I don’t know about you, dear Reader, but I hit the ground running in 2013, haven’t stopped since, and while overall, it has been a fantastic year, the running was not always to or from a positive place!
However, as the days and weeks rushed on, there were a lot of wonderful times and small successes, little inroads made, and big and little smiles amongst the stressors. And a lot of good work was done, writing side, so all in all, and in the bigger scheme of things, I have little to complain about.
I’m not going to bore anyone with the usual list of what I see as my annual goal-busters, nor to share the woes, but I do feel the earth shifting beneath my feet somewhat, and all I can hope for, as indeed, all any of us can hope for, is that it keeps shifting in a positive direction. Anyway, to round off the year, I offer you this bit of flash fiction…SPIRIT…which, mind you, is not intended for the faint hearted!
Blessings on your lovely heads, I wish you all more smiles, less stress and more success XX
Spirit of New Year
New Year’s Eve, and the low-sunk winter sun, now streaming in through the frost-encrusted window, cast slivers of light on Spirit, a bronze sculpture, so lovingly placed in the centre of the mantle. Joanna’s favourite thing, and though paid for by him, was a gift she had picked for herself, on this, her tenth wedding anniversary.
Spirit’s windswept hair was made of fine tendrils, and Joanna gently blew a shimmer of dust from those tendrils as she made a wish before settling the crooked ornaments on the now slightly wilting Christmas tree. As she did so, the sun fell away to cloak Spirit’s graceful limbs with the watery green shadow often seen descending on the wasteland that surrounded this cottage. Their refuge from the world, or so he had described it, and the perfect setting to rekindle their troubled relationship.
The week had gone well, with at least some compromise reached on their many disagreements of late. Ten years was a long time to invest in anything, but a relationship was more than time. It was for keeps. She reckoned he understood that now, though still wondered how things would be once they got back to the city tomorrow.
Back to reality. To a new year, and a fresh start.
She was still pondering it all when the first blow struck her from behind, and she fell across the floor to land on her knees. As the blows rained down, searing shocks vibrated the length of her body, and Joanna could see splatters of her own blood fall around her. A hit to her spine sent her spinning upright to see Spirit lashing down on her, flaying thin tendrils leaving peppered holes in Joanna’s forehead.
And she saw him then, naked – mostly — her blood running down his muscular legs, like watered-down paint collecting in the Wellington boots he had been wearing earlier while clearing some debris from the wasteland at the back of the cottage.
As Spirit loomed in again, her ponderous questions of earlier seemed answered with a finality that she would never have expected of him. And how utterly terrified he looked, trembling and crying, hovering over her as Spirit whispered in Joanna’s ear, Happy New Year, for wasn’t that what she had wished for, until a single tear of blood glistened from the corner of her unseeing eye.