Free Read: 350 Word Flash Fiction, Daisy Won 2nd Prize

My 350 word Flash Fiction Daisy won 2nd Prize at Watford Writers.

 

 

Daisy

 

Jack stared at the cheque. If the court verdict resulted in no other couple suffering as they had, it was more important than the money.

He reached into the inner pocket of his jacket, and took out a pair of tiny socks with lace-edged frills. The ones Daisy had worn when they had rushed her to outpatients at the weekend.

“Nothing serious,” the intern said.

Frightened, they gave Daisy her medicine, cooled her with damp flannels, and then, panic stricken, took her to the surgery.

A year ago they had looked forward to Daisy’s first white Christmas. Instead of celebrating it they watched snow gently settle on her tiny satin-lined coffin.

Their grief-stricken parents and other relatives rallied to help them. Fair weather friends avoided them, not knowing what to say.

Counselling helped to break free of their individual prison cells of sorrow, and to communicate with each other. It also gave Jack the courage to insist Emily visited her parents to be cossetted.

Alone in the house, where the memory of Daisy’s chuckles echoed, Jack had packed her clothes and toys. If his heart had been brutally ripped out, surely the pain could not have been worse. 

Tears filled his eyes. His arms ached to recapture the past. Another baby could never replace Daisy, but he or she would have a unique place filled with his love.

Jack sighed. Once, when he was a small boy he played with his sister’s doll and pushchair.

“What are you doing?” his mother had asked.

Even at that age he realised she was surprised.

“I’m pretending to be a daddy,” he replied.

He had always looked forward to bringing up his children, but now it was up to his wife.

Emily arrived as softly as one of the snowflakes falling outside.

For fear of upsetting her, he quickly returned the socks to his pocket.

She kissed his cheek. “I’m ready.”

“For what?” He hoped she would say what he longed to hear.

“Another baby.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’ve never been more certain.”

A year later, Poppy joined Daisy in his heart forever.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Touching Base

I'm have returned to social media after two months during which I have been very productive. I finished the third of my days of the week series, Tuesday's Child and have nearly finished editing and revising it with the online critique group that I am a member of. Two of my Flash Fiction stories won second prizes at the Watford Writers, the group I belong to, and I've written a short story for a weekly woman's magazine. I also double checked the spelling and grammar in my mediaeval novel set in the reign of Edward II. Phew! And now it's nearly time to write a competition entry, a short story and begin a new novel, as well as getting on in my garden in which I grow, fruit, herbs, ornamentals and vegetables.

All the best,

Rosemary Morris

Multi Published Historical Novelist

http://www.rosemarymorris.co.uk

 

Free Prize Winning Flash Fiction Short Story

Watford Writers invited members to submit a Flash Fiction 350 word Valentine's Day story. I'm delighted to have won second prize for Unchained Love. I hope you enjoy it. Your comments will be very welcome.

Unchained Love

 

The consultant broke the news. “I’m very sorry to tell you both that Paul only has two months to live.”

He and I packed as much as possible into December and January. His last birthday celebrated at a restaurant, although he could eat little. Christmas, at our daughter’s house. My final goodbye at the graveside.

February brought slate grey skies and curtains of rain. Valentine’s Day approached. No cards or flowers for me this year

The shop is filled with heart-shaped balloons. Invitations to Be My Valentine. Cards ornamented with glitter, beads and ribbons are filled with romantic messages, and decorated with roses or cupids with bows in hand ready to shoot arrows.

I splash my way to Paul’s tombstone where I prop my card, wrapped in cling film. The rain washes away my tears, but can’t kill the powerful fragrance of red roses. It pierces my heart. I arrange the flowers in a vase and place them on the marble slab. God, please bless, my darling. One day, may we be reunited?

I trudge between graves, on some of which are sodden teddy bears. So much loss. My own threatens to overwhelm me. I want to run back to Paul’s last resting place and fling myself onto it. To tell him life is unbearable without him. Instead I catch the bus to the house we shared, every part of which brings poignant memories. Oh, we weren’t the perfect couple. Sometimes we had arguments, but they couldn’t have been important because I can’t remember what they were about.

I answer a knock on the front door. My next door neighbour holds out red roses. She smiles but looks curiously at me. “These came for you while you were out.”

Who on earth could they be from?

Alone, I read the card that nestled in the heart of the bouquet.

“My love, you filled my life with joy. Although I’ve left you, for my sake, please fill yours with happiness.”

I don’t know if I can ever again be happy, but day by day, for Paul’s sake, I shall try.

Graddaughter, Bribery, Gambados

I bribed my granddaughter to be good, not only with me, with a promise to take her to Gambados, an indoor play area. Earlier in the week, I promised to take her on Sunday because my daughter said she had behaved well throughout the Easter holiday. She was so excited that she told the plumber, the postman and everyone else she came into contact with: "My grandma's taking me to Gambados."


So, yesterday, with cucumber and cheese sandwiches, shortbread topped with chocolate, and small cartons of apple juice for lunch, she had her reward, and I deserve wings and a halo. Gambados is an indoor children's play area. The music turned up to full volume, excited children's chatter etc., and adult conversation conducted loudly in order to be heard is deafening.


My five year-old granddaughter's enthusiasm and happiness made the visit worth while although my wings and halo haven't appeared. From 10 30 a.m. when we arrived until we left at 12.45 she did not stop smiling. She climbed up the platforms to the overhead area with tunnels and other challenges, drove bumper cars making three point turns and reversing with expertise, hurtled down a long slide as well as riding a horse on the fairground style carousel.


She loved our visit so much that I've promised to take her again if she continues to be good.


I took her home, and then, for an end of the holidays treat, we went to our favourite vegetarian Indian restaurant, Sakonis, in Harrow.


Full to the brim with good food, we went home and I dashed down to Asda to buy some Schlur and nibbles to contribute to Watford Writers official change of venue from Cha Café to Oddfellows Hall.

Watford Writers

Watford Writers, the group, which I belong to, has moved from Cha Café in Cassio Park to Oddfellows in Watford, Hertfordshire.




We met there for the first time yesterday to offer constructive critiques on whatever members chose to share. As usual I am amazed by the talent of published and unpublished writers and enjoy the get togethers with an opportunity to chat during the tea break.




Anyone who would like to join this friendly, vibrant group and receive good advice and be sure of a warm welcome.

Pothole

Late yesterday evening, coming home from Watford Writers my car bumped hard over something and then the weird noises started. I was too frightened to stop the car, crossed my fingers and hoped I would reach home safely. Parked outside my house I couldn't see what the problem was. I lay awake dozing and worrying about the car. In the morning I realised one of the tyres was punctured, probably due to a pothole which I couldn't see in the dark. I called the AA, The mechanic arrived, removed the punctured tyre and replaced it with the spare tyre. I then bought a new tyre. Phew! Problem solved. It really is worthwhile belonging to the AA.

Flash Fiction and Violet Large

The topic for flash fiction at Watford Writers for this evening is Sharks. Violet Large often sends me junk mail. I took time off from researching and writing my novel to write a 350 word flash fiction story called Angel in Heaven. The big fish enjoyed being in a big pond offering protection and earning enough to look after Mum, buy a large house and send the kids to public school. The angel in heaven is Mum who was a regular church goer. The big fish goes to confession regularly to keep in with Him Up There and receives absolution. At the end of the piece the police arrive at the house to arrest Violet Large. I was pleased with my effort and prepared to print it. In spite of saving it on the lap top in desktop and a word document as well as saving on the usb key it had vanished. I tried to find it in the recycle bin and everywhere else I could think of without success. I could swear.

Cassiobury The Ancient Seat of the Earls of Essex

On Monday evening, at Café Cha Cha, in Cassiobury Park, I attended an interesting talk by Paul Rabbits, Head of Parks and Open Spaces for Watford Borough Council and Sarah Kerenza Priestly, Heritage and Arts Manager of Watford Museum.

The subject of the talk was Cassiobury, The Ancient Seat of the Earls of Essex.

"In 1916 the 7th Earl of Essex, aged only fifty-eight, died after being run down by a taxi. Six years later, his widow and his heir, the 8th Earl, put the house and the park up for sale."

Today, Cassiobury Park, is a 300 hectare site twice the size of Hyde Park. It is much loved by local people.

I have been considering setting a novel in or around Cassiobury House for a long time, so I was delighted by the talk, and am looking forward to reading Peter Rabbits and Sarah Kerenza Priestley's beautifully illustrated book Cassiobury The Ancient Seat of the Earls of Essex published by Amberley Publishing, www.amberley-books.com.

L is for Line Editing

Before I begin a new chapter, I read through the previous one and tweak it prior to submitting it to an online historical critique group for constructive comments and suggestions. My 'critiquers' are kind enough to point out missing commas, awkward phrases and much more as well as letting me know what they like. After I apply whatever I agree with, I read chapters aloud at Watford Writers where I receive invaluable feedback,  including suggestions re editing.
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The hard work begins after I finish a novel. First of all, I highlight words I want to use sparingly, such as and,  was,  were,  had,  as, etc. I then look, for example , for   phrases  joined by and. Frequently, I divide sentences into two by deleting and, which makes my prose more concise.

I then use the spelling and grammar check to correct spelling mistakes and grammatical errors. Afterwards I check both the spelling and grammar when I re-read the entire novel.

I make sure that I have not either repeated any words frequently or used the same word too close together.

For example: in the sequel to Sunday's Child, Monday's Child I wrote the following:-

"Appreciative of his well-schooled, black gelding, Langley mounted and settled on the saddle. He patted the powerful animal’s glossy neck.

A wagon pulled by powerful Flemish horses approached from the opposite direction."

When writing I was concentrating on the story, when editing I replaced ' the powerful Flemish horses' with 'the strong Flemish horses.'

I remove clichés, unless a character uses them in dialogue - but I still use them sparingly - get rid of anything trite and make sure my metaphors read well.

I also rewrite sentences and sometimes move a scene from one part of the novel to another.

Finally, prior to submission, I check the novel by reading it aloud bit by bit because if I read too much at a time my concentration wavers.

Flash Fiction

No time to blog yesterday, after a busy weekend, and, yesterday, lunch at an Indonesian restaurant to celebrate my daughter's birthday, followed by this that and the other in the house and garden in the afternoon before going to Watford Writers in the evening.

Watford Writers had chosen the theme Shadows for a 300 word flash fiction competition. I wrote one that began: Only one thing in this material world is certain, we come into it and we leave it. To be honest, I don't have the time to devote to this difficult form of writing, but writing outside my usual box is challenging so I participated.

The authors of the winning stories deserved their prizes but I should imagine the marks awarded to the 16 stories were close.

I am very impressed by the varied plots, themes and originality in each short piece of flash fiction.