Tag Archives: #writing; #RayBradburyChallenge; #52StoryChallenge

Story 4/52: Reunited

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natashia flower window pic2Photo by: Natashia Goertzen, Natashia’s Photos

Reunited © 2018 R.D. Girvan

 

She twisted her ankle, stumbled off the path and fell upon the fence, jack-knifed over the pickets. The fence, its posts rotted from too much rain and not enough maintenance, wobbled beneath her weight, wowing back and forth.

Alarmed, Pete watched from his kitchen window. Sarah stood up and steadied herself, pale fingers gleaming white against weathered wood. He waited for blood to bloom on her ripped white shirt.  He could see the torn fabric, even from that distance, and he held his breath, hoping she could make it into the house by herself. He couldn’t risk touching her.

…

Hello, Gang of Glorious Readers (both of you! haha), Rhea here.

I am entering stories into contests, some of which do not allow any publication of any kind, even on a baby blog like mine. So if you would like to read the entire story, send me your email address and I will forward it to you.

Best always, RDG

 

Story 3/52: Cheers, Darling!

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sphynx-clipart-3The writing prompt was: Write about your Muse.

Cheers, Darling © 2018 R.D. Girvan

My muse has a great sense of humour.  She is quick to laugh and giggle, and if your joke surprises her, she may even snort. She loves puns and verbal dueling, self-deprecating humour and wit both wry and dry.

She is stubborn, determined, goes over/under/through obstacles to get where she is going. Once she sets her teeth into something she will not relinquish it. She is sort of like a terrier, in those ways. Or a tank.

She is kind and loyal, sees the best in people and promptly forgets when others disappoint. She prefers to live and let live, but knows that one can’t always do that. She protects me, like a best friend, a big sister, a sphinx.

Vaguely British, she runs her hand through mostly silver hair, looks over her glasses at me and says things like, “To master anything, darling, one must do it for 10,000 hours.  So let’s go!” She has a variety of surprisingly motivational sayings, most of which boil down to: don’t complain – don’t waste time – don’t give up.

She has her 10,000 hours already.  She came to the writing life late in hers, but refuses to bemoan that. She is a fantastic writer. Something about her work makes it impossible to stop reading it. She loves to reveal unspeakable truths, by degrees. She writes clearly, honestly. Bravely.

She leads the way with hindsight’s 20/20 vision, towards my future – her past. She is shimmering her way into shining existence with every word I write, every story I finish, every hour I add towards my 10,000. My imaginings, my fictions, are turning her into non-fiction. Is that irony? She would know.

My muse and I are the same girl, separated by a few years, so of course, we share a birthday. Every December 31st I like to drink to her health. Cheers, darling!

 

 

 

Story 1 of 52: Role Model

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Role Model © 2018 R.D. Girvan

 

The horses died first, then the donkey. Well technically, the neighbors died first, followed by their dog. Then the horses and the donkey.

Mike, digging a trench with the backhoe, tried to make himself laugh so he wouldn’t cry. Should have called that stupid donkey ‘Dug’ instead of ‘Doug’, he thought,  L – O – fucking – L. 

He scooped a fresh bucket of dirt, backhoe lurching as the track caught the edge of the pit. Through the dusty windshield, he could see his wife stagger across the yard. His laugh crumpled up and died in his throat.

…

Hello, Gang of Glorious Readers (both of you! haha), Rhea here.

I am entering stories into contests, some of which do not allow any publication of any kind, even on a baby blog like mine. So if you would like to read the entire story, send me your email address and I will forward it to you.

Best always, RDG