EDWINA’S ESSAY CHALLENGE (with a little Romantic Tuesday thrown in too!)

Judy has a challenge for us! A prompt

“Time stood still; I couldn’t believe that….”

Remember 40 mins, 1000 words.

#edwinasessaychallenge

Time stood still; I couldn’t believe that I had caught it.
Looking back at him, I smiled.
It had been a good few months since I had been hinting, you know. Six years we had been together and a very happy, if eventful six years they had been too.
We met through mutual acquaintances at a bar.
Typical, huh?
There I was, screeching away into a microphone. I could never resist karaoke. Gloria Gaynor’s “I Will Survive” was a particular favourite, and that was the song I had been murdering at the time.
Now, most blokes would have been scared away by my ahem, not quite dulcet tones, but not him. I remember catching his eye as he stood at the bar, glass in hand, smirking at me.
Oooh, that smirk really riled me! As I finished my song, the dutch courage acquired from the several rounds of vodka was still present, and I marched over to the smug git at the bar.
I had plenty prepared to say to the man laughing at me, but it was all left on the tip of my tongue as I got closer to him. What a gorgeous specimen… maybe he was allowed to guffaw at my Gloria…
He looked at me as I approached and smiled (not smirked) at me. “A drink for the singer?”
Well, I hadn’t expected that!
“Er, erm…”
“Oh Gina, you’ve already met Matt! Matt, this is Gina, she works with me.” Rachel, my colleague, and fellow song murderer stood by the obviously hard of hearing Adonis.
And so, our introduction was done. We went on to realise a mutual love for homicidal karaoke, getting booed off the stage of plenty of London’s karaoke bars!
It wasn’t long before we were officially dating.
Mum loved Matt. He ate her roast dinner, complete with her incinerated roast potatoes, overcooked veg, tough meat and lumpy gravy, and then told her he’d be back the next week!
It wasn’t long before we moved in together, and settled into the cosy life of coupledom, drinks at the local most evenings, movie nights in, romantic weekend breaks, and the odd long-haul holiday.
There were bumps in the road… no relationship ever had a smooth journey. Exes raising their ugly heads, dealing with money worries, he lost his job… but we were pretty tight.
About a year and a half ago, Rachel came to me with a question. Would I be her bridesmaid?
She had been dating her other half, Martin, for a while now, and they had decided to take the next step. Of course, I was delighted for her, if a little jealous.
We had been settled down for a lot longer than her and Martin, yet the topic of marriage had never really been discussed.
During the wedding planning time, Rach and I discussed it many times. She was surprised that we hadn’t been first, seeing as we were practically married anyway, living together, and all that.
It got me thinking too.
Why hadn’t we ever discussed it?
Around six months before the wedding, I broached the subject with Matt. Coming from a broken home myself, it hadn’t been the first thing I thought of, but watching Rach get so excited, I realised that maybe I did want that too.
Matt was perplexed. Why get married? We were happy as we were.
Men!
They never understood anything, did they?
I’d leave magazines open at strategic pages, showing jewellery adverts. I’d coo at wedding scenes on the telly. I’d linger at the wedding dress departments in the stores we visited… Would he ever take the hint?
One day, a group of us were sitting in the pub, and I asked for a lighter. Matt threw it over to me, and as usual, being the klutz that I am, I dropped it. “Jees, Gina, will you ever manage to catch anything, other than a cold?!” He laughed at me, as I bent down to pick it up.
It was a bit of a standing joke. Gina couldn’t catch. I had been like it since I was a child. Never chosen in PE lessons at school to be in any teams, but I was secretly glad. Who wanted to play netball?!
Fast forward to the wedding day. February 29th 2016.
Rach looked beautiful, and she had made sure that her bridesmaids looked pretty stunning too. The day passed without a hitch. Plenty of sentimental tears, but no problems.
We laughed, we danced, we celebrated, then it was time for the bride and groom to leave for their nuptial night. Before their exit, the ceremonial throwing of the bouquet needed to be carried out.
Matt nudged me, “Is it even worth you trying Gina? We all know what your catching ability is like!”
Cheeky git! I’d show him!
“You catch that babe, and it’s a yes from me!” he shouted to my departing back.
Off I went, determined, but actually pretty sure that wasn’t going to be the catcher of any bouquet, anytime soon.
“Three, Two, One!” The crowd all counted down, and Rach hurled the bouquet behind her.
Time slowed down and the flowers fell in slow motion. There was the typical gaggle of girls jostling to get the prime position, and I was one of them. The bouquet descended… right into my outstretched hands!
Time stood still; I couldn’t believe that I had caught it.
Looking back at him, I smiled.
Sauntering over towards him, bouquet casually swinging by my side, I went to get my prize… or ask for it anyway.
The date, 29th February. It was a leap year. The year that traditionally, the girl asked the man to marry him.
I dropped down on one knee dramatically, not easy in a lilac bridesmaid sheath dress!
“Will you, Matt Howard, do me the honour of being my husband?”
He took my hand, and pulled me to standing, taking me in his arms.
“Yes, you totally crazy woman. Yes, I’ll marry you!”

And exactly 1000 words too… 42 minutes though…!

[linking into Erika’s Romantic Tuesday too!]

#WRITESPIRATION #108 52 WEEKS IN 52 WORDS WEEK 12 – The Switch

Sacha’s #writespiration prompt this week…

The Switch

I didn’t go all kinky like my blog sis Judy with this prompt, but the first thing that came to mind for me was sexuality and transgender issues…

Looking in the mirror he smiled a coy smile.
He smoothed his hands down his body, stopping briefly at the waist, before allowing them to undulate over his hips.
Not long now.
He glanced at the fake flowing locks and tossed his hair back seductively.
Not long at all until the Switch…

writespiration-2017

WRITESPIRATION #105 52 WEEKS IN 52 WORDS WEEK 9 – Emotion

Wednesday means it’s #writespiration time!

Sacha’s prompt this week…

This week, we’re playing a game. *muhahahaha* Write your 52 words describing just one emotion, BUT you’re not allowed to use the name of the emotion or tell me what it is. I want to guess.

I hope I did this right!

Each second passing feels like an hour.
My stomach is twisting up in knots.
My fists clench and loosen, then clench again.
Unknowingly I begin to nibble at the dry skin on my lips.
Looking up at the clock, I almost gasp.
It’s time.
I pick up the phone and hit ‘call’.

writespiration-2017

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! 😉

 

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