I have been a little remiss of late in writing. Halfway through two books and editing of yet another, with my illness lingering over me like the sword of Damocles I have not had the urge to write.
However I have been given quite a few nudges by my Facebook Page. telling me that my readers have not heard from me for some time. That is true, unfortunately but when you are feeling sorry for yourself and you tire quickly the love and joy of writing somehow escapes you.
Now I have tried to keep up with my online writing group called “Out of Africa”. Now I don’t know why we are called that as I am a relatively newish member of the grop, but we have people all over the world who participate, purely for the joy of writing. Every two weeks the co-ordinator of the group, Margherita, sends out a line taken from a novel or story that she has read or knows about and we are asked to submit something using this line. Margherita is a genius at finding interesting first lines to get our brains working and each fortnight she comes up with something amazing.
I love it! It is so challenging to come up with something based on this line so that whilst all my other writing has gone to pot I have tried to keep up with this group. Everyone reads everyone else’s work and then comments to the person who wrote it on how they enjoyed or did not the piece. Quite honestly the comments are invariably positive and encouraging and the variety of work that emanates from these first lines are amazing. We each create our own stories from these first lines and never are their stories that are like the others.
So to make up for my laziness I am giving you a taste of some of the things I have written about, and unfortunately I see that most of these revolve about death and dying, albeit I hope in some cases seeing the funny side of life
I hope you enjoy these offerings. Once I am back in writing mode I shall bring you more.
The words in bold are the lines given for particular assignments.
Even though Rose wasn’t the spiritual type
she wanted to find her long lost love. The last she had heard was that he had died in a nursing home but where or when she had never established. Peter had been the only man she had ever loved and when she could not have him, she decided that she would never marry.
This had left her ‘on the shelf’ so to speak. Peter had been, to use an old fashioned word “betrothed” to Ellen when she met him. She was one of those itinerant secretaries working for an agency and when she had taken on an assignment at The Ministry of Economics she had walked into his office on that first day and been smitten by his smouldering charcoal eyes and his beautiful Adonis like frame which reached up to the heavens.
At first they had started out casually, summing each other up. Peter would come to say that Rose was the best secretary he had ever had. She seemed to anticipate his requirements, and her typing speed left him quite in awe. But what attracted him to her most of all was her elegant legs which he used to say “went right up to her bottom like a staircase to heaven.’
At first they had flirted during dictation sessions, innocuously Rose had thought. Peter was quite open about his fiancée Ellen. But as their passion assumed a more sophisticated level shall we say, he began to think that Ellen would never match up to Rose in the red hot lover scenario. However, as much as he agonised over it Peter could not break up with Ellen as he did not want to break her heart.
Rose imagined that in time it would change and that Peter would finally be hers. This was not to be. The date for the wedding came and whilst apologising to Rose, Peter went through with the nuptials. Ellen knew about Rose who had now become a permanent feature on their horizon as she had now joined Peter’s office permanently. Ellen would pop in to discuss their wedding plans and Rose would be as helpful as she could. Rose secretly hoped Peter would learn the error of his ways. Ten years later Rose realised this would never happen. For all his philandering, Peter did not want to break Ellen’s heart.
By now there were two children, Peter Junior and Elizabeth. They regarded Rose as another aunt who often visited and babysat. When Rose asked Peter one day during their stolen afternoon in her apartment when he was going to make an honest woman of her, and also tell Ellen the truth, he admitted he never could, especially as he did not want the children to have a broken home.
He accepted full responsibility for the fact that he was amiss in not dealing with this matter of torn love all those years ago, but now it was too late.
Rose then did the sensible thing. She handed in her notice and moved away. Ellen, blissfully ignorant of this, continued to correspond with Rose, telling her of the children’s progress through school and college. And she filled Rose in on all that Peter was achieving.
Then one day Rose received a message from Ellen to say Peter had died of lung cancer. Rose felt grief so great she could not explain it to anybody. She had never told a soul about the long lasting affair she was having with this married man, this paragon of virtue. So she suffered alone.
Now, however, she thought perhaps she could turn to the spirits to unite them. What she and Peter had enjoyed had been so special.
She went along to the spiritualist church near her but that was not what she wanted. She wanted to continue her affair with Peter beyond the grave. Eventually she found a spirit healer who told her about her broken spirit and how it should be mended. Rose believed her totally.
For whilst expecting censure from this person who could reach beyond the grav, she found instead an empathetic soul called Hazel who was very eager to help her in her quest. They had a seance in the very flat where she and Peter had had shared their passion.
The setting was perfect and they called upon the spirits to help them in their search for the soul of Peter beyond the earthly realms.
Finally when Peter appeared and Rose, she was shocked. Instead of the Adonis of before she found herself facing a shadowy stooped figure with a hacking cough. He explained that he had died of emphysema and lung cancer. He was no longer the man of her dreams. When she said something about it, “My how you have changed,” were her words, he spluttered and hacked out spittal as he said, “I do remember you, vaguely. Didn’t you have those legs, they reached for the star?” But he then said, “But they ain’t what they used to be sister.” Rose was mortified.
With that he disappeared into the ether. Rose cried. Hazel offered tissues. This had been one of her less than successful sorties into the spiritual world. Having had this experience Rose swore off the world beyond this one and decided that the spiritual world was not what she had expected.
THE END
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“She wasn’t ready to face the memories yet.”
She was far too raw for that. Every time she thought of him she started shaking uncontrollably. Mimi had told her it would take a long time to get over it all, but she hadn’t thought that the memories would turn her into a jabbering wreck. His involvement with her had been of so short a duration that it was taking up a disproportionate part of her life. Why couldn’t she just get over it and forget?
She was finding it difficult just to take her mind back to that day. But as she sat at the beach, it all flooded back into her mind so that despite the lovely balmy breeze blowing over her, she felt a sense of fear and began shaking all over again. Would it ever go away?
She could see him now, out on the waves, enjoying the freedom of his surfboard. There were others out there with him that day. They had a regular get-together at the beach. They were buddies of old, going back to their teenage years.
Lily had met him down on the beach, when they were teenagers. She had never been as proficient as he was on the board, but she had been good enough to catch his eye and he had shown her a few more tricks that had earned her the respect of some of the regulars. It had been enough to bring her into their circle and they had enjoyed each other’s company.
A few years later they had become an ‘item’ and only had eyes for each other. This had led to marriage, and a happiness she had never thought possible. Jason had fulfilled all of her dreams.
When she fell pregnant a respectable year or two after their marriage, Jason had been overjoyed but also very protective of her.
“No boarding until after the birth” he had said. She had smiled and agreed. She didn’t want to do anything that may harm the precious life that was burgeoning inside of her.
She rubbed her stomach now, feeling the deep sorrow within her. She looked out to sea again the boarders still out there. Was the monster still out there too, she wondered. She wanted to warn the others not to venture out.
And then the flashback to that fatal day came. She looked out to sea and could see Jason out there as he lifted his arm to wave to her knowing that she was watching. Slowly it came back to her, that split second when the big black shape had lifted out of the water, and grabbed an unsuspecting Jason by the leg, dragging him from his board. She had watched in horror as he was dragged down beneath the waves. The links securing the board to his leg snapped and the board bounced up in the air and then took off on its own free of Jason. She remembered now the sea turning red. She remembered screaming and then nothing more.
Some time later, she could not recall what had happened. She awoke to find herself in hospital. She felt down to her stomach. It was flat. The baby? What had happened to the baby. And then she remembered, Jason…. Oh what had happened?
She opened her eyes properly to see a nurse hovering at the end of her bed.
The nurse came up to her as she said “My husband, Jason. The baby?”
The nurse took her hand. :I am so, so sorry. Your husband was attacked by a shark, they never found his remains.”
She could not take it in. No, not Jason. It couldn’t have happened. Tears trickled down her face. She remembered then, at least she would still have a part of him in the baby?”
“My baby? Where is it? I want to see her or him? Where have you taken my baby?”
The nurse held her hand tightly, and closing her eyes said, “I am so sorry. The shock was too much, the baby aborted spontaneously right there on the beach.”
Lily thought now as she sat on the beach. What point was there to life? The sea had claimed both Jason and their baby. Mimi was a good psychologist, but she had not endured what Lily had.
Lily saw no reason to go on alone. She had nothing left. So she took herself to the surf’s edge. She looked around. Somewhere out there were the memories. If that was all she had left then she was going to take them with her. She stepped forward and walked until the waves took over and she swam a little, then she let the sea do what it had to do. She knew she would never be ready to face the memories without them.
THE END
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The waiting room was small,
although comfortably furnished a smallish padded sofa on one side, and an open fire place on the other. Two more biggish armchairs, looked so comfortable that you would not want to get out, filled another wall next to a doorway. Hazel presumed it led into an office.
There were a number of tall plant stands, each of which bore an elaborate arrangement of flowers. Hazel looked around, as she clutched Jeremy’s hand. She had never been in a funeral parlour before. Her mother’s demise had happened suddenly at the age of 92. She could not remember her father’s passing as he had died when she was a little girl. At the time children didn’t attend funerals. It was thought that children should be kept away from such happenings. Now, as she brought her day-dreaming back to the waiting room once more, she noticed that there were no windows to the room, although the air inside was perfumed with the heady sweet fragrance of the beautiful flowers.
The receptionist in the outer room, had ushered them in here. Her office had looked out onto a lovely garden, Hazel wondered if it would not have been better to put the clients there. But who was she to judge? Marcia, as the young lady called herself, had said Mr. Derwent would be with them shortly.
Jeremy let go of Hazel’s hand and took a seat on the sofa and patted it for Hazel to sit down, as he buried his head in one of the magazines from the low coffee table in the middle of the room.
She, however, was walking around the room with measured steps, stopping occasionally to look the flower arrangements. Beneath each one was a card denoting the florist who had created it, whilst indicating that if one wanted flowers for a funeral one could contact them. Hazel was amazed at the designs and also the combinations of flowers. She remembered reading a book about the meaning of flowers and whilst these arrangements were quite delightful to behold the florists had not given a thought to the meaning behind the blooms.
Hazel wondered how many people who visited here would know that the hidden meanings behind each flower had only come to England in the late 1700s. It was as the wife of an English ambassador to Turkey, that Lady May Wortley Montague, she had learnt how particular the Turks were about the choice of flowers for each and every occasion, as they attached great significance to the sentiment they conveyed to the recipient.. There was a secret code in the choice of flowers which brought specific messages from the donor. When Hazel learnt this she had gone on to research the meanings of these flowers, discovering how these meanings changed around the world both in the giving and receiving of floral tributes. It was a minefield of potential disaster. Giving an inappropriate floral attribute in another country could potentially have caused great offence. Customs differed almost as much as the variety of flowers grown.
“Jeremy,” Hazel said to Jeremy who was by now idly paging through a fresh copy of ‘The Daily News’, which he had found on the lower shelf of one of these flower stands, “Don’t you think these flowers are a bit odd?” He merely huffed, “Hmm!” and carried on reading. So she puffed out a soft breath through her teeth, as if to say ‘never mind’ and continued looking into the flowers to see if she could discern the messages conveyed in them.
She knew that red roses stood for love, and that some hospitals would not accept arrangements with red and white in them because they represented death. But this only held true for Europe as far as she knew. Maybe she could choose that for her Mum. Red and white roses sounded good, except they were so predictable and boring. The white roses represented spirituality. No, her Mum wasn’t a spiritual person. Never went to church after her Dad died. In fact Hazel always got the feeling her Mum was cross with God for leaving her a widow so young.
As Hazel looked further she noticed another work of art with peach carnations which indicated devotion and desire. Would that be suitable for her mother? She wasn’t sure. Perhaps she should have rather come with their daughter, Janet. Janet would be much more in tune with her than Jeremy was proving to be. Looking to the ethereal carnations she notice that intertwined were lilies and if she remembered correctly these lilies meant sophistication and love. Her mother had never been sophisticated. No, she had been rather more domesticated.
Stuck behind this arrangement was a potted plant bearing a magnificent orchid. Now that would be a lovely thing for her Mum. She could keep it forever, although she could not quite recall what orchids represented. She knew that if they had been in China it would have been most appropriate as potted plants were only given in cases of death and bereavement. Her friend Phyllis had learnt this when living in Hong Kong when she had asked a Chinese friend what kind of potted plant she could give to her dinner host. The Chinese friend had said, “Never give a potted plant to a hostess in China. It means death.” Phyllis had been mortified and glad that she had not put her foot in it that way.
Hazel was still mulling over the many customs associated with flowers when the funeral director walked in.
“Do you understand flowers Mr. Derwent?’ she asked after a round of polite handshaking with them had taken place.
“Do I understand flowers?” Mr. Derwent gave an embarrassed titter. “Can’t say I do” he replied. “Is there one?”
“Oh, most definitely.” Hazel turned back to the flowers. “Before we decide on anything else I must decide on the flowers. Spying a particularly modern arrangement with Peruvian Lilies on its pedestal on the far side of the room she said, “I think we will have Peruvian Lilies.”
“What ?” Jeremy asked. “Why are you discussing flowers when we have a funeral to arrange?” Mr. Derwent cleared his throat.
“Because we have to get it right,” Hazel insisted. “Peruvian Lilies signify devotion and friendship, both of which my mother had in abundance.”
Jeremy and Mr. Derwent looked at each other, Jeremy hunched his shoulders and looked baffled, whilst Mr. Derwent put on a sympathetic half smile.
“As you like Mrs. Smith, shall we discuss this further in my office then?” Derwent said.
Hazel followed him through to the inner office with a look of self-satisfaction.. Now he would know he was dealing with a woman who was an authority on these things. He would not be inclined to fob her off with just anything. Things had to be right. After all it was for her mother, and she was her mother’s daughter. They knew about these things.
THE END
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How on earth could I have let them talk me into
having my feet tied together to do a bungy jump? I must have been mad. No, let’s be honest here after a couple of glasses of wine I can sometimes be misled into doing all kinds of stupid things. But this surely took the biscuit.
I think at the moment when I realised that our weekend away in the wilderness was not ‘just a weekend away in the wilderness’, I turned to Jason who was laughing like a hyena, all teeth and guffaws.
“How could you let me do that Jason? You of all people should know I am not just scared of heights, I am paranoid about them.
He turned down his mouth and shrugged and then turned away and I could see from his heaving shoulders that he was silently laughing even more. Damn that man.
“If I had known what a rotter you were, I would never have agreed to marry you.”
“Come on Casey,” Ingrid said “It’s not that bad. Honestly, Jason tried to stop you.”
I glared at her. I had known Ingrid all my life. We had been to school together. We had been at college together, and we had been bridesmaids to each other. Now she too was stabbing me in the back.
I tried to see if I could garner any sympathy from Alex her husband or Alex’s brother Troye and her sister-in-law Andrea, but they were all far too busy fiddling with the rucksacks to take notice of my fear.
“I’m not going to do it.” I said stubbornly. “You can’t make me.”
“Oh really Casey what’s the big deal? They strap you up so firmly even your mother couldn’t do it better.” Ingrid had a steely note in her voice.
“Rubbish, and leave my mother out of this. She would definitely not approve of you lot sending me to my death in this inglorious way.”
Jason stood up and turned back to face me, “Honey, I bet your mother would go along with you and hold your hand “
The rest of the group tittered and sniggered.”
“Well, I am sorry I don’t remember saying I’d do this,” I countered with a pout.
“Would I lie to you?” Jason asked. “We were playing darts at that pub, and you had how many glasses of wine?”
“I don’t remember” I couldn’t tell him that it was far more than normal, but I had been thirsty and it had been hot and I hadn’t had anything to eat since breakfast on that day so that it all contributed to a slightly inebriated me. Not that I would ever have admitted it to this group. They all normally depended on me to do the driving as I was the sober one, the one who never went over the limit.
“Honey,” Jason continued. I hated it when he called me honey because it was usually to tell me I was making a fool of myself.
“Well?” I glowered at him. He was supposed to stand by me and he wasn’t
“Casey,” Ingrid interrupted. When you decided to take us all on you were the one who said if you lost to us then you would go bungy jumping with us. So you lost fair and square and now it’s time to make good on your word.”
Looking at their faces each one chortling and pretending they weren’t, making a mockery of me, I bravely said to them “Bring it on.” Meantime I was quaking in my boots. I suppose I had to die one way or another and then they would have it on their consciences that they had killed me. Did that constitute murder I wondered?
By the time we got to the place where I was to meet my doom, I was a nervous wreck. I had chewed my fingernails down to the quick. I had taken a couple of anti-diarrhoea tablets because I didn’t want to soil my trousers on top of everything. The addition of a hard hat did nothing to dispel my fear.
I was in a total physical and mental wreck. Jason said he would hold my hand right to the end of the platform. I was so cross with him that I rejected his offer, and hopped out onto the edge of the platform with the people in charge holding my arms.
I didn’t dare look over the edge I would probably have fainted. I heard them counting down, and felt as though my life had already ended. As they all shouted “Go”. I took a leap in to the abyss. The wind rushed past my ears, I kept my hands folded across my chest, waiting for my head to be battered against an outcrop of rock, then suddenly my legs straightened and there was a pull on the rope. Suddenly the free fall turned into a pendulum swing, fast at first and then slower. I felt somebody grab the rope, and I opened my eyes. A guy looked into my eyes, but he seemed to be upside down.
“Well done.” He said to me. “You did it.”
“I did?”
“You did,” and as he gently lifted me down and loosened the ankle straps I looked up to see the other five standing and waving. That would teach them to take advantage of me when I wasn’t in my right mind. Wait till I had my turn of making them do something they were terrified of. I had conquered my fear. Or had I? Would I do it again? Not blooming likely. But I would not give them the satisfaction of knowing that. It was my little secret.”
THE END
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