THE ROAR OF THE GREASEPAINT

THE ROAR OF THE GREASEPAINT

Lucy was just nineteen and ripe for plucking when the actor stayed at her aunt’s boarding house. After a week of stories about his glamorous world, she packed her bags and followed him.

But scrubbing greasepaint from his collars wasn’t glamorous, and the thrill of being backstage soon wore thin. She wasn’t even good enough at sewing to help the wardrobe mistress.

When she caught him kissing his leading lady, she got a bus home and married the boy she’d left behind.

He was a much better father to her child than the actor would ever have been.

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In the midst of preparing for publication Landslide, the third book in my Living Rock series, I've taken a break to write this week's 100 words.

My first husband had just dipped his toe into the world of amateur dramatics when we met, and twenty years later the 'roar of the greasepaint, the smell of the crowd' tempted him to turn professional. I still remember scrubbing the collar of his one white shirt and drying it on a radiator overnight for the next performance!

Thanks to Dale Rogerson for her evocative photo, and to Rochelle for hosting Friday Fictioneers on her blog, https://rochellewisoff.com/

SPARROW REMEMBERS

SPARROW REMEMBERS

Stolen from her bed in the cold white darkness of a Canadian winter, Sparrow’s last sight of home was the sun rising beyond the grain silo beside her house.

Instead of attending school, she chopped wood, broke ice for water in winter, suffered mosquito swarms in summer, and endured nights under a stinking blanket with her captor.

She was thirteen when another little girl appeared – then she remembered that image.

With the child on her back she trudged east, scavenging for food, hiding from strangers, focussed only on one thing – the vision of sunrise over her parents’ farm.
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Dawn Miller's photograph may well have been taken in Canada - it reminds me of the country around my son's home in Ontario, where he lives with his Canadian wife and two small daughters. So my mind instantly put together Canada, little girls, and the photo's focus to create my story.
You can read what other writers made of the image by following links from Rochelle's blog.  https://rochellewisoff.com/

BUT YOU SAID.... a story in 100 words

BUT YOU SAID...

“But you said you loved me!” Sonya stared unseeing at the crashing waves, willing herself not to cry.

“Everyone says that – I didn’t think you’d take me seriously.”

Sonya fumbled for the door handle and stepped out onto the sodden turf.

“Get back in the car - you’ll catch your death!” Matt grabbed her arm but she wrenched it free.

Her eyes blurred with tears and wind, she turned and ran. She didn’t even see the cliff edge, and Matt was powerless to stop her as she tumbled to the rocks below, taking her unborn child with her.

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Only the rain blurring Rochelle's photo made it interesting, so I went with that - hope you like my story? If so, please do leave a comment. I see far more 'page views' than comments and I always wonder what people thought when they read and moved on silently.

We've had some rain this week in UK, as you may have heard. I drove through huge puddles on my way to buy a new bed this morning, but that is nothing compared with the devastation in other parts of the country. With the coronavirus invading our shores as well, it's been a dramatic fortnight. But on the other side of the world the Australians are greeting heavy rain with huge sighs of relief.

HOMECOMING - a story in 100 words

HOMECOMING

They landed at midnight to avoid the protestors, simply glad to have arrived. Guards took them to an anonymous building where they were stripped and examined for any signs of the plague, then after scalding disinfectant showers they were given flimsy paper gowns.

“Where are my own clothes?” Lee asked.

The answer was curt. “Burnt.”

Herded through the eerily empty terminal like lambs being driven to slaughter, Lee was grateful no-one was around to witness their humiliation.

Then they stepped off the escalator into a dull roar of sound, and behind a glass wall a hundred flashbulbs popped.

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The UK citizens who arrived from Wuhan this week were treated less harshly than this, merely being put into quarantine for a fortnight. They all signed their agreement to this step before they flew, and are being provided with every comfort, yet still some are complaining already! Two weeks is nothing compared with the nightmare that people are living in China right now.

Ted Strutz's photo is puzzling, and I wonder if my story is anywhere near the truth? To read what other writers made of it, follow the frog link from Rochelle's blog.  https://rochellewisoff.com/

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For anyone who missed my contribution to Friday Fictioneers last week, my excuse is that I was helping my 95 year old Mum to pack and move into a care home near me. She is making friends there already, and I have been in to see her several times. Joining in with the occupational therapist's chair exercise routines quite wore me out!!