In the shade of the Willow tree

“Do you think that trees have feelings?” Gloria said, stretching her long legs up the trunk of a weeping willow. The stark paleness against the tree made them look like they were painted with clown make up, but that was just Gloria, as pale as the day was long.

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This small piece is a little different from what I usually write. Hope you enjoy it.

‘You have an incoming communication’ his phone rasped for the third time in an hour. If only he could reach it, his fingers strained to grip the phone, but the bindings only let him move so far. The cloth cut into his wrists as he stretched his body over to the bed side table. The grotty mattress beneath him squeaked as he strained.

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A little snippet of family fiction. Enjoy.

The incandescent sheen on the bubbles always reminded her that life was fragile, precious, just like the delicate surface on each tiny globe winking back at her from the sink. A task she had done hundred of times, washing up. Doing the dishes, scrubbing a stray fork or cup, and the repetitive but important job of cleaning and sterilising the baby bottles every day.

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I have to sleep where?

“What’s that smell?” She crinkled her nose and wiped her hands down the front of her jeans, she could feel the itch already, thank God she packed her antihistamine. There were so many bugs and who knows how many pollen spores out here.

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First Published Story!!!

Ladies and Gentlemen, I am now a fully professional published author. That’s right, someone paid me to write something. Odd, strange and unexpected, I know.

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So, it’s been a while…

Hello WordPress!


I’m back. Mr 10 weeks is sleeping all night, the dreaded pregnancy ‘morning sickness’ went as soon as he entered the World. Now I can focus on getting the stories in my head out.

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Time Out


It’s been a while since I have posted.

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“How many times do I have to tell you? It’s three, six-minute eggs. Not six, three-minute eggs.” He pushed the silver tray away. “Who in their right might would eat six, three-minute eggs? They wouldn’t even be bloody cooked.”

“I’m sorry, Sir.” She gathered up the tray in shaking hands. “The cook…”

“I don’t want to hear your excuses, girl. Just get me my breakfast.”

With a snap he flipped open the newspaper and started reading the business section, as she walked backwards out of the room.

“He wouldn’t eat them,” she said in a low voice to her husband, the cook. “He wants three six-minute eggs, but if you cook them that long will it affect the cyanide in the water?”

He shrugged and tipped some more of the poison into the boiling water.

“Only one way to find out.”

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Photo by ricardo via Flickr, licensed under Creative Commons


Leaving the Land

I hope everyone has had a wonderful Christmas and holiday season. I thought I might have something festive for you, but this is all that came out. Enjoy!

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Love. Whatever that is.

Just a little mini fiction for your Wednesday.

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