Tuesday, 29 July 2014

My name is Shelley & I'm an alcoholic

My latest story for the latest Light & Shade Challenge
Picture Lyssa Medana

The drinking just sort of crept up on me, bad day at work, an urgent deadline, have a glass of wine, a row with hubby, have a glass of wine, someones birthday, Christmas, have a glass of wine. Wine seemed to be the answer to everything that happened, good or bad. Lets face it, most normal people drink don't they, oh I used to have a friend who only drank a small shandy 2 or 3 times a month, but I'd stopped socialising with her, she was weird, right!
I had trouble getting to work on time as I spent ages on the toilet every morning. I went to the Dr's & described my symptoms, but when she asked me how much I drank, I lied. I claimed the drinking habits of the friend I'd scorned, I came out clutching a prescription. It helped a bit for a while, but before long it stopped being effective & I was back to being late for work. When I was at work I was often drunk, falling over drunk. I told them I was suffering from Labrinthitis & they believed me. After all, most peoples idea of an alcoholic is a a smelly down & out sleeping in a doorway. 
My husband was concerned about my drinking, mind you he often found my stash of empty bottles, I tried to pass it off as a 'collection for recycling' but he wasn't fooled after the first few times. He tried to help, paid for rehab, therapy but I carried on drinking, I just hid it better. I drank a bottle of wine in the car park before I left work, I popped to the shops & drank a bottle of wine in the car park before I returned home. 
This was my downfall, I drove home & crashed the car, fortunately the only damage was to the garden wall, but I passed out, paramedics were called & I was admitted to hospital. It was there I was told that the next drink could kill me, not next year or even next month, but instantly. 
Everyone believes this is the wake up call I need, me? I'm not so sure, it's OK when things are running smoothly, but what happens next time there is deadline to be met at work or even another celebration & it's not as though I feel good. I feel like shit most days.

Saturday, 26 July 2014


Light & Shade Challenge Story
Courtesy of Freeimageslive.com
Simon gritted his teeth & forced a smile, he chewed manfully on a home made rock cake, it tasted awful & rock was a very accurate description. If he could just persuade his batty old Aunt Judith into a home, he could sell the huge rambling house she lived in & make enough money to pay off his gambling debts.
She'd been a famous author in her day but her books had fallen out of fashion. Simon really didn't see why she should be sitting on such a goldmine when he had real need of the money.
'You'd be warm, safe & comfortable if you moved to Yew Tree Lodge' he said with false solicitude.
Judith agreed & thanked him for all the trouble he'd gone to to find a home she was happy with.
Simon drove away, delighted that his problems would soon be over.
Judith sat & smiled, it was a pity Simon hadn't taken the time to ask about the books she's written, murder mysteries, every one of them, mostly involving poison.
If Judith had judged the dose correctly that she'd added to the cake mix and she certainly had, Simon would be driving along the cliff road when the poison took effect & his death would be deemed an accident. And he'd saved her the trouble of looking at lots of homes before she decided which one to move into.


Image courtesy of freeimagelive.com.

My story for this weeks Light & Shade Challenge
Well what an idiot I'd made of myself, screaming & crying like that, half the workforce now think I've lost my marbles, the other half will think the same when word gets out.
I'm sat at my desk, still snivelling & hiccoughing, trying to decide what to do, what to say. I'm 40 today, not a toddler on the first day at nursery.
Though for the moment it doesn't matter as I cannot leave my office, or even my desk for now.
Eventually I make a decision, I phone the one person who knows about my problem, not that she understands, she thinks I'm mad but at least she knows & I don't have to explain myself.
With a trembling hand I lift the telephone receiver & dial her number, she picks up eventually, her voice blurred with sleep. 
'Sis, sis, it's me, I'm sorry to disturb you, but I need you help, I'm so scared.'
When she stops laughing she replies 'OK, OK, calm down I'm on my way, I'll think of something, stay put.'
Thinking bitterly that I have no choice but to stay put, I hang up.
True to her word, she arrives about half an hour later, to me it seems like hours.
Within minutes of her arrival she is talking to the staff & their puzzled looks turn to looks of sympathy, no one is laughing, so she obviously hasn't told them the truth.
She enters my room & puts her arm around me 'I told them an elderly relative died suddenly & that you shouldn't have come to work today'
'Thank you'
'Come on, stand up, close your eyes, 'll tell you when we are past them'
We go to a coffee shop just round the corner from work.
'They will clear your office up for you, they will all be gone when you go back tomorrow'
'Thank you' I say again.
She passes me a business card.
'What's this?' I ask
The name of a good therapist!
'I don't need a therapist! There is nothing wrong with me!' I snarl
'Oh right, so every time someone decorates your office with balloons for your birthday or Christmas. I'm gonna have to come over & invent a dead relative, just so you don't have to admit you have a balloon phobia' she replied.
'Well it's your bloody fault, you hid balloons in my bed & they scared me half to death'.
My sister screamed her reply 'We were 6 for Gods sake, get over it!'

Friday, 18 July 2014

Two stories

Two short stories one for each Friday prompt on the Light & Shade Challenge.

Niccolo Machiavelli

He tapped at the keyboard, watching the flickering screen, his hairy, stubby fingers at odds with his screen name of ‘Teengurl’.
‘Send me a pic’ the message from ‘Bieberwannabe’ flashed up.
‘Send me one back?’ Pictures flew, a generic teen girl from a library of pics he has in various stages of undress, a picture of a topless teen boy with a Bieber hairstyle.
The chat turned to sex talk.
Then ‘Wanna meet?’
The following weekend, two overweight middle aged men, at the station, one looking for ‘Teengurl’ the other looking for ‘Bieberwannabe’.


Image courtesy of freeimages.co.uk

What was the number, her date of birth, his?
It had seemed like such a good idea, in the shop, exciting, arousing.
They had spent a small fortune on sex toys. Worn one item home, like  a child with new shoes.
But now, at fever pitch, desperate to consummate, they couldn’t remember the combination to the padlock on the chastity belt they’d bought!

Wednesday, 16 July 2014


Age is a high price to pay for maturity Tom Stoppard

My latest offering for the Light & Shade Challenge

They say that age is a high price to pay for maturity & maybe it’s right, but Jesus, I just wish she would gain some maturity soon as this was getting tedious.
I wiped the snot of her face & the sick of her chin; I helped her stagger to her feet & got her back into bed. ‘But he told me he loved me’ she wailed
‘I know, I know’ I said soothingly. Wondering when she would learn that some guys would say anything to get into her knickers.
‘All I want  to do is find Mr Right’ she sobbed, ‘Why does it have to be so hard?’ I’d given up suggesting she looked somewhere other than the local club scene, my remarks had been bitterly refuted, ‘What do you know, you’re middle-aged, staid, you don’t know how to have fun’ ‘You want me to stay home & knit like you’ she’d accused. Well she was probably right, I had no interest in going out, dancing & getting drunk & yes I could knit, but I’d rather go to the theater or a museum than a club.
I took a surreptitious look at my watch, bloody hell I had to be up in two hours to get ready for work, I sent up a silent prayer ‘Please let her fall asleep soon’.  I stroked her head, got her a glass of water & pulled the covers up to her chin, ‘Go to sleep, it will all look better in the morning’.  I sat with her until I was sure she wasn't going to be sick again & when the crisis of tears seemed to have passed, she fell asleep.
 At least when she’d been thrown out the club, pissed as a fart & screaming abuse, security had the sense to ring me. No taxi would take her for fear she’d throw up & put the cab out of commission for a couple of hours. But I had happily abused my position of editor of the local paper & run articles about clubs abandoning drunk clubbers once they were off the premises. The local clubs now would try to ensure the safety of those people who couldn't stay in the club because they were drunk or disruptive, especially the females!
 I had a shower & got ready for work. There was no point trying to get back to sleep, I had to be at work soon. I made myself a cup of coffee & sipped it in a leisurely fashion, keeping an ear out for any further noise from her room. I often wondered if one of us was a changeling, we had so little in common. I worked hard, paid my bills & took my responsibilities seriously. She was feckless, didn't have any interest in anything apart from the next drink, the next party, the next fit guy.
Still I couldn't wash my hands of her, she was my mother after all.                                                          

Saturday, 12 July 2014

Bored & Desperate

I realise that this is way over the word count, but hope that as it is two stories in one I can be forgiven.

Prompt from the Light & Shade Challenge

Marjorie stood at the sink washing & re-washing the same tea cup, despite being what her mother kindly described as 'big boned' she was wearing a see through robe & nothing else, she checked the clock yet  again, another 30 minutes to go, the keys were left in the front door, the stage was set, the script memorised. She was torn between lust & embarrassment. What would Ted, her husband of 25 years think if he could see her now.

Darren mooched along the road, he should be home tidying the flat he shared with his girlfriend Julie, but he couldn't be arsed.  The keys left in the front door caught his eye, he glanced around to see if he was being watched.  Darren wasn't a full time criminal, but never missed an opportunity to nick something if he thought he could get away with it, the problem was he often didn't, get away with it, that is.. He was regularly up in court, but all he got was a slapped wrist, he was well known to the local police, they all recognised his skinny frame & bony face, generously covered with teenage acne He was the despair of his social worker who thought a short sharp shock, maybe a spell in prison would sort him out.Sometimes his girlfriend Julie thought that to, but she loved him so much & had done since the first day at Infants school when she had been placed next to him & he'd protected her from some mean boys.

Marjorie heard to key turn in the lock & went weak at the knees, should she run or hide, or stay where she was & hopefully fulfil one of her sexual fantasies. She'd be far too embarrassed to talk to Ted about her secret desires, but talking on line had seemed a safe & anonymous outlet for all her pent up desires. Senses heightened, she felt rather than heard him enter the room, she started to quiver, why didn't he say something, they had discussed the script at length.

Darren stood, transfixed, he'd assumed the occupier of the house was upstairs as there was no noise downstairs, he'd crept into the kitchen intending to grab the handbag he could see on the corner of the kitchen table. But there was this huge bird in a see through thingie. Suddenly she turned, threw off the robe & exclaimed 'Take me, I'm yours'. Darren's jaw dropped & then he fled, empty handed & also empty bladdered, He ran & ran & didn't stop until her reached the flat he shared with Julie.

Marjorie was mortified, her on line contact was called 'Camberley Casanova' & had described himself as 6'3, late 50's, tall dark & not so handsome & insisted he like mature, larger ladies. The teenager that had faced her briefly across the kitchen table before he'd fled, had been 5'6 tops & from the look of horror on his face when she'd turned to him did not like mature larger ladies.
The full implication of the risk she had taken suddenly hit home. Marjorie grabbed the keys, locked the front door and rushed upstairs, she threw her robe in the wash basket and hurriedly donned her usual garb of leggings & a baggy tee shirt. Minutes later after cleaning up the puddle left by her visitor, she was sat at her laptop drinking a cup of tea & soothing her shattered nerves with a chocolate hobnob. A noise at the front door set her nerves jangling, but she had the keys, they were no longer in the lock, they were on the table in front of her. 'Any chance of a cuppa?' it was Ted, her husband.

When Julie got home from work the flat was spotless & Darren had collected their baby son from her mothers & he was making beans on toast for tea. He proudly showed her the details of the four jobs he had applied for, all minimum wage, the sort of job he usually sneered at as being beneath him. He seemed different, suddenly more mature & sensible. 'Is everything OK?' Julie asked him, 'Have you got caught robbing again?'.  Darren was insistent, he was never going robbing again, he was fine, he had just decided it was time he grew up and took care of his responsibilities.

After drinking the cup of tea Marjorie had made him Ted gave her a peck on the cheek. 'Do you fancy going to that new Italian restaurant this evening?' Marjorie was surprised & pleased 'Oh yes' she replied. Ted returned to his office, once there he fired up his laptop & logged on to www.nostringssex.co.uk. He looked but the profile for 'Bored & Desperate' had been removed, he smiled & then closed down his own profile 'Camberley Casanova'. He would try a lot harder now to keep his wife happy, especially now he knew about her sexual fantasies.