#Writephoto – All That Remains

 

 

 

 

He came to me after dark, as night lay like soft velvet in the hollows of the hills. The fire burned low, his feathered cape laid over the chair shimmering iridescent blue as the birds stirred and gave their first sleepy chirps, my breath coming fast as he touched me and held me close. He told me his name, and I spoke it as I emerged from the dream.

‘Armand.’

The day dawned bright, my room pale, my bed cold and lonely as it always was. Yet the dream stayed with me throughout the long day, making me blush as I worked behind the counter making coffee, smiling at the customers who ebbed and flowed like the nearby sea, only staying long enough to smile and talk, but not long enough to truly connect.

I felt like the island out in the small bay. Close to, but not part of the small town that bustled along the curving shore. It takes time, I told myself, to make friends. Moving to a new place is a big step for anyone. Just give it time.

But at night feathers enclosed me in a soft embrace, my dreams taking me beyond the lonely confines of my world. Sleep became a refuge from the cold days, the aching feet, my broken heart.

One night, sleep eluded me. I sat at the window, my breath misting the small panes as I watched night leave the hills, black sky fading to blue. Glimmers of light appeared below as the town began to wake, gold in the sky over the nearby sea, flashing from the steeple on the hill opposite, soft gold to white, then fading away. My eyelids became heavy, my head drooping over my hands. A voice whispered to me. ‘Come and find me, beloved. I am waiting for you.’

I didn’t go to work that morning. No coffee scented fingers, hair gone limp from steaming milk, mouth tight from smiling so much. Instead I went across the valley, taking a gravel path past mossy walls to where the ancient church slumbered in a cradle of yew trees. And I found him.

Armand De Courcy, the plaque read, much rubbed by time. And on the marble, next to the bones that marked his resting place, was a single feather. Blue, like the twilit hills, like his eyes, like my heart.

This is my response to Sue Vincent’s #writephoto prompt, my favourite photo prompt in blogland. For more posts, or to share one of your own, head over to Sue’s blog for more information 🙂


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#writephoto – Tryst

summerhouseThis week’s prompt for Sue Vincent’s #writephoto challenge is yet another gorgeous photo. Here is my response:

Purple Sky

‘I’ve always loved this time of day’, she said,

Her hair shaded purple in the fading light.

Her heart distant as the hillside across the water,

Unreachable, unclimbable,

Indifferent as the rising moon.

 

‘I love the way it makes me feel’, she said,

‘As though my heart were breaking

Bittersweet, melancholy, wouldn’t you agree?’

All I could do was nod, silent,

My heart breaking with hers

 

‘Will you be going soon?’ she said.

Words stark, pointed, like branches traced black

Against the setting sun. I nodded once more,

Leaving my heart under purpling sky,

Under darkened eaves, with her.


If you enjoyed this post and want to read more, you can find me on Twitter @AuthorHelenJ,  Facebook, Instagram and Pinterest. Plus my latest book release, A Thousand Rooms, is now available on Amazon.

 

Writespiration – 52 Weeks In 52 Words – The ‘Ex’ Factor

IMG_0715It’s Thursday, and I usually do a door post today. However, I’m not feeling any of my door photos this week, so I’ve decided to take on a short writing prompt instead.

Sacha Black has a great series running called 52 Words in 52 Weeks. Each week this year, she’ll be setting a writing prompt, giving us exactly 52 words to write a response – no more, no less. This week’s prompt is, in true Sacha-style, ‘That moment you see your ex with their hot new bit and you look like a turd’ LOL.

Here’s my response:

I hitched up my track pants, hugging the ice cream tubs closer, not caring about the cold.

A girl came down the aisle, giving me a pitying smirk. Bitch. All long legs and glossy brunette hair.

‘Babe.’

I turned, my heart lifting at the familiar endearment… to see her in his arms.

If you want to add a response of your own, you have until Sunday to enter – hop on over to Sacha’s blog to read last week’s responses.


If you enjoyed this post and want to read more, you can find me on Twitter @AuthorHelenJ,  Facebook, Instagram and Pinterest. Plus my latest book release, A Thousand Rooms, is now available on Amazon.

#writephoto – Swansong

birds-se-ilkley-2015-uffington-avebury-hackpen-worcester-3Sue Vincent’s weekly #writephoto challenge is one of my favourite writing prompts. Her photos are always evocative and inspire a wide range of responses, as though she’s captured a little piece of storytelling magic in each image. Perhaps she has…

Here is my response to this week’s photo:

Swansong

They call it a swansong

Our last brave moments

Like a song sung

on a dying breath, beautiful

Haunting notes across the water

A requiem

 

To me it is sadness

A lament for the end

A wish for things to stay

as they always were, golden

Sunlit glimmers on the water

Don’t leave me


If you enjoyed this post and want to read more, you can find me on Twitter @AuthorHelenJ,  Facebook, Instagram and Pinterest. Plus my latest book release, A Thousand Rooms, is now available on Amazon.