Everlasting Love

This week’s challenge from http://www.trifectawritingchallenge.com/ is to write between 33 and 333 words including the word ‘door’ using the definition ‘a means of access or participation e.g. opens new doors’.

When I first met you, we were smitten with each other. Always hand in hand, always kissing, always happy.

But that feels like a lifetime ago now. I don’t remember who you are anymore.

When I gave myself to you that first time, how was I to know that in that moment of pure ecstasy, I was opening the door to a life of misery?

Over the years, I’ve asked time and time again for you to sort yourself out. I’ve given you ultimatum after ultimatum. And yet here I am, begging you again. 

Please stop drinking. It’s tearing our family apart. The kids miss their Daddy. I miss my husband. 

I’ve gone grey with worry. My face is lined beyond my years. The kids are unsettled at school. My house smells like a brewery.

Why have I stuck around for so long? Because I still love you for Christ’s sake.


Pie, anyone?

This weekend’s challenge from http://www.trifectawritingchallenge.com/ is to write 33 words and include at least one hyphenated compound modifier.

My neighbours think I’m a man-eating whore. But they still eat my home-baked pies.

What they don’t know is…they’re doing the man eating.

I love the smell of a dead man cooking.


This week’s Trifecta Challenge is to include the word ‘ecstasy’ meaning ‘mystic or prophetic trance’ somewhere in a 33-333 word piece. http://www.trifectawritingchallenge.com/

I know the day I am going to die.

24th November, 2034. Late autumn seems like a fitting time to die.

Ever since I was a little girl, I’ve had these visions, these predictions, these little moments of ecstasy, and whatever I’ve seen has come true. I’m not sure how I’m going to die though, I haven’t had that vision yet.

The first vision I remember was when I was five years old. I desperately wanted a puppy for Christmas. I was going to call him Buttons. But one day that December, I had a vision that my parents had gotten me a Barbie instead. I practiced my ‘surprised’ and ‘grateful’ face in front of the mirror for weeks.

Sure enough, Santa had brought me Hairdresser Barbie. Hairdresser Barbie was shit.

Sometimes seeing visions of the future can be useful. Sometimes it can break my heart.

I saw I was going to get into University before I got my exam results. I saw my ex-boyfriend cheating on me. I’ve seen myself giving birth to twins. I’ve seen school photographs of just one little boy…what’s going to happen to the other baby? My life is plagued with worry.

There are no surprises left. I will get married, in a pink dress (what possesses me to choose a pink wedding dress?!), I will have twins, one will vanish from photographs…

All that’s left for me to find out is how I’ll die on that autumn day in 2034. Maybe I’ll never know…

Little Red Love of My Life

This week’s Trifecta Challenge is to write between 33 and 333 words using the word ‘color’ (being from the UK, I’m adding the ‘u’), and to use the definition ‘blush’. Here’s my 329 words, check out others at http://www.trifectawritingchallenge.com/

I like to think of things in terms of colour. Let me give you an example. Happiness is the colour blue. It’s cloudless sky on a spring afternoon, the taste of ripe blueberries from the bush in our garden, and the colour of the ocean, where we loved to swim.

Tomorrow’s going to be a black day when we say goodbye to you, my love. Black hearse, black clothes, black mood.

Whenever I think of my life with you, I think of it as red. It’s the colour of the scarlet dress you were wearing the very first time I laid eyes on you at the town dance. It’s the colour on your cheeks everytime we kissed – from that first time outside the dance hall, up until our final peck last week – you always blushed. I can’t believe I’ll never kiss you again…

Red was the colour of the fire engine that we had to call out way too many times when you were cooking. You were always a terrible cook. We practically lived off Heinz tomato soup for thirty eight years, but I loved you all the same.

Red was the colour of the two faint lines on the positive test you showed me that meant you were expecting our baby. I almost burst with happiness.

Red was the colour of the little girl’s coat in our daughter’s favourite bedtime fairytale. I loved to hear you read it to her, although you preferred Cinderella. I hope I was good enough as your Prince Charming. I know I wasn’t perfect, but who is?

Red is the colour of the rose you’ll be buried with tomorrow. The same colour as the one I gave you on our wedding day all those years ago. A token of my love for all of eternity.

What does eternity look like to me now that you’re gone? Eternity looks red too. I’ll love you forever, my darling. I’ll never stop loving you…

Happily Ever After, Where Art Thou?

This weekend’s Trifecta Challenge is to write 33 words inspired by the following quote by Alchemist Paulo Coelho: ‘It’s the possibility of having a dream come true that makes life more interesting’. See how others got on at http://www.trifectawritingchallenge.com/.

I loathe first dates. I’ve been on dozens this year. So why do I keep bothering? I dream of finding true love. I want my fairytale ending. And a free dinner and cocktails…

Rain, Rain, Go Away

This week’s challenge from http://www.trifectawritingchallenge.com/ is to write a piece between 33 and 333 words using the word ‘rain’, and as it’s April Fools Day, we have to use the Urban Dictionary definition of ‘to take a lot of money in bill form and toss it in the air. This is most effectively done at a strip club’.

I always liked the rain as a little girl. I loved the smell of it, and the way the whole world felt fresh afterwards. Well maybe not the whole world, but our little grey council estate at least. I liked to feel it on my skin. It even cleaned the playground slide, and washed away some of the grafitti, and left great big puddles for us to splash in. I loved getting my pink wellies on and splashing in puddles.

When I’m on the stage, with the lights flashing, and the music blaring, wearing my lacy underwear and layers of make-up, I still like to feel the rain on my skin. The leering men rain bills on me, and although I sometimes get a paper cut, and sometimes they’re sticky and covered in beer, I like to feel the money on my skin. It makes me feel less cheap, like I might be worth something maybe. Some of the men try and tuck bills in my bra, in my knickers, between my breasts. Some of them climb off their barstools and try and grab me. Some of them throw worse things than money at me…like bottle caps, and piss, and even pieces of broken glass.

But there’s nothing I can do, this is my life now. I just close my eyes, wiggle my hips, plaster my face with a false smile, and think of when I was just a little girl who loved her pink wellies, and splashing in puddles, and the smell of the rain…