NaPoWriMo – Day Eleven : Leavers’ Dreams

Between the leavers books and last day photos,

where we stand pressed tight against each other

arms locked over rib-cages and shoulders

with smiles showing every tooth and crease

at the edges of of eyes,

we threw our ten year plans out like helicopter seeds,

their swirling fragile bodies caught up in our whirlwinds

so desperate to flee the school gates

to escape to the world lying beyond

where we would become doctors, architects, teachers,

opera singers, engineers, artists, and writers,

because thirty was a long way away

and we were all more than capable of closing the distance

between what we were and who we wanted to be.

Five years in at the halfway mark

I’m still spinning stories for strangers

who know my name and my words

but little more than that.

Plans of conquering my third novel by the time I such and such

have turned to

let’s just get this one finished for god’s sake please,

some time between the steps I’m climbing

one accountancy exam at a time

and the colours I’m aspiring to

one belt at a time

in the hopes that by the time I’m thirty

I’ll be more than just a writer

I’ll be more than just the person

who wanted nothing but her books.


NaPoWriMo Day Eleven : “What does y(our) future provide?”

Dangerous Sleeper

Have you ever elbowed someone in the throat while you slept? In my defence, I was aiming to elbow an extremely, infuriating housemate in the ribs, it just so happened that I was dreaming and my boyfriend rolled over to see what I was mutter about. (I talk in my sleep.) Hence elbow in the throat and a very, surreal wakeup.

I can’t even claim that this was a one time affair. Both my boyfriend and I are quite active sleepers, rolling over, shifting about and blurting out random comments while we sleep. I wake up to find he’s rolled over and pinned me in my sleep, the other night I got kneed in the but and he’s always informing me of the various punches and elbows that I supposedly sent his way as I tossed and turned in the night. (Somehow sliding half-way down the bed is also a common occurrence with me. It really confuses him.)

I’m not sure what I chatter on about in my sleep, but I’ll leave you with a few snippets that I’ve woken to during the night as my boyfriend dreams on beside me.

Don’t launch the rocket yet. Wait until I’m around the corner.

No. Don’t like Thomas Tank.

You need to put it in second. No, not like that, see you stalled in. ******* twat.

And so ends another random post, curtsey of the Daily Prompt. Tell me, have you every accidentally injured someone in your sleep?

Grass Stalk Children



There was a trick to whistling with a blade of grass; a trick that Stephen could manage but for some reason whenever Mary tried, it was damps hands and shredded foliage instead of whistles.

“Don’t worry,” he told her, cleaning off her hands with his sleeve before snatching up more grass by the roots, “I will teach you.”

He showed her how to angle the blade against her lips, to blow over the blade and send sharp slices of sound flying across the fields between his house and hers.

“When I marry, everyone in the audience will have to whistle as I walk down the aisle; everyone except for you.” she said.

“I won’t have to whistle,” he whispered, leaning in close, “because when I grow up I’m going to be the one marrying you.”



Prompt taken from: Five Sentence Fiction