Tryst #writephoto

Sue’s gorgeous prompt for this week’s #writephoto

summerhouse silhouetted against a dawn sky

Tryst

“Meet me!”
She looked at him, his eyes pleading with her as well as his words.
“Please, Rebecca, meet me tonight.”
It was Jake’s last night here before he left to join the rest of the local young men, joining up to fight for King and country.
For the last few months, their growing attraction to one another had been hard to control. She had fallen for his chocolate brown eyes, ever since she popped into Farmer Smith’s farm shop for her aunt to pick up any eggs he had available.
Even though she was not a child, her parents had sent her to the village where her aunt lived, as a precautionary measure, alongside her younger siblings.
Jake was a farm hand. It was one of the only jobs available for young men in this farming community if they didn’t have land themselves. Jake had been delivering the milk to Mrs Smith who usually stationed herself in the farm shop, where she was able to learn all of the village gossip from her regular customers.
As Rebecca was leaving the shop, she was busying herself with the business of checking the eggs for cracks, so was looking down, and Jake, with a heavy pail of milk, was concentrating hard on not spilling a drop, as he headed inside.
It ended messily.
Eggs and milk spilt to the ground, and two young people were left, looking at one another. Mrs Smith’s raised voice went unheard, as Jake and Rebecca felt something, that first sweet twinge of attraction.
She paid for her accident over and over. Aunt Violet was certainly not happy that her money had gone to waste, and she made sure Rebecca was aware of her misdemeanour one hundred fold.
Jake had to spend the rest of that day scrubbing the floor clean so no residue was left to create a stink in the shop. It was just as well he was left to do something so mundane. His mind kept going back to that pretty girl. Something in her eyes called to him. He hadn’t seen her around before, but he was determined to find out who she was, and where she was staying.
It hadn’t been hard in the long run. Old Violet turned up at the shop one day, complaining as usual, and she happened to mention her no good niece, who had wasted her money, and Mrs Smith’s lovely eggs earlier that week. Of course, it hadn’t taken Mrs Smith long to duet along with Violet, with her lament about that good for nothing Jake, who had spilt all the milk that day too!
Once he knew where she lived, he took it upon himself to offer to do deliveries to Mrs Smith’s regular customers. The war hadn’t affected their farm animals so far, so there was plenty of produce available for the villagers with money, and they happily agreed to the delivery service.
This ensured him a look at Rebecca at least once or twice a week, and that was sufficient, up to a point. There was no conversation, just furtive glances between the two of them.
Over the months, their crossing of paths was inevitable. It was a small town, after all, and small token conversations were exchanged.
Rebecca began to look forward to those stolen moments where they spoke for a few minutes at a time. Why, she wasn’t sure, but when she saw Jake, her heart would go all aflutter.
She had taken to writing a diary of sorts, with all those things written in there, that she wished she could say to him, but which convention would never allow.
As the war raged on, it crept into the village. There were whispers of rationing happening in the cities, and the fear that they would not be so far from all that horror themselves. The bombing in the cities had opened a floodgate of evacuees being sent to the safety of villages.
Then slowly, the men of the village were expected to sign up. No one was spared. The old, the young… if they were of the right age, those call-up papers arrived.
Jake wasn’t spared.
Yet he was proud to have the opportunity fight for his country. But that would mean leaving his Rebecca behind. Funny that he thought of her as ‘his’. She wasn’t really his sweetheart.
He hoped, though, that tonight that would change. If she agreed to meet him at the small pagoda on the edge of the Manor House.
Then, maybe, he’d have someone to call his own, to think of, when he left.
Rebecca looked around. There was no one around to hear them.
“Ok, Jake, I’ll meet you tonight. But I can’t be late. After supper, at 7 o’clock, I usually go out to empty the bins. I’ll sneak out then.”
She scurried to the pagoda, chacking behind her to make sure no one was following her. Her had gripped the small book that she clasped to her chest. She could not stay, but she would give Jake her book, with all of her feelings written inside. Maybe, after this awful war was over, they would be able to really become sweethearts…

 

WRITESPIRATION #100 52 WEEKS IN 52 WORDS WEEK 4 – 100

Week 4 of Sacha’s special #writespiration prompts. As it is her 100th #writespiration prompt in total, she has given us this as a prompt, to do whatever we want with…

100

The twist in this new 52-week challenge… you can only use 52 words. No more, no less, 52 words exactly. Any story of your choice, but 52 words. Final!

So here goes!

writespiration-2017

 

Sheesh! Who’d a thunk it?

Still, it was worth it. It was a great night!

The music was pumping, the people were dancing, the drinks were flowing.

Jeez, were they flowing… One hundred bottles of flowing!

No wonder my head hurts.

Just wake me when it’s all tidy!

Perks of hitting 100!

 

Image result for wild old woman 100

Image from Google

 

I only wish that if I hit that milestone, I can still party as hard! 😉

 

#JusJoJan Daily Prompt – Jan. 20th/17 – Transcendent /#WRITESPIRATION #99 52 WEEKS IN 52 WORDS WEEK 3

Combining two prompts together again today because, well, I can!

Day 20 of Linda’s #JusJoJan challenge with the prompt below;

The Just Jot It January 20th prompt, brought to you by Deborah of the blog, Notes Tied on the Sagebrush, is: “Transcendent.” Use it any way you’re inspired to. And make sure you stop by and say hi to Deborah as well! Here’s her blog: https://notestiedonthesagebrush.com/ .

And week 3 of Sacha’s new, improved #writespiration prompts.

SO, your challenge if you choose to accept it, is to write your story using the weekly theme/prompt and write it in just 52 words…. EXACTLY, no more, no less.

This weeks theme:

Lost Things

 

Certain things, once lost, can never be ‘found’ again.
She learned that the hard way.
Famous once for her transcendent beauty, she had it all.
Then that damn thing called ‘Age’ happened.
No amount of surgery helped.
If anything, each treatment seemed to bury her looks further.
Who said beauty is ageless?

Writespiration #98 52 weeks in 52 words -Week 2 – The Badly Timed Trump

Sasha’s back with the second prompt for #Writespiration.

Your challenge is to write your story using the weekly theme/prompt and write it in just 52 words…. EXACTLY, no more, no less.

Submit your entries in the comments or on a blog post and I post them the following week with the new prompt. You have until Sunday to enter.

This week’s prompt is to write about the badly timed trump!! 

So… here goes…

She could feel the pressure building.

The music was loud. Surely letting one go wouldn’t hurt…

They slipped out to the beat of Beyonce’s latest release.

Relief. 

Last one.

Out it came, loud and proud, as the dj faded the tune out so the Groom, her new husband, could start his speech.

There you go Sacha!!!!

Smoke #writephoto

Sue’s Photo Prompt this week…

smoke

This just wasn’t fair, you know.

They always know how to find me.

I can’t help it though. Haven’t you seen the size of my belly?

I’d been fed up (again) of being ignored (again), so thought I’d run away (again). They were always busy with her, my sister. Ballet classes, horse riding, gymnastics… she always had all these great clubs to go to, because she was good at all these things. No, not good, but brilliant!

Tall, slim, pretty, with that angelic face and smile that melted all the hearts who encountered it.

The total opposite of me. Two years older than her, but 4 inches shorter, orthodontic braces to correct my overbite, and a rather rotund figure. I can’t help that though, whenever she didn’t want to eat something she would give it to me, and I, being the protective older sister, would wolf down her extras, so she didn’t get in trouble.

I didn’t realise until a lot later, how much of a mistake that was!

Still, I do like my food. At least when I go to college, I can forget her perfection, and indulge in what I am good at.

Culinary art.

Delectable cuisines from around the world…

Ok, so I’m doing a catering course.

They never complain when whatever I have been cooking graces the table, but aside from a flippant “Ta love!” I don’t get a second glance.

So I decided that I would do it. Run away, but properly, today.

There is no going back.

Well, there wasn’t, until that smoke wafted into the cave where I had painfully secreted myself…

The scent of a barbeque.

How dare they?

That was my speciality!

But you know the worst thing?

I could smell burning in that smoke! And they all know that one thing I can’t bear is good food being ruined.

I’ll just go and sort it out, it’s only one barbeque… I guess they deserved one more chance to show they care…

… and, well, I was kinda hungry!

#writephoto

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