Monthly Archives: November 2011

The French House

This week’s prompt for the 100 Word Challenge for Grown-Ups is a picture once again.  I am delighted that it is this picture, as it fits perfectly with another part of my book ‘The Year’.  In this excerpt, Sarah visits the house her parents have bought in France for the first time.

Sarah stepped into the dew-soaked garden of the French house her parents had bought, taking in the sights and sounds of this beautiful place. It wasn’t a big garden but each corner brought a new delight to the senses.  Sarah ran her hands over the creaking shutters of the house, marvelling at the wood which had witnessed so many years as the eyelids of this house.  The eyes of the house itself left Sarah breathless with wonder.  In spite of old age, the gleam was still there, reflecting the greenery of the plants and the dappled light of each season.

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Paternity

This week’s 100 Word Challenge was to include a particular phrase from The King James Bible.  The ‘apple of his eye’ one was the one I chose because it fits perfectly with the novel I am currently writing, called ‘The Year’.  It is a love story but with a rather tragic twist and tells the story of how one person’s desperation can have horrific consequences for others.  Whether it ever gets to print or not is debatable but I have enjoyed writing it so much.
She was the apple of his eye, who sat on his knee for a story, who came to him for a hug when she was hurt.  He could still taste the saltiness of her tears and feel the plump little cheek under his thumb as he wiped them away.  She was the child he’d always wanted and the only one he’d ever had.  He wanted to take her down the aisle, bathed in orange blossom and white net. He hoped to be there for her for such a long time. This blow came like a kick to the stomach.  He was winded and couldn’t breathe.

The Potion

This week’s 100 Word Challenge for Grown-Ups is to include the phrase ‘are you sure it should be that colour?’ and we were allowed to produce 150 words plus the prompt.

They looked into the depths of the copper pot and the churning liquid within.
‘Are you sure it should be that colour?’ asked Gabby.
‘Well I did follow the instructions!’ she retaliated, indignant that Beth should even ask such a silly thing.
‘I expected it to be blue really but this is more like a sickly green.’
Beth glanced over her shoulder at the tiny writing in the old book, squinting against the late afternoon sunlight filtering through the cobwebbed shutters.
‘I wonder if I missed something?’ she muttered, to no-one in particular.  Suddenly the pot began to gurgle and shudder.
‘It’s working, it’s working!’ Beth shrieked. ‘Quick, put your hands in and spread it on your face! Let’s see what it can do.’

Lest We Forget

The stinking bodies, trenches deep
The cold, the wet, the lack of sleep,
The noise of guns, the endless roar
Days and months and years of war. 
The hopes, the dreams, excited screams
The hugs and kisses in my dreams
My comfy chair, my baby’s stare
I miss them all now I’m not there
Over the top, into the fray
Will we return? ‘Who knows?’ we say
As red as blood the poppies nod
Lest we forget the ones with God
If I’m lucky and survive
I’ll celebrate each year alive
I’ll wear my poppy, lots of pride
Remember friends who cruelly died