Brave Heart

 

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(Photo Credit: Flickr)

”Hope is being able to see that there is light despite all of the darkness.” Desmond Tutu

***

John Parker wanted to tell the kind man who’d saved him from death, but the words caught in his throat. He mumbled inaudibly then coughed loudly. He desperately wanted to unburden and bare his soul to Anselm but realised his new friend would probably call him a monster.

Time dragged on, and Parker waited. The silence in the room was as thick as a winter fog. How could he utter such words to a total stranger? How could he tell Anselm that his girlfriend of 12 years had been diced to pieces and kept inside his deep freezer. Why? Anselm may ask. ‘Oh,’ he may simply shrug his skinny shoulders and just give an excuse, maybe, because he caught her cheating and their seven-year old daughter, Amber, wasn’t his after all. How could he tell Anselm that he, Parker, was a psycho, a sociopath, a sadist whose pain went deeper than imagined? How in heaven’s name could he tell his new pal that he’d been in prison; a prison of the mind where walls whispered obscenities and the only respite he got would be to slash himself open. How could he say such words?

‘I don’t think I should be in this room,’ Parker finally said and a sad sigh escaped his trembling lips. ‘I should go now.’

He stood up but Anselm stopped him with a wave of his large hands.

‘Sit down,’ the older man said firmly. Parker obeyed, his eyes staring straight ahead.

‘You’ve done bad things. I see it in your eyes. Even there’s pain in death, killing yourself doesn’t make it all go away. Get yourself treated, ask forgiveness and turn yourself in. There’s still redemption son.’

John Parker stared at Anselm. His English was flawless, he’d dropped the German accent.

‘Who are you?’ Parker asked slowly.

‘I’m your conscience,’ was the apt reply and the room began to spin.

John woke up with a start, his heart beating wildly. He sat up and checked the bedside clock. It was 3 a.m. in the morning. He’d been dreaming, it was a huge relief but the incident in the dream wasn’t far from reality, his eyes sought his wife of 12 years who was sleeping soundly. He’d been hiding the voices in his head well, it was difficult explaining to his GP that he’d been battling severe depression for three years. After the loss of his job and his wife became the breadwinner, he’d slowly sunk deeper into the quagmire of depression.

There’s only one brave thing left to do, he tapped his wife gently on the shoulder, it’s better safe than sorry, he thought.

***

NP: Guys, I’m sorry I couldn’t post this story yesterday, I tried but life just got in the way. I totally had a different plot to this story but then, it occurred to me that men hide their frailty. They go through life as brave hearts, pillars, unmovable and then they crumple! If you’re a man reading this, please, don’t bottle things up if you’re not well. Life is in phases. Talk to your spouse, close friend or even your doctor. Depression affects a lot of people in our society today and some needless deaths could easily have been avoided if things hadn’t gotten out of hand.

The first part of this story is here if you want to catch up: https://seyisandradavid.org/2015/08/11/dreaming-when-awake/

I hope you’ll all have a wonderful weekend!

Much love, always!! 🙂

The Hope Journey

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(Photo credit: wingmac)

Ann-Marie glared at the result in her hand, and her heart skipped a bit. That wasn’t what she was expecting. How could I beat cancer and then find out that I have coronary heart disease? she thought in despair as her eyes clouded with tears, she ground her teeth, determined to beat the new monster in her body.

‘I’m so sorry,’ the doctor said and watched her ambled out of his office…

*****

Sharon rushed through traffic, her face beaming with pleasure. At long last, after years of trying, the doctor had finally confirmed her suspicion; she was three weeks pregnant. Countless IVFs couldn’t do the trick, she got pregnant when she least expected…

*****

Roman walked through the park, lost in thought. He was still trying to cope with the death of Jake, his best friend. Jake had jumped from the sixth floor of his hotel. It was sad that he was with him a day before the tragedy; yet Roman saw nothing amiss. If only I could rewind time, he thought aloud as his eyes brimmed with tears. Then he remembered the lost look in the eyes of Jake’s mother, and his feet seemed to have a life of their own as they pushed him forward. He could still save another life…

*****

Nathan could hardly believe his ears. He is finally free, there was no more cancer. As he took out his phone, his eyes involuntarily seek out a nurse, pushing a girl in a wheel chair down the hospital hall; she was roughly the same age as his 10-year-old daughter and by the looks of things, she’s having chemo…

NP: although some of these stories are just figments of my imagination; there are elements of reality there. I’ve had friends who had gone through cancer, life – changing situations but one thing stood out: they never gave up hope, and most of them emerged victorious in the face of seemingly insurmountable problems. In the words of Emily Dickinson, the American poet, I quote:

‘Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul – and sings the tunes without the words – and never stops at all.’

So, never give up hope… 🙂

Have a pleasant week my friends!

Much love, always!

🙂

 

Avanlanche: The Fall…

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            (Photo credit: Krappweis)

The air was crisp and clean, the sky blue and clear. Amanda inhaled deeply, imagining the stress leaving her body. She watched her husband from the corner of her eyes: the sharp, well-shaped jaws, the bushy eyebrows, and the serious expression almost drew a chuckle but she clamped down on it.

It was their last day in Switzerland and against all odds, she had truly enjoyed herself. Now she had to confront her husband and tell him the real reason she wanted a divorce. They walked towards their cabin in silence as Amanda cleared her throat noisily. Pete gave her a quick sideways glance and opened the door.

Amanda strolled towards the sofa and sank into it, while Pete removed his gloves and boots.

‘I slept with Alex!’

Pete stood still like a statue, even the sweat on his brows froze in disbelief. He ground his teeth and approached his wife menacingly. Alex had been his friend from childhood. They were practically brothers, what a fool I’d been! He thought in anger but something held him in check, he didn’t believe it.

‘When?’ He mouthed the words and knelt in front of his wife, his eyes were incredibly dry and he looked very calm.

‘Three months ago…’ she closed her eyes briefly, ‘the night we had a fight on the phone.’

‘Where?’

‘I called him and he came over to the house.’ Amanda involuntarily put her hand to her mouth as if she’d said too much.

‘We made up when I got back Amanda!’ Pete said slowly, strangely, his anger had dissipated.

‘I know…’ and she began to cry, ‘for what’s worth, I had no recollection of it as such. I was wasted, very drunk.’

Pete made up his mind there and then to fight for his marriage but Amanda was not finished.

‘Three weeks later I found out I was pregnant.’

That was when Pete lost it. He picked Amanda up effortlessly and almost hurled her against the wall, she wailed on his shirt, expecting the worse, then like a China plate, he put her down gently. He hurriedly put his gloves on, wore his shoes and rushed out of the cabin.

Two hours later, there was a knock on the door, Amanda hurriedly opened it, worried sick. Standing calmly at the door were two Swiss officers, their expressions looked grim. Amanda crumpled to the floor in a faint…

………………….

NP: It wasn’t all bad news though! 🙂 Pete was trapped in an avalanche but luckily, he’d survived. Amanda gave birth to twin sons… Well, when she did the DNA paternity test, Pete was the father of her sons. Their marriage survived. Pete quit his job in the City, and now had his own company. They went through months of counselling and the last time I spoke to Pete, he sounded optimistic, but he confessed that it was hard. However, he loves his wife, he’d forgiven her and was determined to give their marriage a chance to heal.

Relationships are not easy, Amanda and Pete had made up their mind to fight for their marriage and I wish them the best. To all my friends all over the world, I won’t wish you love because today is Valentine, I’m wishing you love all year round. May your hearts find peace and joy!

Much love, always!

🙂

Avalanche

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(Photo Credit: Flickr)

Pete stared at the papers in his hands and his blood froze.

Amanda, his wife of five years wanted a divorce, what a way to start the year! He sat down wearily on the bed as his mind raced to the red-head beauty who bumped into him at Mile End underground station in London – she had apologised profusely and they got talking. Within weeks, their romance blossomed. As an Investment Banker, Pete had little time to woo her but Amanda more or less took control of his life.

Within two years, they were married, and his parents were delighted. A year after marriage, Amanda was desperate for a child, he wasn’t that bothered. After all, he’s always holed up at his office in the City, slaving away to make as much money as he could. They hardly spend time together and deep down, he knew it could be the reason she wanted out. They love each other, why would Amanda think divorcing him would make her life better? The noise of his phone disrupted his reminiscing  and he grunted before picking it up from the bedside table.

‘Yeah,’ Pete drawled and listened, then clicked it shut. Switzerland. He’d totally forgotten about the holiday he’d pre booked weeks earlier. Like a slow motion, hope began a painful ascent in his mind. Maybe, just maybe, time away from their usual life in London would spice things up a bit, and talk of divorce would disappear.

Half an hour later, Amanda strolled into the room, avoiding any eye contacts.

‘Shouldn’t we at least talk about this?’ Pete asked quietly, waving the papers in his hands. He couldn’t stop staring at his wife, whose hourglass figure never ceased to amaze him.

‘We’ll talk when we get to Switzerland,’ she replied. Pete laughed and said lightly, ‘Women and holidays!’

But there was something different about her. He stood up and pulled her into his arms, he was half expecting her to resist but she didn’t.

‘Is this what you want honey?’ he mumbled into her hair, rocking her as he would a day old baby.

Amanda swallowed hard, then closed her eyes. How could she back track now after realising the root of their problems? Divorce was the only way out, or so she thought…

………

NP: I was supposed to have posted this on Thursday but I was extremely busy, I would have to make this a two or three-part series. Amanda and Pete are a couple whose story touched me deeply. It’s also a true story, but as usual, I would change their names to protect their identity and add elements of fiction to it as well. I would post the next part sometimes next week, at least before Valentine’s day. Martin Luther said something that touched me: ‘There is no more lovely, friendly and charming relationship, communion or company than a good marriage.’

Call me a traditionalist, but my parents have been married for almost fifty years, they had their good, bad, and excellent times but they stuck together. Now I think they’re best of friends.

I hope you would have a peaceful, restful and enjoyable week. I intend to!

Much love, always! 🙂

The Beast

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(Photo Credit: Flickr)

Laura had trouble sleeping, she watched enviously as her husband slept soundly like a baby. She closed her eyes and willed her body to relax, fifteen minutes later, it worked, and she drifted off into a fitful sleep. Claps of thunder woke her up hours later, reluctantly, she opened her eyes and listened as flashes of light competed in a show of power. However, amidst the thunderous symphony, she also detected a faint but familiar sound, she listened and froze with fright when she realised it was the voice of Anna, her fourteen year old daughter.

She turned to touch her husband, but he wasn’t there. Panicking, she leapt out of bed and slowly crept down the stairs. Someone was in her home, a stranger. Her heart in her mouth, she moved stealthily, afraid to alert the intruder. By now, Anna was howling, Laura threw caution to the wind and breezed into the kitchen, grabbed a large knife and dashed into her daughter’s room.

Ashley, her husband of eighteen mouths was lying on top of her daughter, naked waist down. Anna stopped crying when she saw her mother and Laura felt alien, as she seemed to move out of her body… Swiftly, she raised the knife above her head.

………..

Two years later, Anna walked briskly down a hallway, her heart beating with love. It was Valentines Day, and, the love of her life is in prison. Many people called her mother a beast, but she knew that it was her Step-father who was the real beast. He had repeatedly raped her, threatening to kill her mother  if she uttered a single word to a living soul.  As far as Anna was concerned, the death of Ashley was a welcome relief. Her mother would be out in a couple of years, and with her mother by her side, life couldn’t be better. They would live happily ever after!

………….

NP: I am a realistic writer, if you’ve read any of my books, you should know by now that I’m not afraid to tackle difficult subjects, and this was a very difficult topic for me to write. Many women are trapped in abusive relationships, where their partners are raping or had raped their daughters – it’s an ugly scenario. But it could be stopped: there are warning signs really, when your partner is unduly interested in your daughter, that leery, lustful look is often too glaring to hide, (mind you, not all Step-fathers are Ashley!)  Left for me, I wish all marriages ended with ‘the happily ever after theme,’ but that would be living in a fairy tale world. Even though I don’t support what Laura did, the beast in some people cannot be tamed, they can only be stopped!

………….

Where there are beasts, there are also saints. Like Hugh Mackay would say: ‘ Nothing is perfect. Life is messy. Relationships are complex. Outcomes are uncertain. People are irrational.’

I hope you’ll all have a pleasant week. I’ll be back on Thursday with a very interesting topic in my ‘happily ever after theme!’

Much love, always!

🙂 🙂

Ever After?

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(Photo credit: Flickr)
‘Love is composed of a single soul inhabiting two bodies.’
Aristotle.
 ******

Alero kneaded the dough and used her free hand to mop her sweaty brows. Her husband was away on business but she noticed the surreptitious glances threw her way by the neighbours and it saddened her. Abel is the love of her life but of recent, she had trouble believing the ‘happily ever after’ theory.

A shrill sound interrupted her sad thoughts and she walked briskly to the living room, picking up the landline phone and whispered hoarsely, her voice constricted with tears.

‘Hello.’

‘Hey darling,’ Abel, her husband of five years, said slowly on the other line, ‘are you okay? You sound awful.’

She gritted her teeth then replied carefully, trying in vain to control the turbulent emotions coursing through her, ‘when are you coming home?’

‘I’m outside the door!’

Alero dropped the phone and flew to the door, she flung it open and saw Abel kneeling down on one knee, a huge grin on his brown face.

‘Forgive me darling, I promise to love you forever!’

She didn’t know what to say.

Abel stood up slowly and clasped her in a tight, warm embrace. Alero was limp in his arms, she felt nothing. Few seconds passed then she asked,

‘What exactly do you want me to forgive you for?’

‘The ‘ever after’ marriage is not a bed of roses. I have flaws my love, as you do, but we can work through it all.’

Alero now understood, and she held her husband tightly, wondering if ‘happily ever after’ is not a myth after all.

*******

In the spirit of ‘Valentine,’ I would be exploring a lot of relationships and how we could turn more towards the ‘happily ever after’ theme. Forgiveness and tolerance is the key for the success of any human relationship. Love conquers all…

Enjoy your weekend friends!

Much love, always!

🙂

Poor, Poor Writers…

 

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I came across this interesting and revealing article from my publisher’s website, Arrow Gate Publishing, and I know I just have to post this. Read on, and when you see a book, or any creative work for that matter, do know that a lot goes into the final work.

******

                                                                    Writers And The Unpredictability Of Their Profession!

A new article by Alison Flood of theguardian.com has created divided opinions. She painted a very gloomy picture of the pittance authors make from their trade and she reveals that, ‘figures show the vast majority of authors, both traditionally and self-published, are struggling to make a living from their work.’

Astonishingly, she is right, and as a publisher dedicated to getting the right book out to readers, our roles seems interwoven. Are we taking a gamble in this unpredictable business? Or just doing it because we love the written word? The answer is simple, we love writers and their stories. It is a noble but lonely profession, where writers could hole up in a room for several months trying to put the thoughts in their heads to life.

The words of this article are not necessarily our opinion, however, it is a compelling read at the same time. Please enjoy!

******

The publishing industry has never been so sharply divided. In the week when the erotica writer Sylvia Day signed a staggering eight-figure two-book deal with St Martin’s Press, a survey reveals that 54% of traditionally-published authors and almost 80% of go-it-alone writers are making less than $1,000 (£600) a year.

More than 9,000 writers, from aspiring authors to seasoned pros, took part in the 2014 Digital Book World and Writer’s Digest Author Survey, presented at this week’s Digital Book World conference. The survey divided the 9,210 respondents into four camps: aspiring, self-published only, traditionally-published only, and hybrid (both self-published and traditionally-published). More than 65% of those who filled out the survey described themselves as aspiring authors, with 18% self-published, 8% traditionally-published and 6% saying they were pursuing hybrid careers.

Just over 77% of self-published writers make $1,000 or less a year, according to the survey, with a startlingly high 53.9% of traditionally-published authors, and 43.6% of hybrid authors, reporting their earnings are below the same threshold. A tiny proportion – 0.7% of self-published writers, 1.3% of traditionally published, and 5.7% of hybrid writers – reported making more than $100,000 a year from their writing. The profile of the typical author in the sample was “a commercial fiction writer who might also write non-fiction and who had a project in the works that might soon be ready to publish”, according to the report.

Fortunately only a minority of respondents listed making money as “extremely important” – around 20% of self-published writers, and about a quarter of traditionally-published authors. But authors’ top priority was not divorced from commercial concerns, with around 56% of self-pubbers, and almost 60% of traditional authors, judging it “extremely important” to “publish a book that people will buy”.

According to the report’s co-author and Digital Book World editorial director Jeremy Greenfield, the report confirms the finding that “authors of all stripes, but particularly self-published authors, don’t earn huge sums of money doing what they do”.

“Most authors write because they want to share something with the world or gain recognition of some sort,” Greenfield said. “There are, of course, outliers. The top 2% or so of authors make a good living and the most successful authors – including self-published authors – make a tremendous amount of money.”

“The question of money is a tricky one,” agreed Greenfield’s co-author, professor Dana Weinberg. “Publishing a book for sale is a matter of both art and commerce. I would argue that for most writers publishing is not only about money; it’s about a lot of other things including touching readers and sharing stories, but the money is important in a lot of ways.”

The dream of quitting the day job to pursue writing is only a reality for a tiny fraction of writers, she continued. “Writing good books is a big time commitment, as much for many writers in the survey as a part-time job, and income gives writers something to show their family and friends for all of their effort and hard work. Some writers are looking for validation, and in the world of self-publishing, where you don’t have the prestige of being chosen by a press, the money is a tangible and rewarding substitute. While writers aren’t motivated purely by money, the money does matter on many levels. The high royalty rates in self-publishing also give writers higher expectations about their potential income.”

So too, do success stories like that of Day, who originally self-published her erotic novel Bared to You, or the author Hugh Howey, who sold hundreds of thousands of copies of his dystopian novel Wool himself on Amazon before landing a publisher. But according to Howey, the survey casts self-publishing in too gloomy a light.

“This survey does not capture the fact that self-publishing is going through a renaissance,” Howey said. “It expects a group of authors with two or three years of experience and market maturity to line up against the top 1% of authors who have had several generations’ head start. Remember that not all books that go the traditional route are counted here, just the few who get published. Meanwhile, every self-published book is tallied.”

For Howey, self-publishing plays a vital role by allowing writers to “hone” their skills. “I would say the results of this survey cloud how nearly impossible it is to make a single cent through traditional publishing (because only the top 1% who ‘make it’ are tallied). The simple fact is this: getting paid for your writing is not easy. But self-publishing is making it easier. How much easier? We don’t have sufficient data to know. But a conservative estimate would be that five to 10 times as many people are paying bills with their craft today as there was just a few years ago. And that should be celebrated.”

NP: Well done if you managed to read this article, would love to know your thoughts! 🙂 Now, back light-hearted matters, Valentine is around the corner, but my husband says that everyday is supposed to be ‘lovers day,’ and I think he’s right! 🙂 I hope you would have a great time.

Have a pleasant weekend my friends. Much love, always!

🙂 🙂

Escape…

 

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I must have fallen and hit my head on the pavement, I felt hands on my legs and slowly, I slipped away. Then the pulling started, I felt searing pain tearing my insides into million pieces. I wanted to scream but couldn’t. It was a scary feeling. I felt trapped, immobile but my senses were sharp. I wanted to feel my body but it was like being wrapped in a bubble.

It was a floating kind of feeling, if you know what I mean but I guess you don’t. Then darkness came, it was oppressive and in my comatose existence, I welcomed it.

I was like that for God knows how long when suddenly,  sounds began to filter to me. It wasn’t clear or anything but I could make out voices. By now, I think I know a bit about my situation but escaping from wherever I am, was impossible.

Again, I tried to touch tangible things but I was weightless, helpless and the floating feeling returned in intensity. Then I realised that my mind could do things. I thought of Tom, my son, and immediately I was racing towards his school, invisible but in a life form all the same.

I breezed inside and saw him in the lecture room, his face ashen and seemed carved out of granite. I wanted to touch him but there was this irrepressible gulf. I felt defeated and thought of my husband. My mind took me on a whirlwind drive back to the hospital.

That was the first time I saw myself.

My bloated face looked blue and lifeless. Tubes were sticking out from every part of my body. Nathan, my husband was speaking but I couldn’t make out the words properly. I concentrated all my energy and studied his lips and finally, caught what he was saying,

‘It’s been five years doctor! I want my wife back.’ 

The doctor shook his head and patted my husband on the shoulder and slowly walked out of the room.

Then the memories rushed back.

I’ve been in coma for five years? I could float out of my body and see things! I’m trapped. I thought and watched my husband approach me on the bed. He crouched low and his hands slowly found the exposed part of my arm.

‘Please forgive  me Carey, I’m so sorry. I tried…’ And his voice trailed away.

What? Wait, don’t pull the plug, I’m here, don’t kill me! Don’t stop my life support!’ I screamed with everything I’ve got but Nathan walked to the other side of the bed and a miracle occurred, he stopped midway. Staring at me.

He paused for a while and looking straight at me he said, ‘I’ll fight for you Carey, I’ll wait. You’ll come back to me and the boys.’

I guess I escaped but how on earth am I going to open my eyes. I can hear things, I can see but the doctors thought I’m brain-dead. I really want to live… Can you please help me?

****************

This story,  whatever it is, came to my mind today early in the morning when my three-year old son trotter to my room and crept under the covers. Since my sleep was broken, I thought of the former Israeli Prime minister, Ariel Sharon who had been in a coma since 2006. It’s mysterious how someone could slip into a coma while still alive. Some come out of it and some don’t. I guess we should be thankful for everyday we see the sun. On a lighter note, Carey came out of the coma and it was happy days again. If only life is as simple as fiction.

Thanks for reading and have a brilliant week friends!

Much love. 🙂

Stranded At Santum Close (4)

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(Photo credit: jtkunley)

The man fell down with a  heavy swoop, hitting the ground like a bomb, his eyes turned red and Linda screamed, staring at her assailant in shock.

*****************************

A day after Linda’s disappearance, Gordon was desperate to find answers and he decided to check his wife’s things. He rummaged through the contents of the drawers in their room as sweat poured from his agitated body in torrents. He threw his wife’s clothes on the floor, looking around with a deranged glint in his eyes and swore softly under his breath. His gaze swept the room clean and he shook his head in despair, he was sure he had checked everywhere.

Eliza appeared at the doorway with arms akimbo and his demeanour spelt trouble but Gordon was not in the mood for his arguments.

‘Dad, what do you think you’re doing?’

Gordon sighed in defeat and answered, ‘I am looking for clues son, anything that could show me what to do!’ Eliza considered that, came inside the room, then sat down on the bed.

‘I found mom’s diary on the table when she left for work yesterday, she must have forgotten it, you might find some answers there.’ ‘Eliza said quietly, his eyes sad. Gordon took the blue diary from him and held it to his heart.

‘Thanks son, I’ll see if I can find anything in it.’

Eliza nodded and left the room and the next thing Gordon heard was a deafening sound as gunshots erupted outside his bedroom, he heard stomping footsteps and his heart broke into a million fragments.  Disregarding his own safety, Gordon bolted out of the room after his son, but it was too late. Eliza was lying on the corridor with blood pouring out of his chest wound.

‘No!!!’ Gordon yelled and held his son close to his chest, weeping uncontrollably. He gently laid him back, ran into his room, yanked open the door of his walk in wardrobe, picked up one of his semi automatic rifles, and strode out of his room, darting downstairs but there was no one around. Minutes later, sounds of siren tore down his street and Gordon finally realized, that  his life was rapidly going downhill.

Three police officers alighted from their cars, their gloomy eyes suggested they hated the sight of the grief ridden man whose house had become accursed.

************

I appreciate everyone who has followed this story thus far, the culminating part would be posted next week. Do continue to enjoy the rest of your week!

Much love, always. 🙂

Stranded At Santum Close

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Linda moved away from husband, tears in her eyes. She hated his anger and bickering, it was like a stab wound to her delicate heart.

‘Answer me!’ Gordon screamed spurning her around, she slipped and landed on the floor, grimacing in pain. But Gordon was past caring, he bent over her, his dark hair dishevelled. His six-foot frame shaking with uncontrollable rage. There was a deranged glint in his eyes.

‘Who the hell is big Joe? I sure don’t know him among your cousins,’ he snarled and raised his massive hands as if to strike her, she averted his gaze and hid her face under the crop of her arms. Gordon continued his tirade of abuse nonetheless,

‘You have his number on your phone, you have him on LinkedIn, Facebook and Twitter and yet, I don’t know him, answer me!’

Then he bent down and carried her effortlessly from the marble floor of their five bedroom end of terrace property and threw her on the bed. She heard footsteps coming up the stairs and knew their sons must have heard the noise.

‘Keep your voice down,’ she begged but he continued, ignoring her pleading.

‘You are now a celebrity eh? Having men eat from your palms but listen to me and listen good,’ he narrowed his eyes to drive his points home, ‘you ARE still my wife, and must tell me everything!’

And with that, he stomped out of the room, almost colliding with Eliza, their eldest son. She heard him taking the car keys from the fire-place, moments later, the sound of raving engines soon became a distant echo.

Eliza lingered at the doorway, his face puffed up from sleep. He stared at his mom and the sadness in his eyes wrenched her heart out. Without a single word, he closed the door and walked away.

Linda decided not to cry, her tears would achieve nothing, the only thing that could ease her pain was work. She leapt up from the bed and went straight to the bathroom. As she scrubbed her body, she wondered why Gordon, her husband did not trust her anymore.

They’ve been married for twenty-five years, they met at college and have been together ever since. Linda’s faithfulness to her husband and kids has never been in doubt, until now. Gordon was the only one who doubted her – all her friends and extended family knew she would lick the ground he walked on and she knew he loved her too, but why the sudden mistrust and jealousy?

Linda shook her head in confusion and finished bathing. She left the bathroom and sauntered to the room. Within minutes, she finished dressing and was ready to go. She lingered briefly at the full length mirror in the bedroom. She was forty-five years old but looked thirty. Her luscious dark hair flowed easily to her back, her full painted lips parted in an empty smile and her eyes looked sad.

Linda was aware of her extraordinary beauty but it didn’t get to her. Her well proportioned body seemed to have fared well regardless of the four children which came out of her.

She rubbed her slim manicured hands on her face and sighed.

‘I love you Gordon.’ she said aloud but her feeling of sadness persisted.

She left the room and saw Eliza and his brothers outside the door.

‘Mom, dad is getting worse,’ Eliza said in a matter of fact tone, he looked worried.

‘It’s just a phase,’ Linda replied in an unconvincing tone, ‘it would pass.’

She hugged her sons and slowly made her way down the stairs.

‘What about the family picnic? Today is bank holiday mom, I don’t want you to go to work.’ said Luke, her last son.

‘I have to,’ she said, ruffling his blonde hair, his pale skin grew paler at her touch.  When she got to the living room, she took the second car keys but on second thoughts, left it on the centre table.

‘I won’t be long, just a few files to work on and I’ll be home in time for lunch.’

Eliza nodded absent-mindedly.

Unbeknown to him, that would be the last time he would set his eyes on his mother.

****************************

I’ve not written short stories in a while, I wrote this weeks ago and just stumbled on it while I was musing about some real life events. Through out this month, I’ll write this story, it’s loosely based around true events that I’d seen happened to some very close friends. But I’m going to fabricate some facts as well. I’ll post this story once a week and when it’s done, provided I get great response from you my friends, I’ll think of what to do with it.

The next instalment would be Wednesday, but I’ll still be posting ‘breaking news’ (life experiences) as they come.

A word of advise, live well – there are no perfect relationships but you can be the best, wherever you find yourself!

Have a wonderful week!

Much love, always.

🙂