MONTH: March 2022
PROMPT: She never needed it anyway.
WORDCOUNT: 300
SHE NEVER NEEDED IT ANYWAY.
She repeated it again to herself.
“Check in with the nurse at reception. Find a chair against a wall. Take out the documents. Put them under my shirt. Put the gun in my mouth – pointing upwards. Pow.” She took a deep breath, and let it out slowly.
Vanessa got out of the car in the dark parking lot and made her way to the doors of the emergency room. She could feel the gun, like a comforting weight, grounding her to calmness. Relative to its size, it was ridiculously heavy in her handbag.
“How long to see the doctor?” she asked the receptionist.
“Ten minutes. Kindly fill in the form and take a seat.” replied the receptionist.
It was Friday morning, 9am. The hospital’s emergency waiting room was empty, just as planned. She handed the forms back and found a seat with her back to the wall. She took out Ashleigh’s photo with the note on the back.
“My darling Ash,
It is so wasted on me, this heart. The meds have no effect at all in fending off the darkness inside me these days. It would seem the soul purpose of my place on this planet was to grow you a proper, working heart. A bit of me will be in you forever now, beating life through your veins. May it serve you as well as it has me.
All my love forever, Aunty Van.”
She took out the papers and tucked them under her shirt with the photo. Safe from the impending fluid explosion inside a Ziploc bag, they detailed in heavy legal jargon, her compatible blood group and request for her heart to go to her niece.
Taking out the gun, she positioned it in her mouth, pointed it up, breathed in, and pulled the trigger.
MONTH: January 2025
PROMPT: Found
WORDCOUNT: 1200 exactly
FOUND
by Maeve Kousiakis
Mr Du Pont would not accept a late delivery. If it was not on schedule he would cancel the order. Olive had to make sure it was on track.
She changed her grip on the handle and moved the receiver from her right ear to her left. It was unusually scratchy and cumbersome. She had been on hold for 20 minutes already.
The traffic noise picked up as the traffic light changed. She tried to make out whether it was the music being played on hold, or if someone had finally come back on the call.
“Why is there tar under my toes? And it’s hot! Bothersome sun is melting us.” She made her way to the shade under the coffee shop awning while changing her grip on the handle. She moved the receiver from her right ear to her left while realising that Mr Du Pont would not be happy with her bare feet in the office.
The prickly receiver made itself known again. Pulling it away from her ear, she inspected it. It was definitely not the usual receiver she used, it had an unusually straight handle that didn’t take the shape of her hand, and it didn’t fit under her chin so that she could free her hands for other tasks on her desk while she was talking. And where was her desk? Those cleaners must have been in and shunted everything around.
While pondering why they would replace a perfectly good telephone that was working fine, she held the prickly replacement back to her ear, hoping there might be someone on the other side again.
The traffic had picked up considerably and she still couldn’t make out whether it was the hold music or someone talking. Frustrated, she went to replace the receiver in it’s cradle over the dial, couldn’t find it, so popped it into her pocket. It weighed down the pocket of her gown and pulled the tie across her waist out of shape. She had to re-adjust it to not gape open and show her chest.
Olive realised she hadn’t done the tea yet and wondered if she should try the number again or if she should make the tea first or go back to that nasty prickly receiver. Opting for the latter, she pulled it out of her pocket. Mr Du Pont would just have to wait five more minutes for tea time.
“Are you all right? Can I help you?” Said a passing stranger.
“Absolutely. I am fine. Yes, thank you. These calls are so frustrating.” She said, exasperated. “No-one wants to give me the information I need. They keep putting me on hold. This job takes stamina you know, but I’m very good at holding on while I get all the other admin done. Plenty of practice.” Added Olive, replacing the receiver back in her pocket and re-adjusting her night gown again.
“This nightgown will never do for the office.” She whispered to herself.
“May I get you out of the sun and we can have some tea inside rather?” Asked the stranger.
“Oh how lovely. But I’m a married woman mister, tea and only tea, you hear?” She said with a twinkle in her eye and a cheeky grin.
Olive took the man’s arm as he guided her to a little table in the corner. She heard him ordering at the counter.
“Would you mind organising another cup for Mr Du Pont? Please. I haven’t got around to the morning tea yet and he will be waiting.” Asked Olive.
“Of course.” Said the man, with an oddly amused look on his face.
Olive was fiddling with the receiver in her pocket again, when a young lady burst through the doors looking worried and hassled.
“Has anyone seen a little old lady in her . . . “ she started to say. “Aunty Olive! There you are!” She exclaimed with relief as she caught site of Olive at the corner table.
“We have been looking all over for you. What are you doing out here in the street?” She asked Olive.
“Oh, just having some tea with this lovely gentleman who invited me in. He’s ordering for Mr Du Pont as well so I don’t have to get it done while I’m holding for this wretched receptionist. She’s kept me on hold for over half an hour you know” explained Olive.
“Aunty Olive, that’s your hairbrush. And you are in your night clothes in a coffee shop. Remember when you wandered into that nice lady’s kitchen on the other side of the park? And we had to come and fetch you because you forgot where you were? It’s like that.” The lovely young lady sat down in the chair next to her. “Do remember? Do you remember my name Aunty Olive?”
“Of course. Amy. How did you get here? Where’s mom? I need to have a word with her about that dinner we are doing next week. Lamb and apricots will be so much better for a winter roast” said Olive.
“Hi. I presume this lovely lady is spoken for now?” Asked the stranger with the tea.
“Hi. Yes.” Replied Laura with a smirk.
Olive smiled sneakily. “Now, young Amy, this one is mine. With lovely legs like that you can go and find another. An old bat like me needs to grab it while it’s hot you know.” She winked.
“Amy, this is . . . “ said Olive
“Andrew.” Replied the man and stuck out his hand to Olive.
“Laura.” Said the lady. “How long have you had Aunty Olive at this table?”
“Laura? What are you doing out of the hospital. Were is the baby?” Interrupted Olive. Confused.
“The baby is sixteen Aunty Olive. He’s at school. He’ll be around for a visit later today. It’s Friday remember?” Answered Laura.
Olive’s eyes dulled.
“I am in the wrong place aren’t I? And the wrong clothes. I’ve done it again.”
“It’s OK Aunty Olive. Let’s get you back for lunch. They have roast chicken on the menu today. You love that.” Said Laura.
“Oh yes. My favourite! Will it be potatoes or rice today do you think?” She wondered.
Olive turned to Andrew.
“Young man, it’s been a pleasure, and although it’s very flattering that you have wooed me for tea, you might try someone more your age. It would be less heart breaking for you dear.” Said Olive with a naughty grin.
“It’s been a pleasure Olive.” Replied Andrew, steering his eyes to Laura with more than a hint.
Olive grinned and took Laura’s arm as they made their way outside.
“Amy, these young men today are delightful but are very much too forward for my liking. He literally yanked me off the street for some tea just now.” Stated Olive.
“So forward Aunty Olive. Just too much. I’ll have to have a word with him when I get home.” Replied Laura.
“Lamb and apricots. I wonder if they will be do pudding?” She asked.
“It’s roast chicken today Aunty Olive.”
“And I was looking so forward to lamb. What a lovely one that Andrew was – you should look him up Amy. You’d do well together.”
MONTH: October 2020
PROMPT: Found
WORDCOUNT: 1200 exactly
GOING HOME.
She opened her eyes again to the same bewildering blackness.
“It’s still so pitch black. Where the hell am I?” she whispered.
Her voice sounded foreign, like someone else was talking.
“Why is it so flipping cold? Hello?” she said to nobody.
There was only black. Her voice reverberated back as if the walls were clad in fluffy carpet. The air was thickly disorientated. She couldn’t fathom whether she was sitting or standing or lying down. Her feet were like ice and her hands were numb, moving them was like wading through dark syrup. It was so cold her breath was hurting her throat.
There was warmth when she turned her head. She tried to get closer. Her body was too heavy and un-obliging. She figured out that when she turned her head, her body seemed to morph in that direction. Facing more towards the warmth, she seemed to get closer to it.
There was a glow, working its way through the black from the warmth. It pulsed the scent of early summer jasmine, that outlined feelings of bare feet on green grass with sticky watermelon and the brushing of white cotton, billowing at open windows.
“Am I sleeping? Am I blind?”
Confusion mounting as vivid memories of summer disappeared. She turned away. The cold began biting again.
“Hello? Help. I don’t know which way to go.”
She managed to put her hand up to her face and realised she was whimpering. Why was she sad? She couldn’t remember, but the sadness was tangible. It was squished in between her fingers and molding with the sticky black. Her hands displaced it like little Davie’s playdough. David! Where was her Davie?
The light became blinding. Welcoming the warmth, she tried to move faster. Her body would not reciprocate the urge. There was a feeling of unexplained urgency to get to the light – and to find Davie. A Feeling of contentment drew her towards the magnetic Jasmine.
“Mommy!”
A faint cry. She put her hand out to touch it. The realisation knocked her backwards and she hurtled towards the cold, the wind ripping up her hair. Davie was gone. She remembered. She could still feel his little fingers, as they released pressure while he passed his last strangled breath.
The brutal sadness engulfed her. So many pills at once proved more difficult than she had planned. They had scratched her throat, and were threatening to come up again. No – they were going down, like a pipe forcing it’s way into her lungs. The sad cold was unbearable. She gave up and let it take her. It dumped her on the sheets. Her body was limp, aching for the warm scent of jasmine.
“I have a pulse doctor!” shouted a woman.
A cacophony of beeping as hands roughly busied themselves around her face.
“Respirate!” replied a man.
“Vitals are stable, transfer to surgery.”
The tear forced it’s way out and down her temple and evaporated with the warm jasmine.