Sunday short short story: To No One In Particular by Morgen Bailey

Posted every Sunday, the following piece of flash fiction is from Morgen’s shorter short story collection, FLASHES,  available in e-book from Morgen’s online store where you not only get the best price but can either instantly download the collection or purchase the paperback dedicated to you or as a present! We hope you enjoy this story…

To No One In Particular

I knew it was going to drive me mad, the sixties CD, but it’s become his favourite and who am I to complain? Not that he’d listen if I tried to.

A six-hour drive up to Edinburgh and this is all we have. At least it’s by different artists.

Cornwall was Pat Boone crooning to no one in particular. Not to me, that’s for sure and certainly not to Eric. Doesn’t approve of all that same sex malarkey. I think it’s fascinating, the connection they have, and some say they’ve always known, but the only thing Eric finds interesting is who the service station cafés are run by. We only stop at English ones, no Costa or Pret a Manger for Eric.

That’s one thing that first attracted me about him, how patriotic he is, and so vocal, but then I realised to what extent and, well, it became an obsession… not quite to BNP level, but it wouldn’t surprise me if he was on that list that someone published on the internet a while back.

He loves his computer does Eric. Never lets me go messing about on it, but then I wouldn’t know where to start. I’d be too afraid I’d delete something important, and it must be important or he’d not keep his door shut, make me knock when I take him his cups of tea.

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Word Count Wednesday

Yes, it’s that time of the week again. How have you been getting on?

I’ve been cracking on with the fourth Writer’s Block Workbook with an extra 8,688 words this past week (last Wednesday to last night), although they are prompts so not ‘writing writing’ as such but I’ve still been productive.

Do leave a comment below to share your progress, successes and otherwise, and of course anything else that’s happened to you, writing wise, over the past seven days.

For more information About Me as an Author, Mentor, Speaker and my Fiction, Non-fiction, and you can sign up to my Newsletter.

Sunday short short story: Less Than Green These Days by Morgen Bailey

Posted every Sunday, the following piece of flash fiction is from Morgen’s shorter short story collection, FLASHES,  available in e-book from Morgen’s online store where you not only get the best price but can either instantly download the collection or purchase the paperback dedicated to you or as a present! We hope you enjoy this story…

Less Than Green These Days

Russell stared at the photograph sitting on the window ledge above the cooker. Sarah would laugh at him if she could see him now, only she couldn’t, wouldn’t.

The first Sunday after she’d died, he’d forgiven himself and knew she would have too; a roast for one.

Three months later and he was still serving up double portions – one sat in front of him, the other in front of the empty chair; the chair with the Border Collie cushion. The cushion he’d bought for her last Christmas; the Christmas they’d not expected to see together.

She’d been given six months at best and had seen another four. Christmas, New Year, just short of Easter and now it was summer. The time of year she’d spend her days in the garden. She wouldn’t be so pleased about that; the dying plants, unmowed lawn, less than green these days, bird food containers.

Work had been understanding. “Take all the time you need,” John had said. He’d known how Russell had felt then – but not now. Jane had got better, lived, thrived. She’d helped Sarah those first few months but when it became clear that there really was no hope the gaps between visits grew wider until she stopped coming – to the house, to work, to the funeral.

Russell had considered quitting his job but he’d needed something to focus on – a return date – another set of walls to stare at all day.

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Word Count Wednesday

Yes, it’s that time of the week again. How have you been getting on?

I’ve been busy with work work and advertising my existing books (via Amazon Ads) so only started writing yesterday afternoon. I’ve therefore only amassed 1,007 words this past week (last Wednesday to last night) but that’s okay, and it’s the next (second) Henry Short Story so an enjoyable 1,007 words. I also plan to continue with the fourth Writer’s Block Workbook in the next few days so hope to have news next Wednesday.

Do leave a comment below to share your progress, successes and otherwise, and of course anything else that’s happened to you, writing wise, over the past seven days.

For more information About Me as an Author, Mentor, Speaker and my Fiction, Non-fiction, and you can sign up to my Newsletter.

Sunday short short story: She’d Expected A Whooshing Sound by Morgen Bailey

Posted every Sunday, the following piece of flash fiction is from Morgen’s shorter short story collection, FLASHES,  available in e-book from Morgen’s online store where you not only get the best price but can either instantly download the collection or purchase the paperback dedicated to you or as a present! We hope you enjoy this story…

She’d Expected A Whooshing Sound

No one believed Izzy when she talked about the old man. She’d cried wolf too often, told people about her imaginary friends. This time he wasn’t so imaginary.

The Johnson family had moved into the Old Post Office a fortnight before Izzy had started seeing the old man. Him rushing from room to room, turning his head left to right, right to left, as if watching a tennis match. Izzy loved tennis. Her Uncle Frank had taken her to Wimbledon the previous summer but now that was a distant memory.

The house was cold, old and Izzy missed their place back in Weybridge; the rambling vicarage that had gone with Daddy’s job except Daddy no longer went to church – none of them did.

Izzy was sitting on her bed playing with Ruby Rabbit when the old man ran from the bathroom to the back bedroom, the spare bedroom that was still piled with boxes.

The man came out just as quickly, and disappeared into her parents’ bedroom.

One thing that surprised Izzy about him was the silence. She’d expected a ‘whooshing’ sound as he ran. Everyone makes a ‘whoosh’ when they’re in a hurry although she didn’t think anyone was as rushed as the old man.

It wasn’t long before he came out of her parents’ room and headed for hers. He’d just reached the threshold when he spotted Izzy and screamed. A noiseless scream which Izzy knew should have been loud, as loud as Mummy when she sees a spider, shuts the door to it and waits for Izzy’s daddy to come home.

“Hello,” Izzy said calmly. The man stopped screaming. It was then that she noticed something in his left hand.

“What’s that?” she asked. He held it out to her and she went to look closer, to take it, but he pulled it back, held it to his chest.

Izzy could just about make out a figure; a woman about the same age as her mother, but old-fashioned, wearing clothes like her grandmother used to wear.

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Word Count Wednesday

Yes, it’s that time of the week again. How have you been getting on?

I have a zero word count this week as Caroline and I have been busy getting my thirteenth title, the third in the Writer’s Block Workbooks series, ready and I’m delighted to say that it’s available… woo hoo! It’s available pretty much everywhere (click the link above for details).

Also Caroline’s been revamping my covers (aren’t they fab!) as well as getting all the paperbacks uniformed. Exciting times.

Do leave a comment below to share your progress, successes and otherwise, and of course anything else that’s happened to you, writing wise, over the past seven days.

For more information About Me as an Author, Mentor, Speaker and my Fiction, Non-fiction, and you can sign up to my Newsletter.

Sunday short short story: A Glint Of Gold by Morgen Bailey

Posted every Sunday, the following piece of flash fiction is from Morgen’s shorter short story collection, FLASHES,  available in e-book from Morgen’s online store where you not only get the best price but can either instantly download the collection or purchase the paperback dedicated to you or as a present! We hope you enjoy this story…

A Glint Of Gold

Johal’s heart sank as he looked at the statement on the bank’s ATM screen.

His holiday to Goa had taken more out of both him and his savings than he’d expected.

His next stop was to have been Tesco for a bag of ice but now he decided to go to the pound shop and buy some plastic trays instead.

As he walked home he passed the antique shop and stared at the window.

Few items were priced and he could see why. A glint of gold caught his eye and he grinned as he spotted a familiar item; a small Indian elephant lead by a man in national costume.

As Johal took a mouthful of water, the elephant’s price tag made him cough… if this baby was worth £1,000 what was his adult version at home worth?

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Word Count Wednesday

Yes, it’s that time of the week again. How have you been getting on?

I’ve written approximately 12,300 words this past week (last Wednesday to last night), all in addition to the 3,000(ish) from last week and all for my third Writer’s Block Workbook… which is now finished and with my assistant/editor/cover designer, Caroline. This will be my lucky book number 13 and I’m already on number 14!

Do leave a comment below to share your progress, successes and otherwise, and of course anything else that’s happened to you, writing wise, over the past seven days.

For more information About Me as an Author, Mentor, Speaker and my Fiction, Non-fiction, and you can sign up to my Newsletter.

Sunday short short story: Everything That Doesn’t Remind You Of Him by Morgen Bailey

Posted every Sunday, the following piece of flash fiction is from Morgen’s shorter short story collection, FLASHES,  available in e-book from Morgen’s online store where you not only get the best price but can either instantly download the collection or purchase the paperback dedicated to you or as a present! We hope you enjoy this story…

Everything That Doesn’t Remind You Of Him

You can’t remember it being this eerie. Brighter in the estate agent’s brochure, but then the house was full of someone else’s belongings, a young couple. New baby. Outgrown their love nest.

Your love nest died with Nick. No breadwinner to pay the bills, you took a part-time job, then full-time but it still wasn’t enough so you’d down-sized when it had become apparent that you’d not cope… coping was the last thing you’d wanted to do, but you did it for Nick, or the memory of him.

He was the one who held it all together, took you in his arms when he saw the tears forming, his large brown eyes melting your heart every time.

It had surprised you when you’d opened the door to the two policemen that you’d not cried then – you didn’t in front of strangers, even at the cinema with a sad movie. This was the strength you’ve been wearing ever since.

Looking around the shell of each room, the piles of boxes with their names in black letter; lounge, kitchen, bedroom, you wonder if this is where you’ll spend the rest of your life, in a little old house surrounded by everything that doesn’t remind you of him.

“If anything should happen,” he’d said, as if he’d known, “move on, meet someone else.” But you’d known him since school and couldn’t imagine anyone else’s arms around you, although you know Ted at work has a soft spot for you.

You put on the kettle and start opening boxes. The kitchen is easy, so you start with that. One cupboard’s already full when the kettle clicks off and you make yourself a cup of tea. You always have, even Nick could never get it how you like it; little tea, little milk, little sugar. Weak on the outside, strong underneath – that’s what he’d said, knowing he meant you.

And now you are, you have to be, and as you look at the next box you take a deep breath and pull open the flaps.

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