“This is wrong.” Hannah said, aiming a kick at an especially infuriated column of white cloud.

“I know this is all a shock,” said her Grandmother, “but you will get used to it. We were all surprised by the aneurism, none of your lot saw it coming and even I thought you’d have a month or two more.”

“But this cannot be it!” shrieked Hannah, her voice coming out as a whisper despite her vocal chords straining; why would anyone need the ability to scream where she was? “An eternity of bliss will send me mad; its just too peaceful!” 



Conrad taught us to distrust our own minds. Caught up in the spin of some imaginary turmoil; he forgot that the rest of us were placed within his reach, waiting for some reassurance that this was not how it ended. Confirmation was never his strong point. Convinced we were the enemy, it became locked doors and unanswered phone calls. Coleen visited once a week only to find the casseroles she baked still cling-filmed at the back of the refrigerator. Considering it was twenty years before the funeral summons; I didn’t expect to cry when we carried him into the church.


(Prompt: Each line must begin with ‘C’)

Friday Fictioneers (Two Attempts)


(Copyright for picture: Douglas M. Macllroy) 

The Right Height?

“How high?” he asked.

“High enough.” she replied dropping the rucksack to the ground. “High enough for us. For this.”

“You think so?” He shuffled forward, sending pebbles skittering towards edge.

“Don’t.” she said. “You’ll spoil the surface. We want this to be perfect.”

“Perfect.” he repeated, holding fast where he was. “You want this to be perfect.”

“We want this.” she insisted. “We’re doing this for us. Not me.”

“For us.” he nodded. “Have you got the camera?”

She muttered something and dived into the rucksack, rummaging around until she pulled free the Victorian style camera.

“Ready?” he asked.

In Love We Are Immortal

“Aphrodite.” he called, hands loose at his sides as he saw her standing near the edge once again. You could not see the mortal world from here, but she could pretend that they felt her watching.

“The others are waiting.” he told her. “Artemis and Apollo are already at each other’s throats; we need you to keep the places from going to hell. You know how much Hades creeps me out.”

Aphrodite shook her head.

“I want—”

“You can’t.” he said. “It’s been too long; he wasn’t like us, they weren’t like us!”

“They were mine.” she told him.

“They were mortal.” he replied. “Mortals die.”


I’m hoping I won’t get in trouble for writing two attempts for this prompt, I wrote the first thjis morning and then the second turned up while I was at work today.

Always Room For Something Else…

“Busy?” he asked when her voice finally answered, breathless and distorted through pen caps.

“Just a bit.” she mumbled, phone pinned between her ear and neck as she juggled ring-binders, manila folders, notepads and tea-cups.

“Deadlines.” she told him, throwing back her tea and scowling when she swallowed.

“Urg, stone cold tea, definitely not the right mug.” she said, “but never mind that, what is it you need doing?”


A Word For Each Year You’ve Had (Part 2)

Joanna (Sister)


Of high speed projectiles,

drought worthy wit

and the ability to terrify

by being nice.


Ba (Great Grandmother)

Clouded by cobwebs

these days

you tell the same stories

and ask for news

forgotten by the next clock stroke.


You are no longer the apple peeler

whose hands never faltered

in wielding blade or teacup,

whichever was needed

to cater for me.


Though I bare your name

the syllables slip

and you must grasp

at faces I resemble

in the hope you’ll catch a memory

before it fades for good.


You were seventy-seven at my birth

and yet you stood

in photos with me,

constant in attention and love.


I do not know,

a world without.