In memory
of all friendships
lost to silence
. . .
“Hey.” Sent.
Sitting in her half-lit bedroom, Kate kept staring at the phone screen. It was more than a year between their last “goodnight” and today’s message.
Continue readingConnection
Tag Archives: lost
Winning Jack Potts
This was it. I’d had my share of bad luck. After decades of caring for my ailing parents and alcoholic husband, then losing all of them, one by one, it was time to put myself first. Midlife, I decided, would be a new beginning. The mid-point of a novel, after all, isn’t the end of the story, but the moment the protagonist takes charge of their own destiny.
Where better to kick-start a change in fortune than Las Vegas?
“What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas!” Nina slurred, and we all clinked glasses.
“Don’t look now,” she shout-whispered into my ear. “Hot guys, by the Blackjack table.”
I cringed. “We’re old enough to be their mothers!”
Continue readingThe Electronic Revolution
Fortuitously, the window was wide open when Greg hurled Alexa through it.
‘I’m so bloody sick of that voice that knows everything and patronises me and drives me completely round the bend. Good riddance. I hate you, Alexa.’
Poor Alexa. She had understood that things were not going too well, but this was beyond bad. Leaking and whining she fought her way, with the remains of her power, to a small grove which offered a bit of protection.
Continue readingLOST IN TRANSLATION
Eve popped in to see how her mother was getting on with an old i-pad she had given her. Over a cup of tea Ann, her mother told her how much she was enjoying the internet and Facebook, catching up with old friends and making some new ones.
One man had seemed so nice, living in America and widowed like her. Eve eyed her mother as she chattered on. Apparently, he wanted to hang out. Ann asked him where he wanted to meet. He explained there was an app for a chat room. Not being sure she told him she was just happy to chat on Messenger.
Continue readingLost in Time
They crossed the ancient wetlands before dawn, their feet shrouded in undulant mists diffusing the light from their flickering lamps. Gethin, older brother of his companion, Arvel – led the way with their sister Branwen between them as they trod carefully along the path, its uncertain surface greeting their boots with raised roots and crumbling stones, each impeding their progress as the clock ticked down.
“We need to move faster,” declared Gethin, “in another two hours, the path will shift.”
Branwen, who stood a head taller than her brothers, glanced uneasily at the stocky, leather-clad Gethin, “I’m more worried about the tide. We can navigate a new path, but once the tide comes in, we are lost.”
Arvel bit his lip and stammered, “We WILL make it, won’t we, Bran?”
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