I’ve been having problems writing. Brain fog. I get ideas for stories, sometimes even complete ones, but when I examine them a little deeper, they’re simply a retelling of what happened. I don’t find a message in them or anything special. I watched Abbie Emmons’ video on writing THEME into my story. Now I’m going to practice and try get back into a routine of regular writing.
Enjoy my flash fiction and let me know in the comments what theme you get out of this. Feel free to write your own on the theme and ping back.
Every minute of the day jam packed. Breakfast, prepare lunches, school run, grocery shopping plus a gift for her sister-in-law’s party on Saturday – she needed to figure out what, delivering sports equipment for dancing and soccer – too much to carry around all day they’d complained, cooking dinner, packing the dishwasher and washing the pans – no one could help because they had homework and hubby was relaxing after his stressful day, checking everyone had clean clothes for the morning and ironing if necessary.
Layla got out of bed and went to the bathroom. She stared out the window at the gorgeous sunny summer day that she was going to spend either indoors or in the car.
“I don’t want to!”
A little finch bounced from the bird feeder to the branch, onto the grasses, back higher. She longed for the times when she had that much energy and zest for life. She’d done this! Pampered, spoiled everyone, and taken a back seat. The green hills in the distance called to her. Today whispered hike, nature and fresh air.
She blew into her boots, in case of cobwebs and laced them, put a lightweight jacket in her dusty backpack, and transferred her wallet from her handbag and walked down the passage.
“Katie, Josh time to get up. You’d better wake your father and ask him to take you to school. I’m going out.”
“What? Where’s our coffee?” came moans from the bedrooms next to each other.
“In the kitchen. You’ll need to figure out how the machine works. I have shown you before. Bye,” she shouted backwards.
Full water bottle and keys in hand she floated out of her home.
At four she interrupted her day to text her husband she was going to be late. Taking time for herself didn’t mean she abandoned her good manners. They were an important part of who she was. Consideration was not a weakness, but maybe she should be included in the list of recipients.
“Hello darling. Did you have fun?”
“Um… yes thanks.” Layla looked around the kitchen, half expecting dirty dishes to come crashing out of a cupboard. The house was standing and clean.
“There’s Tikka Chicken in the fridge if you’re hungry. I taught the kids how to make it.”
“Hey mom,” the children said in unison coming out of the spotless scullery. “Laundry is on. Going to do homework,” they smiled, each kissing a cheek.
Jaw slack she headed for the shower. Next week she’d take her sketchbook.
By Debbie Gravett © 2021.09.10