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As it’s February the theme this month is love. It needn’t be romantic. It can be of any sort – for a place, a piece of music, an animal – whatever you like that that provokes a feeling of love.
Max 400 words, deadline midnight Saturday 28th February.
LOVE
399 words
Isabel woke from her nap to be greeted by the sweet scent of freesias. Sunlight was flooding into the bedroom she now occupied in her daughter’s home. Isabel was very old and frail, but still mentally astute and the scent of the delicate flowers which she had always loved set off a raft of thoughts about love.
She associated freesias with love because they had been her flowers of choice for her wedding bouquet and headdress. These on her bedside table were golden yellow, just as those had been. Lydia was such a thoughtful person. Isabel was long widowed and missed the golden freesias her husband gave on their anniversaries.
She mused on how lucky she was to always have had a loving family around her since birth. That mutual love had sustained her through many of life’s troubles and bereavements and she knew it would do so until the end.
She had been an introspective child and suddenly remembered standing one evening looking up at the sky and wondering what was the purpose of life. An inner voice told her it was Love and she had kept this belief. Love was an important emotion in all its forms and Isabel liked the way the Ancient Greek Philosophers had so many words to describe it.
She considered now that Agape/Unconditional Love might be the most important when it came to family relationships and friendships. She giggled softly, reflecting that Eros/Romantic Love had felt the most important in those heady, early days of courtship and marriage.
Then came the deep maternal love as she held her firstborn in her arms after a lengthy labour.
‘I must lighten up’, she silently chided herself. ‘I don’t want Lydia coming in to find me crying.’ So she shuffled herself upright and began to think of all the things she had often said ‘I love…” about.
‘I love chocolate; my baby doll; our new puppy; reading; writing; swimming in the sea; gardening; walking…’ the list was endless, but the last three which entered her head reminded her that she could no longer participate in these activities and made her sad.
Just then, saving tears from flowing, Lydia entered her room with her medications.
She smiled and told her mother once more just how much she loved her before administering the drugs to make her more comfortable.
Isabel smiled contentedly.
A reminder of the monthly comp, as we’re over half way through February already.
Here’s the original post:
As it’s February the theme this month is love. It needn’t be romantic. It can be of any sort – for a place, a piece of music, an animal – whatever you like that that provokes a feeling of love.
Max 400 words, deadline midnight Saturday 28th February.
Snap* snippet as witnessed by Lucy from the steps of Leith’s Registry Office
Exceeds required word count and contains expletives, but best I can do this month
Then, hand in hand, another looking-to-be-wed couple arrived from the rear carpark. On foot and windblown. Well-matched in the scruffiness of their clothes. Even earlier for their ceremony than Luke had insisted they arrive for his! No doubt they’d factored in time to tidy themselves up. The bride’s long brown hair flew loose and uncombed as she laughed at the Celtic tinker’s attempts to re-wrap goose-pimpled arms in what looked like a blanket.
Luke had turned away to stare southwards, seeking his bride, but spun round dizzyingly fast when the bohemian girl spoke his name.
Lucy froze. This – she –was Luke’s wife-to-be?
And he so focused on her that he failed to see, as Lucy interestedly did, the smile on the face of the unshaven man accompanying her; the man she’d taken as groom, held more than a trace of self-congratulatory satisfaction.
Lucy had seen sexual desire in many guises on the face of Luke Darbyshere; from urgent need, prompted by a lack he had become unused to, to sun- and wine-melting, lazy, slow-paced weekday, why not? afternoons. Always good-mannered. And always, once she told him of the danger of consorting with her, understanding it a commercial transaction, despite no money ever changing hands.
He’d never made the mistake of loving her.
Which was exactly what she wanted. Too many men declared they loved her, when what they really wanted was possession. Exclusivity. Luke understood that. Which was why she’d never, before this morning, seen the different brand of desire, the heart-breakingly raw, gold-threaded, deep and abiding naked love he had on his face for the woman he was about to make his wife.
Same as the expression she’d fleetingly seen on Ed’s face, on the rare occasions he mentioned Annabel. Such emotion had never come her way, not even during the two years she and Ed lived together, in New York. When he could have had near-exclusivity. Had he ever asked.
Such was Luke’s relief at seeing Fran his conscience re-awoke to chide him. Had he really doubted her, to that extent? Christ what a fucking wanker! That she’d come with Ivo Kinnersley didn’t … no, he couldn’t deny his twitch of … wondering. Because Ivo the man who’d taken her virginity. Who named her Chess but who, she’d claimed, had never seen the tiny chessboard tattoo at the base of her spine. A man who’d twice faced – and twice escaped from – a charge of murder, and who now grasped her hand and led her up the steps towards him. Giving her away.
Had she been in Kinnersley’s bed every night she’d been absent from his? Dare he ask?
Yes … But not until after.
Because … because, he suspected, to the same extent, as she had read in his, there was surprise, a swift-concealed calculation in her eyes, on seeing Lucy by his side. He should have thought, she knowing of his past relationship with Lucy, she’d be as unwelcome a participant in their wedding ceremony as Ivo had been for him. Initially. He’d nothing against the man, despite his near-derailment of his plan to finally confess his love that August weekend. Fitting, even, that he should witness its culmination. Not that he, nor Lucy, had ever been intended to be part of this.
*Snap is not a Children’s game the title of my current, sloth-progressing wip
Amid the excitement of the annual Den Challenge there’s also the February monthly comp!! A reminder that there are two days left to enter. Max of 400 words on the theme of love.
Teabreak in love
Maureen Chapman. No, tell a lie, it was Chaplain, like a vicar. Her name, I mean—she wasn’t like a vicar. Anyway, Maureen Chaplain was perfect from my ten-year-old point of view. But I’m getting all jumbled up about how to start, so I’ll take a breath. See, it really began when the Brazells moved out from next door and the Chaplains moved in.
It was the first day of the new term at school. The school wanted to see my foster parents about all the stuff I was supposed to have but didn’t. Brina was at work, so Larry had to go with me on the bus. God, he bloody hated that. He hated most things, but official things more than most, and official things to do with me most of all. So the bus was packed apart from this tiny space on a sideways seat next to this gorgeous girl. She had a school uniform on, our school, but she was loads older than me.
‘Get up there!’ Larry growls in front of everybody. ‘Go on, get yer arse in there.’
Bloody embarrassing, but I did what he said. She sort of wiggled a bit to give me more room, and I blushed as her leg rubbed against mine.
‘Ere, you’re the Chapman girl, aint you?’ says Larry.
‘Chaplain,’ she says. ‘We’re next door.’
I thought about her on and off all day, and after school we went home on the same bus. I reckon it was then that I fell in love.
‘Sorry about Larry,’ I said. ‘The rude geezer I was with this morning.’
‘Larry?’ she says, ‘I thought he must be your grandad.
‘Foster dad. Anyway, sorry about him.’
She stood until the old girl pinning me in got off. Then she goes, ‘Budge up’, and parks herself next to me. Close to, she didn’t just look all wavy blonde hair and smooth skin, she smelled nice too.
‘You don’t have to apologise,’ she says. ‘We don’t get to choose.’
And then, like she was interested, and actually cared, she says, ‘How was school today?’
While I was stumbling a reply I thought, I hope she catches this bus with me tomorrow.
At home I said to Brina, ‘Have you met Maureen Chaplain from next door?’
Brina puts her hand on my head and smiles.
‘Oh, she’s pretty that one. Be careful my good boy.’
400 without title
The February comp has drawn a delightful selection of stories.
@jillsted Jill, you do an evocative encapsulation of Isabel’s memories of different kinds of love. Her memories are compelling, a sense of her moving through a full life. The ending has a twist, if I’ve read it correctly, that adds a shiver to the story, a question of whether Lydia’s actions are for love or not. Love’s layers are complex and here’s an intriguing possibility to end on, something for readers to chew over.
@sandradavies Sandra, this multi-stranded story is also intriguing. You show well the surprise that can come from discovering who people have chosen to marry, and how observers and friends do a review of what they’ve known so far. I liked the atmosphere of a windy wedding day. The story is some way over the word limit so I can’t in conscience treat it equally with the other entries, but I do thank you for posting it. The taking part is as important as the winning, as is providing us all with an interesting story to read. This is an especially busy time of year with the Challenge happening too, so thank you for this entry.
@athelstone Ath, a Teabreak story is always a pleasure. This one has touching indications of his childhood, his character and the delight of maybe first love or something early anyway. Brina’s comment at the end is suggestive of all sorts of scenarios to come, possibly of young heartbreak or at least of growing up. You’ve captured a lot in a short time. A satisfying story.Ath, over to you for March.
Congratulations, Ath – more Teabreak always welcome, and well done Jill for so richly regarding the rules. Thanks Libby for appreciating my desire to take part, but this extract the only one I could recall which specifically mentioned ‘loving’
Thank you for such a satisfactory February topic, Libby, and for your generous appraisal! I loved the other two entries; they could easily have won.
Congratulations, Athelstone – well deserved. Peeked at your March challenge and looking forward to meeting it. Sandra, I loved your intriguing extract from what I presume is a finished novel or one in progress? Thank you Libby for the February competition which I enjoyed entering and for your kind comments. Very interested in your interpretation of the ending, which seems to have added an unintended intrigue to my work! In my mind, Lydia was doing everything with love and a with a sadness of heart because her mother had only a short time left to live, but I can see where you are coming from! Jill x
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