroidered with flowers and a daisy in her hair.

She introduced herself as Clare and invited them into her front parlour that overlooked the sea. The sound of the waves gently bumping onto the beach was very calming and relaxing. The room was decorated with seashells and pieces of driftwood tied with string. Inspector Kristian enjoyed folk art and commented favourably on them.

“Oh, I made them myself. It’s part of my therapy. It’s why I came here. I’m sorry to say, I had a bit of a mental breakdown a few years ago. The noise of the city would get on my nerves and I’m a very light sleeper, I need silence and calm about me. That is what my Therapist, Carol Anne of Therapy bits, recommended for me. Total rest and relaxation by the beach.”

“I see, Clare. Could you please help us with our enquiry? A man has been found dead on the beach outside, did you hear anything?”

“Oh, no, I’m afraid I didn’t hear a thing. I slept like a log last night. I had some chamomile tea and that always makes me sleep deeply.”

The Inspector had a good knowledge of herbs himself, he often suffered from anxiety attacks brought on by the sight of so many gruesome bodies. He took St Johns Wort and also occasionally Chamomile to help him sleep. However, as he looked around the cottage, he found several herbs but no chamomile at all.

“Excuse me, Clare, but clearly your bed has not been slept in, and there is no chamomile here. You already said you were a light sleeper and so I can’t believe that a man could be murdered outside your front door and you didn’t hear a thing.”

A change came over Clare’s lovely face. It became twisted and she twitched awkwardly. Suddenly she burst out “I HATE JAZZ! I HATE IT!” She shouted.

“Carol Anne, my therapist, said I had to have complete peace and quiet and that man came down to the beach every night to play his blasted Saxophone. I couldn’t stand it any longer. I asked him quite nicely to stop. I even took him out some cigarettes and my novelty lighter in the shape of a revolver. He smoked the cigarettes then laughed in my face. He just kept playing that Jazz music. I just snapped. I found a plastic bag that had washed up on the beach and I sneaked up on him while he played Take Five. It was mental cruelty!”

Inspector Kristian and Constable Carruthers read Clare her rights and took her into custody.

The inspector shook his head, he couldn’t help but feel sorry for Clare. Here was another brutal crime caused by Jazz.

Who is the victim?

Sandman Jazz

https://sandmanjazz.wordpress.com/

Who is the murderer?

Clare of dreams and adventures of cosy cottage

https://cosycottageandthequestforthegoodlife.wordpress.com/

Who is the location?

Cyranny of Cyranny’s Cove

https://cyranny.com/

Who is the murder weapon?

Cheryl of The Bag Lady

https://rugby843.blog/

Who is the motive?

Carol Anne of Therapy Bits

https://therapybits.com/

 

I hope that no one has taken any offence by this story. 🙂

I have also included the following word prompts:

https://wordofthedaychallenge.wordpress.com/2019/04/25/yearning/comment-page-1/#comment-22377

https://ragtagcommunity.wordpress.com/2019/04/25/rdp-thursday-cornucopia/

FOWC with Fandango — Hurry

https://onedailyprompt.wordpress.com/2019/04/25/your-daily-word-prompt-negotiate-april-25-2019/

https://lightmotifs.wordpress.com/2019/04/24/three-things-challenge-pl70/

Today’s prompt: pizza, daisy, revolver

 

A Multiple Word Prompt poem – The Art of Writing.

 

To create a good story is a fine art,

You must balance the drama or it just falls apart,

You need a location, on a mountain, by a tree,

Somewhere exciting where readers want to be.

It must have a good character, an imp or an elf,

And if you are lucky it just writes itself.

(Though more often than not it’s like walking on glass,

Writing a story can be a right pain in the ….. neck*). 😉

 

Copyright: Kristian Fogarty 29/January/2019

https://thehauntedwordsmith.wordpress.com/2019/01/29/three-things-challenge-2019-29/

Today’s prompts are: story, elf, art

https://wordofthedaychallenge.wordpress.com/2019/01/29/create/

https://ragtagcommunity.wordpress.com/2019/01/29/rdp-tuesday-balance/

FOWC with Fandango — Tree

 

Twittering Tales #119 – The End of Hostilities – A Tale in 280 characters.

Photo by Pexel @ Pixabay.com

 

The camp was deserted, only their enemies’ food still bubbled over the fire.

After they had filled their bags with booty, they couldn’t resist filling their bellies with the delicious bounty left for them.

It was all part of the plan.

They were defeated and no blood was spilled.

[279 Characters]

This was written for Kat Myrman’s Twittering Tales Challenge, see link here:

Twittering Tales #119 – 15 January 2019

 

I have also included the Word of the Day prompt: Plan.

https://wordofthedaychallenge.wordpress.com/2019/01/15/plan/

The Strange Inheritance – Story Recap

A while ago I started writing this horror story and I have to say, Horror is not a natural genre for me. I am very easily scared and I do not watch horror films or read horror books. As you can guess, writing this has been difficult, but it just seemed to want to be written, as if an unseen hand has been guiding me, forcing me on. There have been long pauses between instalments and I had to stop at one point because I kept having nightmares, full on waking up screaming, wicked nightmares! Later, I will post the final part of the story and then, I hope that whatever has been compelling me to write this story will let me rest and the weight of this burden will lift.

Firstly, if you would like to read the story from the beginning, I have posted the links below:

Part One:

https://talesfromthemindofkristian.wordpress.com/2018/09/01/multiple-word-prompt-story-the-strange-inheritance/

Part Two:

https://talesfromthemindofkristian.wordpress.com/2018/09/03/the-strange-inheritance-part-two-a-multiple-word-prompt-story/

Part Three:

https://talesfromthemindofkristian.wordpress.com/2018/09/06/the-strange-inheritance-part-three-a-multiple-word-prompt-story/

Part Four:

https://talesfromthemindofkristian.wordpress.com/2018/09/10/the-strange-inheritance-part-four-a-multiple-word-prompt-story/

Part Five:

https://talesfromthemindofkristian.wordpress.com/2018/09/24/the-strange-inheritance-part-five-a-multiple-word-prompt-story/

Part Six:

https://talesfromthemindofkristian.wordpress.com/2018/09/30/the-strange-inheritance-part-six-a-multiple-word-prompt-story/

Part Seven:

https://talesfromthemindofkristian.wordpress.com/2018/10/20/the-strange-inheritance-part-seven-a-multiple-word-prompt-story/

 

https://onedailyprompt.wordpress.com/2018/10/31/your-daily-word-prompt-wicked-october-31-2018/

FOWC with Fandango — Weight

 

My 10 year old self – A short story

I am reposting this story in response to Esther Chilton’s Challenge to post a story, poem or Limerick on the subject of favourite childhood memories:

https://esthernewtonblog.wordpress.com/2018/10/18/i-challenge-you-to-36/

 

This story was written in response to the Tuesday Writing challenge posted on the Go Dog Go cafe, see link below:

Tuesday Writing Prompt Challenge July 10, 2018

It was also written in response to the Word of the Day word prompt: Deviate

https://wordofthedaychallenge.wordpress.com/2018/07/10/deviate/

and the Three Things Challenge on the Haunted Wordsmith Blog:

https://thehauntedwordsmith.wordpress.com/2018/07/10/three-things-challenge-10-july-2018/

Today’s things are: monkey, April, brick

 

Looking back on my ten year old self I have only dim and distant memories of what life was like. I remember everything was much bigger then, people in particular, but also houses, trees, brick walls and ruined castles.

I seem to remember I had a passion for climbing things. In my memories I always seem to be climbing up something, trees mostly. My Mother used to say “He’s just like a little monkey” as I would often disappear up a tree only then to re-emerge in the branches swinging from a limb.

I was also fascinated by Castles. Near to our home was a ruined castle which we used to visit and take picnics too. Only from April to September, never in Winter. I also remember at school taking part in a cross-country race from the train station to the Castle ruins and back, which would have been about 4 miles. When I never returned to the finish line, my parents were rather distraught. Then followed the planned route back to the castle only to find me climbing its walls. I was always one to deviate from my intended course as soon as something much more fun distracted me. I had completely forgotten that I was supposed to run back to the train station, I had wanted to stay in those familiar walls of stone and brick.

In my head it was my castle and I was King of it.

The End

 

Copyright: Kristian Fogarty 10/July/2018

Manic Mondays 3-Way Challenge – The Ice Witch of Norway.

This story was written in response to Laura M Bailey’s challenge. See Link:

https://alltheshoesiwear.wordpress.com/2018/10/15/manic-mondays-3-way-prompt-witch-witchy-bewitched/

You may also wish to read my previous entry for the 3-way challenge:

https://talesfromthemindofkristian.wordpress.com/2018/10/01/manic-mondays-3-way-challenge-so-hungry-are-the-damned-a-dark-poem/

Screenshot_20181014-105816_Google

 

The Ice Witch of Norway

There was a Witch who lived in a simple hut in the mountains of the far north of Norway.

The Winters were long and harsh and ravaged the land between October and early May.

During the Winter months, the people huddled together in their wooden houses around the fire and prayed for the Spring.

The Witch lived alone in the hill and seemed to delight in the snow, dancing and capering on all but the most terrible snow storms.

People started to believe that this woman was responsible for bringing the winter that she seemed to enjoy so much.

It was her fault that the Winters were so harsh. It was her fault that the lambs and kids born early would perish in the late winter frosts.

After one particularly bad blizzard, the menfolk gathered in the beer house drinking the last of their precious brew.

“Something has got to be done!” Cried Olav Harkensson.

“She was out dancing again last night,” agreed Nils Thorssen, “There were lights flashing in the sky, bright greens. She was casting a spell. Bringing this storm down upon us, no doubt”.

As the menfolk talked and drank, they began to grow braver and more stupid. They no longer feared the magic that the Witch could bring down upon them. This winter had been particularly bad, it was nearly May and it was still not showing signs of departing. Eventually, they grabbed torches and pitchforks and went to find the witch.

The blizzard had passed but it was still snowing lightly as they climbed up the mountain path onto the high plateau where the Witch lived. Her hut was built near the steep side of a mountain, near a frozen waterfall and the snow-covered meadow that she danced in.

She must have sensed their presence because the door opened and she strode out, tall and proud to meet them.

Her long red hair caught in the wind and flapped around her white face. Her dark wool cloak also flapped like a banner in the cold icy air.

Defiantly she stood in front of her simple hut.

“What do you want?” She shouted in a clear voice that carried and echoed around the valley.

Olav Harkensson, who was the self-appointed leader of the group, stepped forward.

“Leave this place, you foul Witch and take this accursed Winter away with you!”

The Witch threw back her head and laughed.

“And what if I fail to acquiesce to your request? What will you do then?”

The angry mob drew back from the glare of her eyes. Some people made the sign of the cross across their fur-clad chests. A young firebrand by the name of Magnus Vigmir ran forward, either braver than the rest or drunker and threw his flaming torch at the Witch’s hut.

Despite the snow, the timber caught alight quickly and within a short moment, the hut was ablaze.

Boldened by this move, the men rushed forward brandishing their pitchforks.

Before they could reach her, the Witch wrapped her black cloak around her and transformed into an enormous raven.

The mob shouted in horror and clung to each other in fear like little boys.

The raven flew around them and the Witches voice called out.

“Fools, You Fools! It was not I who brought the Winter. The Winter clings hard to all the lands this far north, but I summoned the Spring every year followed by the Summer. I could only do this for a few months before Winter returned to claim what is rightfully hers. Now I will leave to find somewhere else to call home.”

The Raven flew away to the west and was never seen again. The Spring never came that year and the people either perished or moved further south and closer to the sea. To this day, that valley in the far north of Norway is known as the Valley of Eternal Winter.

The End

Copyright: Kristian Fogarty 16/October/2018

https://onedailyprompt.wordpress.com/2018/10/16/your-daily-word-prompt-acquiesce-october-16-2018/

https://ragtagcommunity.wordpress.com/2018/10/18/rdp-thursday-blizzard/

(Finish The Story Oct #3) ‘Number 604’

 

https://thehauntedwordsmith.wordpress.com/2018/10/12/finish-the-story-october-3/

The Haunted Wordsmith has a story tag which she starts and then passes the baton. You can continue it to where you want! There are no set number of days/ blogs it must run so anyone can choose to finish it or extend it. This is her start to the story and the following progress so far:

I have been tagged to write the next part by The Britchy One from Bitchin in the Kitchen

(Finish The Story Oct #3) ‘Number 604’

Number 604

David had been a postal clerk long enough to know not to think too much about what people receive in the mail. Under normal circumstances, he followed that unwritten rule, but Number 604 and their numerous mysterious letters, parcels, and the monthly large case wrapped in plain brown wrap fed his curiosity. All the mail ever delivered to Number 604 was stamped with vintage stamps, wax seals, and no return address. If that wasn’t enough, David swore that many of them were addressed with quill and ink or other calligraphy pens.

It was another sweltering day in the city, and as David made his rounds, the heavy postbag kept slipping off his shoulder and hitting the ground. He was very happy to see his last stop because that meant the bag would be empty for the mile walk bag to the postal truck.

David slipped the mail into their proper slots while singing to himself. He stopped mid-song when he turned over an old battered envelope with vintage stamps and found the wax seal had broken after being dropped so many times. With a quick glance around to make sure he was alone in the building’s lobby, his fingers teased the envelope flat.

Should he or shouldn’t he? Did he dare risk losing his job because he was curious about the mysterious owner of Number 604? What on Earth could have been in all those letters and packages?

Job be damned, his fingers slipped under the envelope’s lip and opened the envelope revealing …

Jay-Lyn

The single sheet of paper, so thin, like parchment, seemed to jump into his hand. He looked over the spidery handwriting and realized that no one ever wrote like this today.

My Dearest David;

It has taken so long for you to succumb to your curiosity. During this time I have waited and waited.

I realize that this is confusing to you, but know my love, I have been waiting throughout the cycles of time for you. Every life you have lead moved you further and further away from our love. Now though I sense that you are ready to find me.

I shall wait upon the cliff where first we met.

Please my darling, don’t make me wait.

Love Tabitha.

David stared at the words written and began to feel. Warmth. Desire. Memories teasing, just out of reach. He began to fold the letter up, realizing that he must deliver it. However, did he have to? It was actually addressed to him, even if the address was to Number 604.

David did not realize that he was being watched. That through the peephole of Number 604 a brilliant green eye gazed upon him. Crimson lips, wet with saliva, parted and a whispered breath whistled. She hoped that he would succumb, he would take the bait. For she had waited a long time to…….

Bitching In The Kitchen

…see him fall into her trap. As she looked at him, she allowed herself to wonder at her self-restraint. She had hated him and planned her revenge for so long and the waiting had taken its toll.

She was all alone now. Her parents, broken after her sister Tanith’s disappearance had given up on lives and died of broken hearts. Dave’s refusal to speak of the events of that day had destroyed her family. Two young kids, they’d gone into the haunted house but only one returned. Finally, she could make him reveal the events of the day.

She watched him read the letter. She knew he couldn’t resist the mystery, it was what had drawn him and Tanith to that haunted house after all. She knew he’d go to the cliff and she knew she’d be waiting to meet him, ready to…

My Addition:

extract from him his final confession, before exacting her revenge.

She was more than just her sister, she was her twin. They had done everything together until Dave had come along. He’d taken her away and then lured her into that place from which she never returned. She had felt the moment when her life had left her body. She had never felt whole again.

For years she had dwelt on it, wanting and desiring her revenge. It was pure chance that had led her to cross paths with David again. Serendipity that had caused her to move into this neighbourhood and made David her postman, and she was not going to let this bit of good fortune pass without taking action.

She ran upstairs to change into a more appropriate outfit. She could see from her balcony window that David was walking quickly back up the street. Would he go home to change, or would he rush straight for that lonely stretch of cliff?

She opened her wardrobe and put on her black tracksuit and grabbed the crossbow that she’d been keeping for just such an emergency.

She thought she had prepared everything but…..

 

I think I will tag my pal, Kristian of Life Lessons from around the Dinner Table.

https://lifelessonsaroundthedinnertable.wordpress.com/2018/10/16/kristians-world-of-horror-day-15/

 

I have also included the following Word Prompts:

https://wordofthedaychallenge.wordpress.com/2018/10/16/emergency/

https://ragtagcommunity.wordpress.com/2018/10/16/rdp-tuesday-serendipity/

FOWC with Fandango — Balcony

What can I say? I like to weave as many challenges and prompts together as possible and it also helps to raise awareness of all these excellent blogs.

 

 

 

 

The Wind Sheds No Tears – Part One

As you may know, I am currently taking a break, but wanted to share some of my earliest posts with you, that you may have missed. 

This story was the last one I wrote for my Creative Writing course and I published it on my block on the 29th of March. It became part of a series and one day I intend to write some more. 

All the best 🙂 

 

This is part one of a longer story. I will keep writing and upload sections of about 800 words. 

Please let me know what you think.

 

Chapter One: Estuary Summer

The tide was out. There’d be no fishing for now. We sat down and began mending our nets, basking in the warm sun. The sky was as clear as a crystal blue lake with barely a wisp of lacy white. Rivulets trickled through the mud to join up with the main body of water which had retreated across the bay. The stagnant stench of mud was overpowering and yet strangely familiar and comforting. He had smelt this smell every summer of his life, for as long as he remembered. Whenever the tide was out and he helped his grandfather get ready for his next fishing trip.

He could see, on the other side of the now diminished river, the white buildings that made up the Casa of the richest family in the area. He saw their jetty sticking out into the water and walking on it, he saw her. Her dark hair was flowing in the wind that also stirred the hem of her pristine white dress woven with bright red ribbons that also entwined her hair. She was the same age as him and they had gone to the same school, but he had always admired her from afar. She probably wouldn’t want to talk to the son of a fish merchant, the grandson of a fisherman. He was far beneath her. His heart didn’t appreciate these social intricacies, however.

“Here lad, keep your eye on your work or that net will unravel on you and catch you no fish. What’s got your attention then eh? Oh, I see, setting your net for too grand a catch. Look, my boy, you’re too young for that sort of thing, barely out of school. Learn yourself a trade and work hard at it. When you’ve got something to call your own, some money in your pocket, then you can think about women. You’ll need someone who can work beside you, keep house or keep shop. Not a fancy thing that looks pretty but is no use to anyone when the catch comes in. You hear me, Pablo?”

“Yes Belo, A boy can dream though can’t he?”

“You can dream or you can mend nets. Now is the time to mend nets. You can dream later.”

He knew his grandfather, or Belo, as h always called him, wasn’t really annoyed with him, he was just a bit tetchy when he’d rather be out catching fish.

They went on mending their nets until the tide started to turn, after an hour of sitting in the warm sunshine. He felt the wind get stronger too. A fresh salty air straight from the sea.

They got their small fishing boat ready, the Conchita, or little shell, his Grandfather had called it. It was only big enough for the four of them, his Grandfather, his Uncle Miguel, his cousin Matias and himself, ‘little Pablo’.

One of the other fisherman, Old Diego, called out to them.

“Hey, Rodrigo, you’re not going out this afternoon are you? Can’t you smell the storm coming? You won’t catch me going out today, not for all the fish in the bay.”

“Diego, you’re nothing but an old woman! We’ll be out and back before any storm hits and we’ll have the catch of the day and you’ll have nothing to eat but your sandals.”

My Grandfather called back. Uncle Miguel laughed and wiped a tear from his eye. My Grandfather was a local character, he liked making people laugh. Old Diego wasn’t laughing though, he was just shaking his head.

They were just out of sight of the headland when the weather started to change. The rolling waves of the sea started to get white tops on them and the sky, so clear earlier, contained those wispy clouds that told of the storm coming swiftly in. Just like Old Diego had predicted. They hadn’t even had time to catch any fish yet.

“Belo, can we go back. I don’t like the look of that sky coming.”

“Yes, little Pablo. I was sure we’d have enough time, but I admit I was wrong. Let’s get the nets in and head for home.”

They all started hauling in the nets, just a few mackerel to show for the risk they had taken. Then Mother Nature decided she was not going to wait for them. The storm hit suddenly and hard. The purple clouds that had been on the horizon only minutes before now covered the sky. The thunder roared and the sea behaved like a thousand demons were writhing and wrestling just beneath the surface as all hell broke loose.

The last thing he remembered was Uncle Miguel looking grip on the rope holding the boom and it swinging around, knocking him on the head and off the boat into the churning sea. Then nothing but blackness.

 

Slowly, he opened his eyes. He was lying in a soft bed. A candle just gave enough light to show the young woman leaning over to touch his forehead. He smelt her perfume, spicy and intoxicating. Bewildered, he asked “Where am I? What happened?”

Softly, she replied. “Just lie there, don’t move. You’re safe now.”

 

End of Part One…….

 

Copyright: Kristian Fogarty 29/March/2018

This was the first part of my story that just happened to contain the word Rivulet, which is the word of the day. If you liked this story please have a look on my blog to see the following parts.

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/rivulet/

https://wordofthedaychallenge.wordpress.com/2018/10/30/agnostic/comment-page-1/#comment-3996

An Unexpected Exposure – A short Story

An Unexpected Exposure

“I know we’ve only known each other a few weeks” Mel said, pausing because of the emotion rising up in him.

Opposite him was Alice, smiling at him and sipping at her strawberry milkshake. Since he first set eyes on her, he struggled to contain the emotions that she made him feel. She was stunningly beautiful with long wavy brown hair that cascaded down her back. Her large brown eyes seemed to pull him in and her smile was radiant. They had met at college and he’d asked her out. He’d taken her to the cinema, but somehow, they hadn’t seen much of the film at all. Now they were sitting in a Diner, he nervously stirred his half-drunk coffee while she sucked on her straw. He was just plucking up the courage to continue when the waitress came over.

“Do you want a top up Love?” She asked brandishing a pot of stale smelling coffee.

“No thanks” Mel replied and waited for her to walk away.

“As I was saying, I know we haven’t known each other for long, but I really like you.” Mel blurted out.

Continue reading An Unexpected Exposure – A short Story

Multiple word prompt story – An Unconventional Upbringing

June 19 Tuesday Writing Prompt Challenge

Child of Summer

https://onedailyprompt.wordpress.com/2018/06/19/a-new-daily-post-word-prompt-june-19th-2018-word-situation/#like-160

Situation

https://thehauntedwordsmith.wordpress.com/2018/06/19/three-things-challenge-19-june-2018/

mouse, sheet music, comedy

https://wordofthedaychallenge.wordpress.com/2018/06/19/camaraderie/

Camaraderie

FICTION ALERT: THIS STORY IS IN NO WAY A REFLECTION OF MY LIFE AND THE STORY IS A COMPLETE WORK OF FICTION. 

I was born into a rather unconventional household. My mother was a particularly quirky lady. Growing up she used to call me her ‘Child of Summer’ which was always a puzzle to me because we lived in the northern hemisphere and I was born in April. April is very much spring, not summer. 

Continue reading Multiple word prompt story – An Unconventional Upbringing