I don’t mind what you call me
Mum, Mummy, Mother
but I care how you treat me.
Have respect for me.
Care for me.
I am dying and time is running out.
There’s no going back.
So much wrong.
Too much to heal.
I’m your Mother.
I am Mother Nature.
Jean lives in Bath in the UK. She is trying to care for her corner of the world.
Barely discernible in the gloom, he lay with twisted limbs, his eyes wide, staring. His mouth hung open. Silent. Still. Lifeless.
In contrast was the frantic rush of bluebottles.
Playing the part of a corpse was not a top acting role. He just happened to be rather good at it.
Jean lives in Bath in the UK. She likes to write the occasional fifty word story. As she gets older, they get more occasional.
Lingering between sleep and wakefulness, she savours that moment when light starts to pierce her eyelids, before reality dawns.
The drapes, stirred by the breeze, create flickers of light and then shadow.
She listens, hearing only her own gentle, rhythmic breathing.
Disruption, when it comes, is sudden, loud, cruel: MUM!!!
Jean enjoys writing short stories now that the birds have flown and she has more time. She would welcome a return of the disruption, though!
I’ve thought of you so very often these past thirty years or more. In my head, I still hear your gentle tone and I feel the touch of your warm embrace.
Good memories last a lifetime. I’m coming to see you soon.
You never let me down.
You won’t now.
Jean lives in a village near Bath in the UK. She refuses to believe this is all there is.
The last notes of the organ fade away.
In the old church, shadows dance in the candleglow, echoes of people from times gone by, coming back to me. I feel their presence.
The living drive away the dead as their grandchildren and great grandchildren dispel the moment.
Merry Christmas, Grandma!
Jean lives in Bath in the UK. She likes to use some of her own experiences in her story telling. Merry Christmas!
Her scars run deep. Invisible.
A stab in the heart here, a slap in the face there.
She plans her escape with precision, as far as her meagre funds will allow. Relief.
She forces herself to stop thinking about her past pain, her ex-husband and, with a pang, her ex-dog.
Jean lives in a village near Bath in the UK. She has an ex-husband and an ex-dog.
In the shallows of the gently lapping waves, the girl, dress tucked in knickers, had played.
The sun, low in the sky, casts an orange glow.
Shops long closed. Curlews, in flight, send out their cry.
A mother comes out to call her daughter home.
There’s no one to hear.
Jean lives in Bath in the UK and loves reading 50-word stories. She has a go whenever she gets the time.
Sometimes, when he was demanding, I longed for a life alone. Everything changed, though, when I realised I was losing him.
The end came quickly. He looked at me with pleading eyes. I held him and made soothing noises.
Then, two last wags of his tail, and he slipped away.
Jean lives in Bath, UK. She likes to send in an her meagre efforts each month and enjoys a good yarn.
He gave everything. Candles and wine and his undivided attention. He gave me a ring he had fashioned with twine into a lover’s knot. He gave me his love. He would have given his last Rolo.
I had my own agenda. I gave him my best smile as I left.
Jean lives in Bath, UK. She loves writing 50 word stories and won’t give up trying!
Sitting closely together on the Calle Larga, glasses of chilled Chianti before them, they watch a gondola glide silently by.
This will be his last time, the rest of his life having been crammed into three short months.
For him, a last dream lived. For her, a lasting memory built.
Jean lives in a village near Bath but longs to be in Italy, her favourite place in the world.