BROKEN - a story in 90 words.

BROKEN

I knew as I walked up the path – the very air hummed with violation. I turned the key on an unresisting lock and my feet crunched as I stepped inside.

My art speaks uncomfortable truths, but never before has it incited violence. The shrouded mummy of my lost childhood stood useless guard over a month’s work reduced to rubble, and my latest work had been turned upside-down – the ultimate insult.

I swept up carefully, saving broken pieces to re-use.

My next work already has its name.

I will not be silenced.

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A bit of a weird this week - I'm not sure where this piece came from, but it wrote itself in ten minutes. 
Thanks to Rochelle for the image - I hope this didn't happen to her!

ADVENT CALENDAR - DAY 25

HAPPY CHRISTMAS to all my readers, friends and followers!

This is the last window of my Christmas calendar, and I'm missing Apollo 13 to write it. I was up early to fetch my mother for the day and there's not been a free moment since, but I am determined to finish the challenge. Today's was to write a story with myself in the centre, and I had to write a feel-good story on this day of all days., didn't I? I hope you like it, and will continue to read the stories I post on my blog each week. Also, when you buy my latest book WOLF PACK, or either of my other two novels, A VOLCANIC RACE and HELTER-SKELTER (which I wrote as Elizabeth Young) do please consider leaving a review on Amazon. It would make my year in 2019. 

NOT  AS  PLANNED

Christmas has never been the same since the kids left home – just Keith and me, a turkey crown, a bottle of red, and the Queen’s speech. We went to a hotel one year, but all that forced jollity was appalling so we didn’t repeat it.

This year was going to be more of the same until Fate took a hand – or rather, took my hand. I was coming out of the Co-op after buying a carton of cream to pour over our individual Christmas puddings, when a woman coming the other way let her dog lead wrap round my ankle and down I went. She was full of apologies and drove me to hospital, then home again with my wrist in plaster and, long story short, invited us both to Christmas dinner.

It was bliss - a house full of enticing smells, warmth and noise – and with my wrist in a plaster I couldn’t lift a finger to help