Tag Archives: Childhood Memories

Friday Fictioneers – Unwanted Attention

ff150217Susie woke with a start. It wasn’t the first time,  and for sure, wouldn’t be the last.

‘She’s my daughter, my kid, mine, mine!’

The defiant words of her father as he was dragged away remained as fresh as ever. The smell of stale beer and nicotine somehow still in her nostrils. She’d never forget the pain he caused her. The pain which will stay with her forever, even in sleep.

From the cot below the window, her own daughter gurgled and threatened to cry before falling silent once more. Beside her Jimmy snored. Outside another dawn began to break.

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These words form this my entry into this week’s Friday Fictioneers photo prompt challenge.  

Friday Fictioneers – Movie Memories

ff281216Every Saturday morning my brother and I would cycle down to the movie theatre on the corner of Mullen St. No matter the weather, no matter what was playing, we’d be there. For two hours each week we would leave behind our small hometown and travel to places we’d only ever read about, perhaps even to the distant reaches of outer space. The stars on that flickering screen were our heroes. One by one those heroes are leaving us. Yet the moments of joy and wonder they provided at that theatre on the corner of Mullen St will remain forever.

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My final Friday Fictioneers story of 2016 takes the form of a small tribute to those childhood icons who have passed in recent days, weeks and months. May they all rest in peace. 

Friday Fictioneers – Family Eviction

ff301116Colin lives in a tent at the bottom of his mother’s garden – down there between the gnarly old fir and the stream. It may not seem like much of a home, but to Colin it’s his sanctuary. His place away from the darkness and the doubts. He couldn’t live anywhere else,  not now.

Colin is 59 and his mother passed last month. Colin’s older sister inherited the family home and wants him gone. Colin and his siblings drifted apart after what happened with their father. His mother though continued to love him as only a mother could. Colin is lost and scared without her.

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These words form my entry into this week’s Friday Fictioneers photo prompt challenge.

Friday Fictioneers – Home Alone

ff270313A distant dog howled as a single yellow searchlight passed slowly across the room where we huddled in silence. Outside, the wind continued to shriek. Heavy raindrops crashed against the cottage’s misted window panes. Inside, only one sound, the gentle hiss of a gas lamp above the dusty stone mantle.

“When will father be back?” my sister whispered.

Our Mother’s face was drawn and worn. The empty look in her tear-stained eyes revealed the truth, even if her words remained defiant.

“Soon, child, soon – now sleep.”

A stooping shadow scurried past the window. An impatient knock sounded at the door.

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These words form my entry into Friday Fictioneers photo prompt challenge.

This is a much more open-ended piece that I would normally write. However, it’s the scene which came into my mind, so it’s what I wrote. Hopefully you can find your own ending.

Friday Fictioneers – A Pupil’s Sorrow

I started piano lessons at Miss Shawbridge’s place when I was eight. I always hated them, even though I never disliked her. It was the house which creeped me out, it smelled of death, everything just looked old. They stopped me going to see Miss Shawbridge when I was 13.

I saw her the other week, Alice Shawbridge. I hadn’t seen her in almost eleven years. Despite what I did to her that afternoon she still bears no malice. She’s forgiven me and wishes me no ill, she says. The thing is, I’m not sure I’ll ever forgive myself.

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These words form my entry into Friday Fictioneers photo prompt challenge.

It’s an old prompt, but a new story. No re-treads on here!

Sunday Photo Fiction – Next in Line

160-06-june-12th-2016Three red lights shimmered in the summer haze. The cars on the start line continued to rev, golden licks of flame shooting from the silver and black exhausts. One by one the lights went dark. Both cars screeched  from the start, flame and smoke trails in their wake. Before you could wipe the heat and dust from your eyes it was over. Dad had won again.

‘Well, he’s only gone and done it, Brad.’ I turned towards my little brother, but he himself was already turned away – lost in his own world. Brad had never really shown much interest in racing; he’d never really shown much interest in most of the things our family was known for in the county. I though loved all of it: the cars, the competition, the noise, the excitement. But I was a girl and girl’s don’t race.

The fans in the stands cheered as this year’s champion made his way back towards the pits. In a few years  Brad would be expected to take over the family concern – expected to become the next champion to raise the family name high.  I knew that wasn’t going to happen. Dad would be heartbroken, but in time I hoped he’d understand.

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Other entries for SPF can be found here.

Friday Fictioneers – The Beast in the Bottle

ff160414We always knew when Daddy had been drinking. His key would rattle around in the lock until it almost broke – his dinner lying cold and uneaten on the table. We’d hear him cursing; we’d see our mother frowning.

‘Off to bed, children, now,’ she would tell us.

I always went without hesitating. I hated it when Daddy drunk. I’d stay hidden underneath the covers until the house went quiet.

Our mother couldn’t hide from him. She had to put up with Daddy through all of his moods. Yet, her smile remained just as bright the next morning, no matter the bruises.

friday-fictioneers

These words form my entry into Friday Fictioneers photo prompt challenge.

It’s an old prompt, but a new story. No re-treads on here!

Friday Fictioneers – The Trainspotter

ff021215Our apartment was at the end of the Blue Line. Through my bedroom window I used to watch, hoping to see father arriving home on the first down-service each morning. Mother said he was a barman in the city: by night he served sparkling cocktails to big shots, during the day he slept. We never had much, but we never went short, and father always told us such great stories.

The Blue Line now terminates three stops back up the line at Farrow and Main; the track bed lies overgrown and abandoned. But my memories of those times  remain as colourful as the days they were made.

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These words form my entry into Friday Fictioneers photo prompt challenge.

(Apologies to CEAyr, no jokes again this week. I will try and raise a titter before Christmas, if I can.)

Friday Fictioneers – Little Girls’ Dreams

ff111115Beneath the snow-white veil, in a place where only those who knew to look would find, Carrie’s joy remained laced with painful sadness.

This was always meant to have been their moment, a moment they had been planning since back in the second grade. Their weddings were to be on the same day, at the same time, in the same church – this church. Carrie and her sister would walk down the aisle, and into marriage, together.

Yet, today as the bells rang out over the village, Carrie made that walk alone. Her beloved sister forever in all of our hearts.

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These words form my entry into Friday Fictioneers photo prompt challenge.

Friday Fictioneers – Land Grab

ff101214A sign hung loosely from the rusty gatepost.

‘Keep Out or Die!’ it screamed, each letter glistened a sticky red – likely written using her own blood.

The bushes on the other side of the bridge trembled; branches snapped and cracked under less-than-dainty footsteps. A set of sharp, blue eyes suddenly appeared, peering out through the foliage of thick, green undergrowth. She was watching; readying her defences.

Even though she was my sister, and nearly nine, there was three of us and the invasion was set for noon – a new King of the Island was soon to be crowned.
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These words form my entry into this week’s Friday Fictioneers photo prompt challenge.

Friday Fictioneers – Road to Nowhere

ff051114Jake’s family had one of them boneyards – ‘Mini-Mojave‘ they called it. But instead of tired, old planes theirs was full-to-bursting with rusting convertibles, roofless station wagons and so much more.

We’d spend whole summers down there. Whether behind the wheel of a Alaskan snow plough – shorn of its plough – or putting the gas down on a engineless, 100 seater Greyhound, it was our own special place.

It was in the Greyhound they found Jake – his brother said his heart hadn’t been strong enough. He always was a sick looking kid.

I can’t pass one of those yards now without remembering Jake’s smile.

He was my best friend.

friday-fictioneers

These words form my entry into this week’s Friday Fictioneers photo prompt challenge.