Another week, another rerun. Enjoy!
(Sorry, I put the wrong link on the InLinkz. I’ve fixed it now!)
This week’s rerun is a double billing for me; I wrote two stories for this prompt back in the day. Both are below, although if you’re short for time, feel free to just choose one! Original posts are here and here.
Washed up. That’s what he’d called them. Washed up.
Not shiny and clean. But like a body on a beach: the flotsam of life. That’s what her husband, Tom, had meant when she told him her plans. It’s too late to travel the world, Janine. We’re washed up.
Janine squeezed sand between her toes and watched the sun setting far out to sea. She took a sip on her pina colada and smiled.
If she was washed up, she was a pebble. Yes, buffeted by the waves, and the sand, and the journey, but only to make her more beautiful.
“Glad to see you, son. Couldn’t stand another minute of that clap-trap. Stinks being the only one really alive around here. Sharp as sausages, that lot.”
Andy had a soft spot for the Colonel’s grumbling; it made a change from the cheerful repetitions of many of the residents.
“Takes a certain sort of chap to engage with a mind like mine. They haven’t a clue. Might as well be addressing a wall as some of them.”
Andy pushed a cushion further down the old man’s crumbling spine as he walked past. The Colonel carried on his monologue to the rosebush.
This one’s not so old, just a little over two years, but it offers you two links – the story I wrote for Adam Ickes’ prompt photo, and the older story that picture reminded me of.
Once again, a chance to rerun an old story with the Friday Fictioneers this week. This one was actually one of my favourites, although not one I suggest to Rochelle for a do-over. My story is (was) here. Your feedback is always welcome … although not as much as your babysitting assistance would be 😉
Another repeat for me this week. This one from October 2012, when I appear to have been somewhat fixated on a male-female divide…
Or you can skip straight to the latest constellation, celebrating Fathers’ Day, and a quick update on their story.
Sunset in Departures (Genre: Romance)
He warms me like the sun. Until he leaves. And as I watch him go, it sinks out of sight leaving only a reflected glow. The sun will rise again tomorrow. I will be warm and he will return.
But, for now, there is no sun. Only the reflected rays of happiness: a photograph, a card, a bunch of flowers.
So it has been, every time. Except today. Because today he leaves the rest of his constellation. Reflections so strong, they are not moons, but new suns, equally bright.
His sons warm me like the sun. Until their father returns.