Spurned

by Sandra Davies

I leave my husband’s bed. Know the boards which creak, not to make hinges squeak. Leave the room.

Cold feet on damp stones, wet sand.

To the beach where Paul awaits me. Wraps me round inside his heavy greatcoat, rough grey wool across my throat, smell of earth and smoke. 

I shiver. Mud to blood to thunder, shouts of men.

Paul murmurs a warning, “He is coming, he is coming.”

Paul is no longer there.

My husband wraps me in a blanket. Tells me, “Paul is dead. I held him as he died. And promised him I’d care for you.”



Author bio: Sandra Davies eased herself from printmaking to writing when the wardrobe got full. Current passion is directed towards a series of novels best be described as love triangles with murder. Drabbles are practised weekly at The Prediction, links to which can be found via sandra­linesofcommunication.blogspot.co.uk

Spurned is part of 101 Fiction issue 21.

Definition

by Sandra Davies


"'Tumour' and 'tumescent,' is there a connection there?"

I looked over the top of my Financial Times to her head on my belly.

"Are we talking medical or etymology?" regrettably aware of my immediate manifestation of the power of the spoken word.

She snorted with amusement and, retaliating, I murmured, "You can take the girl out of the farm but..."

A mistake; the nip of her sharp teeth completed the rout.

She slid off the bed. Muffled, as she pulled her dress over her head, she answered, "Etymology," then, suddenly lucid, "but you really should get that lump seen to."




Author bio: Sandra Davies usually writes romances, but at other times blames the company she keeps. Currently she blogs most regularly at http://100dayendings.blogspot.co.uk/, with illustrations.

Outing

by Sandra Davies


"Mount Grace."

"Is that an order?"

Crudely pretending I'd suggested something I'd no intention of allowing. "Carthusian, it's a priory."

"So it's nuns?"

"No, it's monks."

"How does a priory differ from a monastery?"

"I just thought it’d be a good place to..."

"Mount Grace?"

I changed my mind. I had thought it the ideal setting for a proposal but he was no longer the man I wanted to marry. I tried to dodge his suddenly encircling arm, his lips close to my ear.

"It’s what I've always wanted, Grace, to mount you," flicker of a knife, "on my wall."




Author bio: Sandra Davies usually writes romances, but at other times blames the company she keeps. Currently she blogs most regularly at http://100dayendings.blogspot.co.uk/, with illustrations.

Forge

by Sandra Davies


Caged by guilt and shadowed bars of branding irons, breasts and belly besmirched by centuries of soot from the roof-supporting pillar he had lashed me to, I remained defiant.

“My face? Do you want the world to know?”

His eyes were anthracite-implacable.

“I mean to guarantee you’ll not lie down for another man. Fire is cleansing, only the letter negotiable. Before I gag you, do you choose A or W?”

“'Adulteress' more accurate, I do not charge.”

He had ever admired my honesty, my spirit, but I’d failed to think it through.

He smiled, acknowledging. “But 'whore' the shortest word.”




Author bio: Writer, printmaker, east-coast orientated.
http://sandra-linesofcommunication.blogspot.co.uk

Traditional

by Sandra Davies


Rise before May dawn, middle of meadow, wash face in dew.

Surrender all common sense: next man met so stunned by my beauty he insists on marriage.

Yeah, right.

And such a gullible, desperate, idiot that I almost fail to see the beautiful dog fox just twenty yards ahead.

Abrupt gasping halt, thinking “Christ – if that’d been a man, my luck really would have been in!”

But no: one arm (mine) wrenched up behind, another holding a sharp knife against my throat.

A rasping voice in my ear commands “Stand still my beauty – he’s stuffed – and it’s your turn next.”




Author bio: Recent writer, printmaker, east-coast orientated: http://sandra-linesofcommunication.blogspot.co.uk/ and links therefrom

Editorial: Thank you.

To everyone who read and everyone who commented, thanks for making June a great month.

To the writers, a double thank you.

The first contributor story, Dismissed, is the most viewed story this site has ever had, and rightfully so: it's fantastic.

I'm taking my Wednesday slot to pause and say thanks, and for two more reasons.

One is that my blog, the xeroverse, is two years old, and I'm celebrating by having some guest flash fiction every day this week. I urge you to go on over and check it out, there's some great writing, and some of it by 101 Fiction contributors.

The second is to mention my new book, This is the New Plan. It collects 33 of my best short and flash fictions and is available on Amazon (US & UK).

And in case you missed them, June's 101 word wonders:

Dismissed, by Peter Newman. "I tire of them..."

Reconciliation, by Lily Childs. "I was eternally earth-bound..."

Body-art, by Sandra Davies. "I sat unmoving, hypnotised by the patterns..."

Majordomo, by Dom Camus. "When we met, she smelled of cardamom..."

Footprints, by Miranda Campbell. "Drowning in sound colour..."

Body-art

by Sandra Davies


I sat unmoving, hypnotised by the patterns emerging, merging, puddling and overflowing as the drops of rain fell onto the expanse of naked and now blue-black back laid out before me, its slight greasiness delaying momentarily their coalescence. As the granules of orange pigment dissolved and formed wavering runnels down spine, along ribs – ‘Storm at dawn’ perchance? - I was excited and then became bored. I scalpel-slashed it as I would a canvas – and became entranced again at the contrast of the sharply etched lines – slow scarlet leaked then pearled along their length before these too disconnected and floated away.



Author bio: Recent writer, previous printmaker, east coast orientated. sandra-linesofcommunication.blogspot.co.uk