5 Sentence Fiction: Sacrifice

I'm joining 5 Sentence Fiction with Lillie McFerrin Writes today.

What it’s all about: Five Sentence Fiction is about packing a powerful punch in a tiny fist. Each week I will post a one word inspiration, then anyone wishing to participate will write a five sentence story based on the inspiration word. The word does not have to appear in your five sentences, just take your inspiration from that word. 

This week’s inspiration word is: SACRIFICE

In the winter of 1912, Amy Beechey stood in widow's black by the side of her husband's grave.  


Alone, with 14 children to raise, sacrifices would have to be made but the family pulled together and with the help of the older children, Amy struggled on.  


Stoic in her sadness, Amy did not know that greater grief was yet to come.  


Less than five years later, five of her kind and handsome sons; Barnard, Frank, Charles, Harold and Leonard would be killed in the war and another, Christopher, maimed for life.  


After the war, swallowed up in a nation deep in mourning for it's lost generation, Amy Beechey was finally presented to the King and Queen and thanked for her immense sacrifice; at that moment she who had paid the ultimate price looked the Queen in the face and replied, ‘It was no sacrifice, Ma’am, for I did not give them willingly.’

NB: The full story of the Beechey family can be found here.

5 Sentence Fiction: Lightning

'm joining 5 Sentence Fiction with Lillie McFerrin Writes today.

What it’s all about: Five Sentence Fiction is about packing a powerful punch in a tiny fist. Each week I will post a one word inspiration, then anyone wishing to participate will write a five sentence story based on the inspiration word. The word does not have to appear in your five sentences, just take your inspiration from that word. 

This week’s inspiration word is: LIGHTNING

Six months into the Gallipoli campaign, dysentery and a monotonous diet forced men to spend hours perched over makeshift latrines and due to recent sniping in the area, orders had been given that men must attend the latrines in pairs.

Consisting of a long, narrow pit with an A-frame at each end supporting two long poles, the lower pole was used to ‘perch’ on with one’s nether regions hanging over the back, and the higher pole, which ran across the middle of the perchee’s back, was there to stop the hapless individual from falling in.

On this night, Guy Atherton found himself in the unenviable position of being asked to accompany Caruthers to the latrine (everyone else in the Mess Hut had taken care to avoid this request as Caruthers had a habit of squatting for forty minutes whilst keeping up an endless stream of small talk punctuated by groans, splashes and grunts).

The night was stinking hot and humid and the stench arising from the latrine was almost indescribable forcing Guy to hold his sleeve over his nose and yet Caruthers squatted there serenely, his posterior glowing white in the moonlight, seemingly oblivious to the smell and the flies.

Just then, an almighty bang shook the earth around them and the sky lit up phosphorescent white, Guy threw himself to the ground only to realize within seconds that it wasn’t a Turkish shell but a lightning strike just a few feet away; Caruthers, to Guy’s amusement, was no longer perched on the A-frame.

5 Sentence Fiction: Delectable

I'm joining 5 Sentence Fiction with Lillie McFerrin Writes today.

What it’s all about: Five Sentence Fiction is about packing a powerful punch in a tiny fist. Each week I will post a one word inspiration, then anyone wishing to participate will write a five sentence story based on the inspiration word. The word does not have to appear in your five sentences, just take your inspiration from that word. 

This week’s inspiration word is: DELECTABLE

Chateau d’Armancourt, just outside Paris, had led a chequered history since its aristocratic owner met an untimely death at the hands of Madame Guillotine in 1796.

A one time convent, insane asylum, boarding school and army headquarters during both wars, the Chateau had been reborn as a luxury hotel and high-end cooking school.

It was also the location for the filming of 'Sex on the Table', a cooking show featuring the culinary talents of Stefanie Lefroy, a former model turned celebrity chef, and the darling of Parisian television.

Inside the white marble kitchen with its grand fireplace, copper saucepans and pots of herbs, the cameraman, Guillaume, zoomed in closely as Stefanie swept a piping hot nectarine tart out of the oven and placed it on the marble countertop, her spectacular cleavage perfectly framing the tart.

Stefanie poked a finger into the shiny glazed surface and delicately licked it, ‘"mmmmm, delectable" she pronounced, winking at the camera….Guillaume rather thought so too.

Write on Wednesday: We are learning to make fire

I'm joining Ink, Paper, Pen for Write on Wednesdays!  

Write On Wednesdays Exercise 23 - Write the words of Margaret Atwood at the top of your page "We are learning to make fire". Set your timer to 5 minutes. Write the first words that come into your head after the prompt. Stop when the buzzer rings.

We are learning to make fire.  It is 117 days since we landed on Callista and our food supplements have run out. Smith caught one of the smaller possum things but none of us are hungry enough to eat it raw, well, not yet.  I ate some of the fruit that looks a bit like a mango for breakfast.  It tasted alright but made my lips go tingly.

The fire making has been harder than we thought it would be.  The air is thinner here than on earth and the fire sputters with a tiny flame because it needs more oxygen.  We are struggling too.  Everything we do takes longer than normal and requires more effort.  We are constantly panting for breath but Captain Denholm says we must conserve our oxygen packs until the shuttle arrives so we aren’t allowed to wear our helmets.

Smith overheard Captain Denholm and Lieutenant Hume talking last night and Base Command has told Captain Denholm that a rescue mission will take 280 days to prepare.  280 take 117 is 163.  163 more days on Callista.

Louisa has gone down to the river bed to bring back water.  I might go down and help her while Smith keeps on with the fire.  The last time I went down there she was washing and I could see everything through her t-shirt.  She crossed her arms real quick when she saw me there.  I think she feels funny being the only girl here.  Even Captain Denholm was trying to sweet talk her last night but I think she likes me the best because I’m the youngest and have the best abs.

I might take my pack down with me.  It will be a harder walk because I’ll be carrying more weight but I don’t trust Smith to not go through my pack.  I don’t know how his psych test went back at Base but he’s been acting pretty weird for the last couple of weeks.  Once he’s figured out how to keep this fire going I might get him to show me how to start it.  If the shit hits the fan with Smith I wanna be able to get a fire going at least.

Well, that’s it for now, gotta conserve the batteries in this if we’ve got another 163 days here.  If I get lucky with Louisa I’ll make another entry tomorrow, haha!  Over and out.

5 Sentence Fiction: Bewitched

I'm joining 5 Sentence Fiction with Lillie McFerrin Writes today.

What it’s all about: Five Sentence Fiction is about packing a powerful punch in a tiny fist. Each week I will post a one word inspiration, then anyone wishing to participate will write a five sentence story based on the inspiration word. The word does not have to appear in your five sentences, just take your inspiration from that word. 

This week’s inspiration word is: BEWITCHED

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The first time he ever saw her was the day he started working for her father. 

He had ridden his bicycle to the back of the workshop and rounding the corner with little noise, came upon her pressed up against the wall with the butcher’s assistant, her skirt lifted and his hand between her legs.   She stared at him over the shoulder of her lover and gave him a smouldering look before pushing the butcher away and flouncing into the house. 

That had been the start of it.

He was captivated, horrified and ashamed, and felt his face go red whenever he thought of her, but not a minute of the day passed when she wasn’t on his mind.

5 Sentence Fiction: Horror

I'm joining 5 Sentence Fiction with Lillie McFerrin Writes today.

What it’s all about: Five Sentence Fiction is about packing a powerful punch in a tiny fist. Each week I will post a one word inspiration, then anyone wishing to participate will write a five sentence story based on the inspiration word. The word does not have to appear in your five sentences, just take your inspiration from that word. 

This week’s inspiration word is: HORROR

He ran and ran, ducking and weaving, bent over double with the weight of the gear on his back, the blood banging in his head and his breath coming in short, gasping pants. All around him were explosions and bursts of gunfire and twisting bits of metal tearing through the air. Then out of the mist he saw the wire looming ahead and panicking, he darted left and right to find a gap but there was none, and then his coat got caught on a razor’s edge and the more he tried to pull himself free, the more he got tangled. A machine gun opened up and he felt his body thud and jerk below him, then everything felt warm and wet. He looked down to see his intestines hanging from his body and knew he would die here, hanging on the wire, and the horror of it was too much to bear.

Write on Wednesday: I thought I saw...

I'm joining Ink, Paper, Pen for Write on Wednesdays!  I'm a bit late this week, its already Friday.....

Write On Wednesdays Exercise 20 - Write the words " I thought I saw" at the top of your page. Set a timer for 5 minutes. Write the first words that come into your head after the prompt. Don't take you pen off the page (or fingers off the keyboard). Stop only when the buzzer rings! Do this exercise over and over if you wish. Write beyond 5 minutes if you like, you can link it up as an extra post.

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I thought I saw him on the train, in the mall, at the beach, walking through a crowd.  I thought I saw him everywhere back then.  They always looked like him, long and lean with dark hair that hung in its own peculiar way, lanky and spiky as if Adam Ant and Billy Idol had gone to the same hairdresser. I never realized so many people had that kind of hair.  I would see him in the distance, from the back, and my eyes would pop open.  I couldn’t think about anything or anyone until I had walked faster and caught up alongside to see who this was.

I don’t know why I allowed myself to search them out.  I knew, deep down, it wasn't going to be him.  But sometimes they would give me such a shock and I just had to know. It was always a disappointment. There was only one thing about them that looked the same – their hair from the back – their faces were not like his, their eyes were not like his and they didn’t smile like him either.  He had a great smile.

Up until last week, it had been a long time since I thought I saw him.  Time has moved on, there have been weddings and kids and divorces, life has been busy.  But last week I thought I saw him again.  The same lanky limbs, the same dark hair.  I was waiting on the platform and, out of curiosity, deliberately shifted to see his face.  I was surprised, this one looked a lot like him.

I stood on the platform and stared.  Time stood still.  I realized, with a jolt, that time had been standing still for nearly 20 years.  This stranger on the platform looked like the memory of someone I knew a long time ago. One stupid decision to ride on the back of a motorbike means my first love will always be 20 years old to me.  

5 Sentence Fiction: Shenanigans

I'm joining 5 Sentence Fiction with Lillie McFerrin Writes today.

What it’s all about: Five Sentence Fiction is about packing a powerful punch in a tiny fist. Each week I will post a one word inspiration, then anyone wishing to participate will write a five sentence story based on the inspiration word. The word does not have to appear in your five sentences, just take your inspiration from that word. 

This week’s inspiration word is: SHENANIGANS

Tom Murphy, blonde and lean, sauntered around the corner of the stables, snapping his braces over his shoulders as he walked out of the sunshine.   His skin, warm and tanned and lightly sheened with moisture, stuck to the thin cotton of his shirt.

St. Cloud, his Lordship’s favourite ride, nuzzled Tom's neck as he began mucking out the stall.  Tom grinned and pushed the stallion’s head away, whistling to himself as he daydreamed about the long white lavender-scented legs of his Lordship’s favourite daughter.

Working nearby, old Peters leaned forward on his pitchfork and surveyed Tom thoughtfully with a raised eyebrow, ‘you’ll get yourself thrown out of this place if you keep up those shenanigans.’

Write on Wednesday: Bring me sunshine in a cup

I'm joining Ink, Paper, Pen for Write on Wednesdays!

Write On Wednesdays Exercise 19 - Sunshine in a cup. Write the words of Emily Dickinson: "Bring me sunshine in a cup" at the top of your page. Set a timer for 5 minutes. Write the first words that come into your head after the prompt. Don't take you pen off the page (or fingers off the keyboard). Stop only when the buzzer rings! Do this exercise over and over if you wish. Write beyond 5 minutes if you like, you can link it up as an extra post.

photo taken by my cousin Rachel

Bring me sunshine in a cup, to linger on lazy afternoons drinking tea in my mother's summer house. We gently rock on wicker chairs, - my mother, sisters and I - the smell of roses hangs heavy in the air and the fat bees drone outside, dusted with pollen.  My fingers are stained with the juice of mulberries, my cheeks flushed with summer heat, the hair curls damply at my neck. I am drowsy and content to listen to idle gossip, tea cup warm in my hand.  Oh, bring me sunshine in a cup for I am far away from home.

Write on Wednesday: Pleased to Meet You

I'm joining Ink, Paper, Pen for Write on Wednesdays!


Write On Wednesdays Exercise 17: This week, we are going with Karen's idea for an open choice week. So take a look at the old writing exercises (you can find them listed in my sidebar: WoW Writing Exercises), find one you'd like to try (or retry!) and link it up to the linky below. Short and simple instructions this week. If time is an issue perhaps you would like to try one of the 5 minute stream of consciousness exercises. 


I chose Week 1, because we all know the beginning is a very good place to start....


Write On Wednesdays Exercise 1 - Very Pleased to Meet You!: Write about yourself as you are in this moment. Use the five senses to do so. The main idea is that we should get a little more insight into YOU after we read your piece. Here are some (optional) questions to get you started: How do YOU look right now? What colours/fabrics/accessories are you wearing? What can you see? Consider lighting, shapes, objects. How do YOU sound right now? What can you hear? What can you smell? Does the smell remind you of anything? Can you taste anything? How do YOU feel? Comfortable? Tired? What are you touching? Is it cold, hot, smooth? What is your posture like? Slumped? Sitting? Standing? What does your posture say about your mood?

Who am I?  I am limbo.  I am the hangman from the tarot deck, in a state of suspension.  Unable to go forward, unwilling to go back.  I am on the precipice of turning 40 with as little insight to my future as when I turned 20.  I am the eternal fool.  I sit in my study with the spring sun shining through my window and procrastinate about work.  It is school holidays and my children are home.   They want me to make pirate hats and peel mandarines.  I do both with little thought and even less inclination.  It is 11am and I still wear the t-shirt I wore to bed.  These days I sleep on the couch.  My bed feels off limits to me.  Despite my unwashed self I wear liquid eyeliner like an Egyptian cat.  It makes me feel better.  An empty cup of tea sits beside me.  Why did I choose this time to give up coffee?  I miss the caffeine high.  Scrawled pages from a notebook sit before me, waiting to be transcribed.  The writing is messy and in parts unreadable, even to me.  I re-read the pages and doubt my ability to make it happen.  I am glad the sun is shining though.  When the sun shines there is life and hope and vigor.   While gathering my thoughts I make origami pinwheels from thin card.  The crisp folds are pleasing to me.  Nothing else in my life seems exact and precise and neat.  The little one is crying.  He comes to me for comfort.  I hold him to my side and smooth his hair with my hand, breathing in the warm smell of him.  He wriggles to free himself and leaves happy.  I serve some purpose after all.  This is what I am supposed to do.  This is what it means to be a mother.  But what does it mean to be a daughter when you are no longer a child and what does it mean to be a wife when you no longer have a husband.  I do not know the answers so I sit in limbo and hang suspended like the hangman, waiting for the universe to tell me.

Write on Wednesday: Songbird

I'm joining Ink, Paper, Pen for Write on Wednesdays!  I'm a bit early I know but have a busy week ahead of me.

Write on Wednesday Exercise 16 - Songbird...

Take a favorite (or even random play) song and write the story behind the lyrics, not something inspired by the lyric, but the flesh on the bones of the story. It gives lots of scope for interpretative writing. Use the lyrics or theme of a song  for a piece of flash fiction (50 to 200 words). To clarify, write your version of the story behind the lyrics in a song

I chose my favourite song for the last 3 years or so...... "Stranger Things Have Happened" by the Foo Fighters.  It was on the Echoes, Silence Patience and Grace album from 2007 but was never released in the mainstream.  Its kind of a sexy song (well, Dave Grohl has that effect on me hahaha) so I thought I would write a sexy piece, well latently sexy anyway, which is about as far from my realm of writing comfort as possible. 

Before reading, would you mind listening to the first couple of lines of the song so you get the proper mood and feeling behind the story?  Just click on the link below, thank you!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BZOUt3_PTQI

He leant with his back against the wall, cigarette in his mouth, watching the dust spin down the road, shimmerin’ and a-hazy in the heat.  Nothin’ but dust and dirt in this town.  This town dying a slow, still death like a thousand other desert towns in New Mexico.  And he was slowly dying too, this dead end place sucking the life outta him.   Not for much longer though.  Soon he would take his guitar and his $200 dollars and get on a bus out of here for California.

But he hadn’t told Angelina yet, and he watched her as she walked out of the diner towards him.  Half Mexican, half Indian, all legs and golden skin and black hair swaying around her waist.  And just the look of her made him feel heady and he closed his eyes and remembered the first time they were together in the room above the garage with the sun streaming in and he had watched her like he watched her now, the cigarette smoke curling up to the ceiling.

She had climbed out of bed and sat on the window sill, naked and not caring ‘cause no one was around to see, looking out at the desert humming to herself.  And he knew then she would never leave and he knew then he could never stay and all they had was this, this room, this day, and he wondered if he would ever get the warm smell of her skin outta his mind. 

Write on Wednesday: Who are the people in your neighbourhood?

I'm joining Ink, Paper, Pen for Write on Wednesdays!  

I am a little late with my Write on Wednesday post this week, so it will have to be Write on Friday instead :)

Write On Wednesdays Exercise 15 - Give yourself some time to notice the people around you. The people who may cross your path each day. The lady in front of you at the supermarket, the man who helps the school kids cross the road, a neighbour, a waitress in a cafe, a librarian, anyone at all. Choose one person, someone you don't know, and this person will become the basis of the week's writing exercise. Describe this person as you see them, describe their surroundings. Then imagine a problem, create conflict for this person. Describe the conflict. Describe how your character deals with the problem. The conflict might resolve itself, it might not. It is up to you. Perhaps, the lady in the supermarket has forgotten her wallet. Does she bursts into tears? Maybe the librarian finds a lost child. The aim is to show how your character responds to conflict and in the process, reveal something about that character. Tell us their story.

Soccer Mum

She drove down the freeway, her face tense, hands gripping the steering wheel tightly.  Her kids sat in the back of the car. They didn’t know where they were going or why their mum had picked them up from daycare early.  But they were little and didn’t ask questions.

She had worn her smart suit to the office this morning and her expensive heels.  She looked professional and polished. A business woman, mid thirties, nice house, nice car, cute kids. 

As she drove, she went over what she was going to say.  Trying to cement the words in her head so she wouldn’t lose them in the heat of the moment.

They were in the street now.  And there was the building.  She pulled up outside it, the adrenalin racing in her body.  Pulling the kids out of the car, she lined them up on the pavement.  She knew she shouldn’t have brought them here, but it was too late now.  People do crazy things when they aren't thinking rationally.

She knelt down beside them.

‘Mummy’s just going inside here for a second, okay?  Just follow Mummy and don’t worry if Mummy gets upset…..I’m not angry at you guys, okay.’

They nodded and fidgeted.  What was she was talking about?  They followed her into the building like baby ducklings.

It was midday and the reception desk was empty.  She walked through to the warehouse where the staff would be eating their lunch.  Everyone except her husband.

Flinging open the door, she marched in, the kids hanging about her legs.  People looked up in surprise.  She recognized some and not others. Scanning the room, she found who she was looking for.  She was momentarily surprised.  The photo had been much more flattering.  This girl was…..nothing.   She looked exactly like what she was - a 25 year old skank with a deadbeat boyfriend who had plucked chickens for a living before getting this job.   For fucks sake.

‘What are you doing here?’ the girl said, her face flushed and angry.  She looked pissed off, and embarrassed.  Everyone stared. 

‘I want you to see what you are messing with.  You want these kids to grow up without a dad because you can’t keep your fucking legs together, you stupid bitch.  What kind of person are you?’

It was as far as she got before the tears sprang out.  Gary, her husband’s boss, shepherded her out of the room, the kids trailed behind.  They didn’t know why mum was crying but they hoped she would take them to McDonalds to get an ice cream.