The Unicorn Challenge.
A magical new weekly writing opportunity from her – Jenne Gray – and me.
Visit her blog every Friday to see the photo prompt, and post your amazing story in her comments section.
Or on your own blog, and stick the link down in her comments.
The rules are:
Maximum of 250 words.
Based on photo prompt.
That’s it.
To hear me read my story, just click here:
Phone Box
Aye, twenty five year ago this very day we we moved up here to the Highlands, and I still miss your mum every day.
Ach, she was so happy too, finally getting out of that dirty old tenement and moving into a new house in the country.
All that fresh air, she said, she loved the fresh air!
I’m pretty sure that’s what killed her, you know, not the fresh air, but all the exertion and stress, aye, and the excitement of moving.
And just think, if that ambulance had been ten minutes earlier they reckoned they could have saved her with that heart thing.
There were no mobile phones back then, of course, and we didn’t like to go chapping on doors of folk we didn’t know, new neighbours we’d never met.
Well, we didn’t know how critical those few minutes would be, did we?
Imagine, eh, if that phone, the only one in the village back then, hadn’t been vandalised by some idiot just the previous night, she might be alive to this day.
And you must have nearly seen who did it!
I remember you charging out in a terrible mood, angry at leaving the big city, upset at leaving all your old pals behind.
Aye, and you had a boyfriend back there too, didn’t you?
But I have to say, love, you really grew up that day.
Aye, you’ve looked after me ever since, as if your mum’s death was your fault.
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A touching tale of pain and guilt. Very well done.
Cheers, Keith, glad it worked for you.
Great story, but scary with an ambulance.
Thanks, Chris!
What a story! It was deeply felt.
Thanks, Cassa, glad it touched you.
I love how the tension builds and winds as the story progresses. Very emotional, furious piece!
Thanks, Liz.
I love when a reader gets involved to this extent.
Nice exchange, then! 😉🐧
what a frightening story. in the sense that jenne alluded to, i.e. the “…he didn’t suspect a thing”
how much can we know of how the world perceives …no! (make it worse!) how the world experiences us/our role in their life.
ayiiee
good story, yo
Scots author William McIlvanney says “in everybody’s life all other people are just tourists”.
Coming to you soon in my new novel, the sequel to ‘B of A’!
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Oh how sad to carry that burden.
Matricide ain’t painless!
Oh…I didn’t pick up on that. I suppose I should have knowing the author.
Twenty five years and he didn’t suspect a thing – the innocent view of a simple man.
And yet through that account, although she never speaks in the story, we’re left with the feeling of guilt and pain his daughter silently carries.
As always, a first-class story.
Thanks, Jenne.
It would be hard not to feel guilt in that situation, doncha fink?
He always knew.
Masterful, as always.
Thanks, Nancy.
There seems to be a difference of opinion here!
Open to interpretation.
Sometimes you just know ….
or at least think you do. It’s a fine line.
I think he knew and he wanted her to know he knew without telling her he knew.
It’s just my new twist on your story, you know.
I think he didn’t know and she didn’t know if he knew but if she knew he knew she’d know something new, you know.
Sometimes, dear Lady, you can be really hard work!
You know me well.
Oh, that had a punch at the end. What a burden for the poor girl to bear. I love the voice, and the way you’ve shown his total lack of suspicion.
Thanks, Margaret, very kind of you.
Gone to the brooding and moody side this week, CE, and all the better for it. Fine piece.
Cheers, Doug, glad it worked for you