Love Story

This weekend’s challenge from http://www.trifectawritingchallenge.com/ is to take three given words – ‘rain’, ‘rebellion’, and ‘remember’ – and add another 33 to make a piece of writing.

I remember the rebellion of our first kiss, the sweet memory of your lips touching mine, as the rain kissed the ground beneath our feet. Whenever it rains, I remember that moment…how beautiful you looked. 

Anna

This week’s Trifecta Challenge is to use the word ‘infect’, with the meaning ‘work upon so as to induce sympathy, belief or support’. Visit http://www.trifectawritingchallenge.com/ to see how everybody else did. 

Anna has a smile that can light up a room like sunshine pouring through a window on a spring day. Sorry, I mean had. I need to get used to saying that, now that she’s gone. She had ocean blue eyes, and the sweetest laugh you ever did hear. She was so gentle, and kind, and had beautiful auburn curls. That’s how I picture her, when I think of her, with her hair tumbling about her shoulders, not with the tie-dyed bandana she always wore towards the end. That was hardest for her, losing her hair. Hardest for me, was losing her.

I love the way her eyes lit up when she was playing with our old cat. I love how she’d only eat sandwiches if I cut the crusts off and cut them into triangles, I love that she’d only wear pink clothes, but most of all, I love that she was mine. She was my world. 

I infect people with misery everywhere I go. I know I do, I can see it in their eyes. I don’t even have to say anything, it just seems to seep out of me, out of my pores maybe, working on them, attacking them, making them hurry away from me after asking how I am. I know I’m a pathetic sight with my red eyes, and unwashed hair, and my old shabby coat. 

I walk a lot, and think. I see people in cafes ordering cappuccinos. I see people returning library books, or catching the bus. I see children playing on swings. I see people living. And how do I feel? Broken.

Tea Time

This week’s Trifecta Challenge is to use the word ‘time’ along with the definition ‘an appointed/fixed time for something to happen, begin, or end’. I thought it would be interesting to contrast such an ordinary time with a time of crisis, so here’s what I came up with. http://www.trifectawritingchallenge.com/

Tuesday

I’m exhausted. Harry’s been so grizzly today, so hot and needy, only wanting to sit on my knee and have cuddles with Brown Bear. I made him spaghetti for his tea, his favourite. Tea time is Harry’s favourite time of the day, it means food, and getting to sit in a big boy’s chair, and Daddy coming home. Today he wouldn’t eat. I put him to bed early, and as I was putting his pyjamas on, I noticed the beginnings of a rash on his legs. I gave him a spoon of Calpol and read him his favourite bedtime story, The Tiger Who Came to Tea. He sleepily said ‘Nobody wanted the tiger, did they Mummy?’ as I kissed him goodnight.

Wednesday

I’m exhausted. The past twenty four hours have been a blur of sirens, doctors, nurses, worry. When I heard the word ‘meningitis’ said first, I threw up. Spaghetti sick. There’s no big boy’s chair for Harry at tea time tonight, but a hospital room full of wires and bleeping machines. I’m too out of my mind with worry to eat. I manage a cup of lukewarm coffee from a vending machine, and wait. He’s got Brown Bear, I think to myself, he’ll be OK.

Thursday

I’m exhausted. But home again. I make Harry’s favourite in time for tea, spaghetti. I set my plate down opposite his. But there’s no Harry with a face covered in orange sauce smiling back at me. Just Brown Bear. They couldn’t save him. Nobody wanted meningitis, did they Harry? I think to myself. Brown Bear just looks at me. 

Life Goes On

Another challenge from Trifecta, this time using the word ‘juggle’ with the definition ‘to handle or deal with several things at one time so as to satisfy competing requirements’. See how other people did at http://www.trifectawritingchallenge.com.

My baby kicks. The clock ticks. Mum is still dead. The baby hammers my ribs, as the pain of losing Mum hammers my heart. Or it could just be heartburn, I don’t know. I’m too tired to think. My bump is draining me, or is it the grief?

I pack my hospital bag whilst I’m on the phone with the funeral arrangers. There isn’t long to go now. Nappies? Check. Coffin? Oak. With a brass plaque on. Babygro? White. With bunnies on. Flowers? It had to be lilies, her favourite. When I was a little girl, there was always a vase of lilies in the house, filling the air with their beautiful scent. 

My ankles are swollen, and my eyes are puffy from crying. My back aches.

I’d known the end was coming for Mum for a while. Longer than I’d known the baby was coming, even. But I’d never imagined having to juggle preparing for the birth of my baby with preparing to bury my Mum.

In the night, the pains come. I hadn’t been asleep, I’d been too full of tears for Mum. Then my waters broke. Water, water, everywhere. And the worst pain I’ve ever felt. Worse than the grief, even. The pains get stronger, and I realise there’s not going to be time for me to get to the hospital. I try to draw some strength from Mum; she went through much worse than this towards the end. 

And then the pains finally stop. There’s a rush of life, and there she is, finally in my arms. My daughter, Lily. 

The End

This weekend’s challenge from http://www.trifectawritingchallenge.com/ was to write just 33 words of first person narrative. Here’s what I came up with.

All has gone quiet around my deathbed. I am weak. I lie still, and think about this life I’ve lived. I have a heart full of happy memories. I am ready to die.