The story below was written in answer to a challenge that asked the author to produce a short story that had the same beginning and ending lines, but the meaning of them changed.

To read how this story evolved from a poem, check out 'The Evolution of Writing' (24/09/2015) on the Blog page.

Such pain,
Giving way to disbelief.

Was it only this morning, when happiness was all I knew? Golden sunlight coloured everything; as I was driven to hospital, and handled with care. Like a precious treasure.

As shock invades,
Tears are not nearly enough.

Now my mind is divorced from reality, working on a different time-scale; slower. I watch the doctors and nurses as they move around me, with serious expressions and softly spoken conversation. I can feel my lover’s hands, wrapped around mine. Part of me wants to shake-free from his grasp; though it’s my only anchor, in a world I no longer recognise.

What is it they are telling me?
No life exists?
Lies.
I’d know.

How can anyone be so stupid?  Is this a genuine mistake or a twisted joke?  You’d think, with so many letters after their names, they’d have more common sense. It’s just not possible… I’d be able to tell if something was wrong; there’d be physical pain, a sense of something tearing free. There’d definitely be blood.

Nature isn’t this cruel—taking life without warning.

A silent scream begins to rise,
Horror sweeping all aside,
I’m empty now.

I’m afraid of needles—but that’s what they insist on.  Pinpricks, blood tests and knives; I assume they’ll use knives.  The doctors and nurses keep smiling at me, and I wonder if they’ll smile as they work over my unconscious body; stripping me of more than lifeless, unneeded tissue. I don’t want to close my eyes, I want to see and know for sure… but I have no choice.

No comfort in the voices,
They bring only words.

When my eyes open again, I can see the tears in my lover’s gaze and feel his hands on mine once more. I watch as his lips move, knowing that sound accompanies the action… but I can’t make sense of it. Others come; awkward and bizarrely cheerful, talking about the future.  Why won’t they leave me alone?

And flowers?
What good are they?
No beauty left in anything,
No scent sweet enough.

I’ve always loved sunflowers; all flowers, if I’m truthful.  Now I’m home, there are vases and vases of them; kindly meant, but funereal in feel.

Dreams are blackened,
Depression all-consuming.

Funny, how the sun has disappeared. The world is full of shadows now; an everlasting twilight that never brightens with morning’s welcome, but slips into night’s embrace with a contented sigh.  I see a lot of night. I cannot sleep.

Time has no meaning,
A life hangs in limbo,
No healing here.

Not yet.

My lover’s eyes are filled with worry. It pushes aside the suffering that mirrored my own; that showed me I wasn’t alone, and comforted me. He says he loves me, and it’s time to move on, to live and try again… but the wounds are still so raw.  How can I?

Memory is cruel,
Life is precious,
Death requires grieving.

Even now, with two years passed, I haven’t forgotten. Though life goes on, I am forever changed. Fear is still a living thing, curling around my heart and mind.

Goodbye my first,
My unborn family,
Untainted,
I think of you.

Alarm-bells are ringing and people are rushing. Death hovers over me once more. There are so many things that can go wrong. One heart has already failed, leaving me far too soon. Is this life any stronger?  Has fate become kinder?

My lover’s grip is tight and steady, immovable fingers I cling to. I will be strong; through the burn and trauma of contracting muscles, and the voices of strangers all around me. Time moves so slowly… until I hear it; the scratchy cry I never thought would come.

Such pain,
Giving way to disbelief.

The story below was written for a challenge that asked for the author to work with a 'pivotal' memory from their school days. As ever, a splash of reality, meshed with pure imagination, is something I always enjoy writing. Funny how people in authority (like a teacher) can morph from someone scary, to someone who might just 'get' who you really are. 


In-knock-you-wuss, innockuos, innocuous…as I worked through the spelling, from phonetic to correct, I realised how well it described me—harmless, bland and unremarkable.

Lost to the world, I jumped when the comprehension exercise hit the smooth wood beside me. A covert glance at the delivery girl’s smirk, and I knew.
8/20 – eight out of twenty! I cringed.

Her allotted task complete, my cosmetically rendered, cranially challenged, yet inexplicably popular classmate returned to the front of the room. I watched as she slid into an equally vacant chair and, not for the first time, wondered how she, and the rest of the coven, managed it.

Usually, English was my favourite subject. Sitting at the back of the classroom offered me peace, if not quiet—and a chance to dream. The girls who sat on the front row did nothing but flirt with the young-ish, mirror-shaded, Mr Raper.

His was a name that caused giggles and whispers. “You know what they say about names…”

I knew, but I doubted the whisperers did. In the seventh century, any ‘Mr Raper’ would be working with ropes rather than sitting in a classroom. Not that it mattered; historical fact could still be twisted, to fit the slanderous gossip. Teenagers could be so stupid. They annoyed me far more than they should... considering I was one of them.

It wasn't because I was in a rush to be reach adulthood. It was because something inside me had always felt ancient. I wondered if that made me stupid too.

Stella’s gaze moved to the innocuous, cloudy sky. No stars tonight… 8/20.

The words stopped, and panic swelled within me. There was more than one way to rape a person’s soul. Degradation took many forms.

My teacher was good at meting that out; in big, red, numbers. No one got above thirteen.

I racked my brains for the next sentence—I loved creative writing.  It offered me a rare escape, my imagination let loose.

I’d handed my first story in on the same day as the comprehension. We’d been asked to fill at least two sides of A4 paper. I’d filled eight. I hadn’t meant to write so much, but the words kept spilling out.

When would he give the marks for that? My heart thumped uncomfortably and I felt the pinch of pain as my teeth clamped down on my inner lip. My head was starting to ache.

I watched Mr Raper from under my fringe. Raking a tanned hand through his dark, unruly hair, he pushed back his chair and rested his feet on his desk. Those ridiculous sunglasses were beginning to irritate me. I couldn’t tell where he was looking. Could he even see whilst wearing them indoors?

Shifting in my seat, my elbow nudged the comprehension paper.  It slid to one side, revealing beneath it—my story. Another red mark, and a scrawled message: 17/20 – This is good. Spelling needs work.

I blinked, stunned.
Mr Raper saw his students just fine.
A breeze displaced the gloom, and moonlight triumphed, granting Stella’s silent wish—to glimpse the infinite, glorious, star-filled universe, and witness its potential. Or-sum, Awwsome, Awesome…