swing-339255_640So quiet the streets,
So still those old swings remain.
Breaking that silence
Are mothers long wails of pain –
There’s not a child left to play.


Written based on the prompt in The One Minute Writer – Tanka Tuesday. The prompt was “Play“. To learn more about the style of writing. Please check out the original post on TOMW here.

Dear Diary…

Dear Diary,

Would you believe another 25th of December has gone by? Father insisted on going to church today and I wish he hadn’t because during the service, when I looked at him, he was crying and it nearly broke my heart. He tries so hard to be strong but then Christmas day comes along and I can almost feel the pain radiating from him. I think he thinks he should have been able to stop it…that he should have done something differently that day, but how could he have known what was to be? How could Father have stopped what happened? I wish he wouldn’t blame himself. I don’t. I almost reached out to him, to hold his hand today, but, I hesitated for just a second too long and by the time I decided to, the moment had passed and it was too late…

Christmas used to be such a wonderful time for the family Diary…we used to have a big celebratory dinner with delicious food and carols and dancing…I wish only the parties could be remembered instead of just that Christmas night nine years ago being the clearest…why Diary? Why are painful memories like that always so powerful? Why doesn’t the sadness ever end…?

On that night, I remember I was sitting at the foot of the stairs rubbing my tummy because I was hungry. It was way past my dinner time and Mother and her sister, Aunty Tina had only just begun setting the table! Father’s youngest sister my beautiful stylish Aunty Kendra, who insisted I called her just Kendra, was pouting at her reflection in the mirror that hung in our little foyer as she combed her hair first this way then that trying to get it to sit in a style she found most flattering. Aunty Grace, Father’s elder sister was at the piano, absent mindedly playing the first few bars of “Jingle Bells” while her husband Uncle Jude was successfully convincing Father to break out a bottle of his more expensive bubbly. I remember that the last time I heard Father laughing was as he went to the bar to fetch it. Uncle Jude popped the bottle and I recall that the cork went flying through the room and landed at the far end of the hall. I was supposed to submit an art project once school re-opened the next year and I thought the cork would be a useful addition to the piece I was making. I bent down to poke my head under the sofa to see if that was where the cork had rolled off to when Aunty Enid (who was quite old at the time) didn’t see me, tripped over me and fell. The glass she was holding fell to the ground and shattered and she cut her hand on the shards. I remember Mother rushed to her side to tend to her injuries giving me a very stern look. Father just pulled me up and gave me a hard smack on my behind in front of everybody, his eyes flashing. He hissed at me to apologise, which I did, shakily. Then he just walked away from me. I was so angry probably just as angry as he was. I was almost seven years old…how dare he smack me in front of so many people when I was almost old enough to be a lady?!?

I turned around and stormed out of the room, my eyes smarting almost as much as my derrière. I threw on my favourite pink coat, and bolted out of the house. I walked out onto the road going in a direction that I thought would take me furthest away from my house and from my father with whom I was so angry…but the further I walked, the less angry I got. So I turned around to head back home…

Diary…the last thing I remember about that Christmas night was the appearance of this patch on the snow…like bright red ink staining a white sheet of paper…

The next time I see Father, please make sure I give his hand a squeeze Diary…he won’t be able to see me, but maybe he will be able to feel my presence and know that I love him and don’t blame him and that the accident was never his fault…



I randomly generated SEVEN words to write a piece of fiction. The words I got were: Christmas, Diary, Cork, Comb, Ink, Dinner, Power. Hope you enjoyed the read. 🙂

I am taking part in The Write Tribe Festival of Words 1st – 7th September 2013.

Write Tribe

The Shadow of Your Smile

I remember when you held me in your arms, I felt so safe. Even just the sound of your car pulling up in the driveway gave me peace. I remember we used to spend whole days together, without a care in the world, wrapped up in each others arms…relishing every moment we spent with each other…

But then suddenly, it ended…

To survive, I’ve had to learn to block out the journey to the hospital and the grey days that followed…

God knows I miss you, but, the memories are fading…all that remains now is the shadow of your smile…

100 Words on Saturday - Write Tribe

Wooden boxes

He measured the angles on the box meticulously and polished the wood himself. He checked to see that the cushion was of royal blue velvet. His craftsmanship was perfect…as always. In his forty years, he had never let a client get anything less than the best he could make. This time too, he made sure that he had met all of that bereaved woman’s specifications. But, he wasn’t sure if he should feel proud or depressed that he had made another sale. 

He watched as they carried the box out.  It was unpleasant being in the business of making caskets….but someone had to do it.


He hadn’t been able to cry since it had happened. He waited for the tears to come, but they never did even though they should have. He thought it was all horribly unfair that things had turned out this way. They had been in the accident together. They were supposed to remain together in good times and bad but now, he was forced to watch as they lay his beautiful young wife in the wooden box. She looked so peaceful, like she did when she was sleeping beside him…he almost wanted to go and shake her by her shoulders and yell at her to stop playing this cruel game! But then, he remembered, she was anything but cruel and this was not a game.

It was terrible being the one left behind and as he watched them lower the casket into the ground…he realized that the tears had finally come.


Pain, his constant companion for the past few years had finally left him and he was glad for it. No more opening his eyes depressed that they had opened at all. No more pleading with his round-the-clock caretaker to up his pain medication because no dosage seemed enough to ease his tortured body. He detested having to depend on other people so much for everything. Not much of a life those last few years and now, he was happy it was over. He just wished they hadn’t dressed him in a suit. How was he supposed to spend eternity in that? Didn’t anyone think it would be uncomfortable? Apparently not. He missed his pajamas

But, he was finally done struggling and suffering and to him, eternal rest in his comfortable cushioned casket sounded pretty damn good…


The Daily Prompt said to weave threads, so I randomly generated a word and wouldn’t you know it, I had to get “coffins