Tuesday, 28 April 2020


My response to this weeks writing challenge.

She sits at her desk, a coffee in front of her, beside it screen is her phone. Her laptop open but ignored as she slowly strokes the leaves on the money plant.

Ironic really, she had a deadline for the article, it has to be submitted today but her mind is blank.

She can usually turn out an article in a few short hours but she's been struggling with this topic all week now and all that she has typed is the title word.

She drinks her coffee, puts a few drops of plant food in the pot holding her money plant and twirls her phone round, still nothing.

She visits the ladies room, looks out the window to check the weather and then returns to her desk.

She reorganises her desk drawer and the pot that holds her pens and pencils, but still her mind is blank.

Who'd have thought it would be so difficult to write an article about procrastination.

Thursday, 23 April 2020


I can see them from my window and I shudder.

I try to ignore them and focus on the wildlife but it's no good, my eyes are drawn back time and time again.

I think I'll have to move on, the fear is really affecting me.

Every time I walk past I'm convinced I can smell burning. The fear gets stronger.

I will definitely have to move soon, that's the good thing about living on a boat, if you don't like your neighbours or the area, just move.

It's a shame, I like it here, it's quiet and conveniently placed but I'm too scared to sleep and waking in a panic in the night.

There is a huge bonfire being built in a nearby field, that doesn't bother me. It's just a pile of rubbish, stuff that will burn.

But this, this scares me, if I get too close I swear I can smell burning, I can feel the heat.

They don't burn witches nowadays, but they used to, or at least that was the excuse. Most of us weren't witches, we were just too old, a bit strange, too inconvenient.

It's the neatness of the branches, they remind me of the faggots, lined up, stacked almost upright around the stake. This is not a normal bonfire. This could have been stacked by someone who burned witches in their previous life.

Tuesday, 21 April 2020


The feeling was subtle at first like a cold breath on the back of her neck.
She shivered, next came the prickling across her scalp.
She tried to ignore the signs and gripped the steering wheel until her knuckles were white.
There were bends in the road but the day was clear and bright.
In her dreams the accident happened in a blizzard, everywhere was white.
It was just a dream she told herself but it had terrified her.
Sweat broke out across her top lip, she slowed her speed slightly but kept on driving.
She'd not traveled this route before but the road looked familiar.
She breathed steadily trying to control had rising panic.
It was no good, she couldn't carry on.
She checked her mirrors and changed lane, she pulled up into a layby.
As she did so the tanker coming towards her lost control. It turned on its side and split open with the force of the impact.
Everything went white as gallon upon gallon of milk sprayed from the stricken lorry.
The car that had overtaken her hit the tanker and was almost sliced in half.
With trembling hands she phoned the emergency services, there was nothing else she could do.
She sat and sobbed, thankful for the dream that had given her warning of the accident.

Thursday, 9 April 2020


She sat in the bar nursing a gin and tonic, it depended on the bar staff whether she was left in peace or asked to leave. Brendan was on duty tonight, he always let her stay.
 Brendan had the most beautiful brown eyes, the sort of eyes you could drown in, he reminded her of Paul.

In the back room there was a piano, dusty and unused now, but when she was younger, she smiled at A
the reminisce.

Now she was a bag of bones, skinny and untidy but she was clean, she didn't smell despite what some of the bar staff claimed.

She'd always been tiny but had curves in all the right places, and wearing her red satin evening dress she had been so glamorous, a real stunner.

Back then Paul had played the piano, she sang, songs of love and longing, of loneliness and despair.

Sitting in the bar the years fell away as she hummed one of the old songs but all too soon her glass was empty and it was time to leave.

Out in to the cold leaving her memories of Paul behind, they'd had a few happy years until a bomb had dropped near their lodgings killing Paul. Leaving her a sad and lonely widow.