Tag Archives: childlessness

Friday Fiction – Preserving Beauty

Wow, FF hasn’t been this difficult for me in a long time. The picture from Danny Bowman is so bleak and yet stunning, I wanted to do it justice with my story, but the ideas clanked out slowly and the resulting first draft was much too long and pointless to be worth sharing. Sometimes, the muse just doesn’t want to get out of bed – I know how she feels!

But here, at last, it my offering. I hope it’s worth the wait.


Preserving Beauty

Marie nipped the flower from a crevice in the rock and into her book. She glanced around and sighed. In preserving beauty, she had crushed the volcano’s only hope of bearing life.

Tears blinded her as she stumbled back to the Observation Station. She and Louis had shared a hope once, but she too was barren wasteland.

“I ruin everything,” she sobbed.

“Another quake,” he whispered. “We need to evacuate.”

Blackness seeped into the crevice, scorching roots and stem as the research team retreated. Tucked away, the hope of the mountain survived: pollen caught in the leaves of a sketchbook.


Filed under Friday Fiction, Writing

Friday Fiction – Lonely Is Never Alone

It’s FF time again, and this week’s picture comes from the wonderful Janet Webb. Janet reads and comments on all the stories every week – I don’t know how she manages it, but it’s quite the feat. You can see Janet’s story at her blog, and the rest of her week’s reading at Rochelle’s HQ.

Technically, I’m not sure this is a story so much as an observation. Either way, I welcome your comments, as always.


Lonely Is Never Alone

Diana pushed her plate away: another microwave “Meals4One”. She’d resigned herself to the single life, but it still caught her, sitting at the dining table in her oversized flat. She’d imagined a husband, babies playing at her feet. Now the waters of menopause were rising and she paddled them alone.

Nextdoor, Nadia collected Aidan’s plate. When they were first married, he’d praised her cooking, now he took it for granted. She glanced at the other end of the table: empty chairs for the sons they would never have. Then she waded through her grief into the kitchen to wash up.


Filed under Friday Fiction, Writing