She should have left the phone ringing. But it was her mother, and now she’s at the hospital, while her ex-husband picks up her daughter, and before she knows it, the two of them are in a different country. And her mother’s dead. And the phone never rings any more.
You are far too good for me. You deserve someone better. We’re stuck. It’s not you, it’s me. Another time it would be different. I’m not just ready. I don’t want to hurt you any more than I have already. I think there’s something wrong with me. I, I, me…
He hasn’t always moved so fast. In fact, his wife, ex-wife, would laugh at how he courted her, like a tortoise, she’d say. But he’d never wanted a hare. He wanted another tortoise. Like this woman. He inches towards her. There’s no hurry. He knows they’ll be together for ever.
More 50 word photostories here…
They follow you everywhere. Even when you’re walking down the street. They don’t even throw their voices any more. Or use that secret door into your brain. The joke is that it’s all so simple. No hidden technology. But how will you explain? That’s what they ask. Over and over.
More 50 word photostories here. Do feel free to join in with your own version from this photo in the comments section.
He goes straight to the destination, and shouts at his wife for focusing too much on the journey. Soon she doesn’t bother with how he’ll get to places. Not her problem. Before long he stands outside the divorce court, puzzling over how, when, why. She waves from a passing bus.
(I used to do these Fifty word stories the whole time. It’s like doing the crossword warms up thinking muscles – spotting something interesting, taking the photographs and letting the story drift up, then cutting back to JUST 50 words is a form of exercising my story-making skills. It’s been too long!)
When the first wrinkle appeared, she forced friends and family to wear pink-tinted sunglasses. It was easier, she said, to change their view than hers. But time kept moving on until she had to cover up all the mirrors in her house. Better not to have a view at all.
More here.
When I said I hated domesticity, he cleared our kitchen completely. We ate takeaway pizzas on the floor, laughing as we picked out the plaster dust, and I let him sweep me off to the bed he’d covered in newspaper. Afterwards I watered the roses. Tried to ignore his smile.
These 50 word photostories are something I’ve been doing a while. I normally write them – to this very limited word count – to accompany something I’ve spotted as I’ve been out and about, and which has triggered a little story for me. That’s one of the reasons I call them Snaps. You’re very welcome to join in – either on your own blog and link here, or by putting your story in the comments column. You can read more here – here
It’s not her fault the hotel walls are so thin. She’s almost looking forward to breakfast so she can guess who made so much noise. How is she expected to sleep? And with her meeting tomorrow. She puts the glass back to the wall to listen again. Yes, really disgusting.
You can read more 50 word photostories here.
She says she does it because the stones get cold, but really she bandages the castle every night to stop its secrets seeping out. Coloured cloth to keep the stories safe. Sometimes though she’ll wrap herself up in one of the rugs, shivering as she listens to every single thread.
The millionaire doesn’t want to buy her. Just wants to borrow her. Then he’ll let her go, nearly as she was. She’ll have things to remember him by. Pretty things. Expensive things. And if they’re prettier, last longer and are more expensive than her, well, where’s the harm in that?
