Again I am pleased to welcome back a previous participant for this month’s mini writing competition on the theme of ‘an unexpected journey’. Thank you to mmpearson for her story and I’m happy to share this with you.
mmpearson says:
Unexpected Journey
Sally pressed the “end call” button and sat rooted to her chair. Numbness rolled through her body like waves in the sea. She couldn’t make sense of the words her dear friend had just dumped on her conscience. Shock was her only emotion.
With practiced grace, her hand swept the mop of curls from her forehead and took the weight of her head upon it. With her other hand, she removed her dark-rimmed glasses and wiped a tissue across the pools of tears that were forming beneath the lenses.
Billy had been her husband – her love at one time. He had not been a bad person, but a soul lost among his own fears and inadequacies. A dark cloud had always hung over his head, but that cloud had been his fuel. His fire was the guitar. Music spoke to him, and through it he spoke, letting his riffs fill the void. Sally had loved that part about him.
The drinking was the part of Billy that Sally could never come to terms with. She had divorced him several years ago because of his lack of control. Though times had been rough during the separation, they had their young son, Harry, and were forced to work through their problems as well as any couple could.
Sally never regretted leaving Billy. She only wished she could take back the bitter words.
Sally’s thoughts were interrupted by a noise in the doorway. Her eyes shot up and viewed her son bounding through the door, a smile on his face. Her heart thumped out of control. Not now. Oh please, Harry, not now… what do I say to you? Despair and confusion filled her like she was a balloon, stretched to the point of explosion.
Images flashed through her head: She and Billy rushing to the hospital, Harry’s pink wiggly body, happiness sparkling in Billy’s proud papa smile, holidays with family… and on and on. The thoughts came out in a torrent and made Sally feel weak.
She snapped herself out of her reverie. This was her son. She had to be strong.
Sally tried to form sentences but only him name escaped. “Oh, Harry.” She sobbed and snuggled his six-year-old head under her chin, hugging him, never wanting to let go. She needed to surround herself in his innocence for a bit longer.
She didn’t know how to explain to Harry that he no longer had a father and especially how his father had passed. The burden her son was going to have to carry throughout his life was large. Sally knew that burden all too well.
Somehow, life had continued its twisted journey. She remembered being close to Harry’s age when her own father had taken his life. She remembered the hurt, the loneliness, and the guilt. The last thing she had ever wanted was for her son to have to go on the same unexpected journey.
(c) mmpearson
elizabeth frattaroli 
Did it! 500 words on the nail including title.
Lollipops
Mary linked with Jim—the vigil at the church had left her feeling the need to hang onto him. The Latin words had not worked their usual spell of making her feel safe. Truth was, they were both uneasy at this time of year, when the door between the worlds opened and the dead visited. The dead they had no wish to meet ever again. They stopped at the minimarket. “You go in,” Mary said. “I’ll be fine. Just don’t be long, it’s bloody cold tonight.” She flipped open a packet of cigarettes. He’d be buying sweets. Lollipops probably. Her favourites. Josie had loved lollipops. Raspberry ones especially. Rotted her teeth, the dentist said. Mary drew deeply on the cigarette. They’d leave them outside the back door. And the candle next to them. And they’d make sure the door was double locked and the dog inside for once. It was cold. Mary stamped her feet to keep the circulation going. She glanced inside the shop. Only one till open and the usual endless queue of kids buying drink. She wandered across the small car park. Between thick hedges a narrow lane dipped into darkness and ran off into the countryside. Mary peered down it, curious. She must have seen it before, things just looked different in the dark, full of shadows. She shivered and took a step back across the car park towards the dingy light of the minimarket. Two steps more and she found herself inexplicably in the lane. She stumbled, watching her feet in the dark, and shadows closed over her head. Before her the narrow lane ran downhill, at either side the blackthorns made an impenetrable barrier. She tossed the cigarette down the hill and turned to face the carpark and the light. She hurried, stumbled in a rut and righted herself. At her feet the dog end glowed. She spun around and ran. She ran, until she realised she was running downhill. Frantic now she turned to face back up the dark slope. Trees grew tall behind the blackthorns, their branches meeting overhead, and a wind murmured among the rare leaves, filling the cold air with a dry rustling. She strode up the hill, and staggered, lurching forward down the gradient. It was wrong. All wrong. Tears streamed down her face. The blackthorns pressed closer, the trees bent lower, and the rustling was a whispering. She could hear the words. No! She pressed her hands over her ears. It was an accident! I didn’t mean to hurt her! “It was an accident,” she screamed at the dark trees and the dark tree voices. The path between the blackthorns went down and down through shades and textures of black. Except for a pale smudge that shone out almost like a star in the howling, whispering darkness. The pale thing fluttered to her feet, and she let out a howl of despair before running down the dark, whispering lane that never ended; away from the lollipop wrapper.
(c) Jane Dougherty