Pond

Flash fiction: Ophelia

/ Claire Fuller / 68 Comments

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‘I used to follow her sometimes, in the early mornings,’ Gil said. ‘She never knew.’

Flora leaned forward beside his bed, waiting for her father to continue.

‘Once, I sat in the bird hide at Little Sea Pond and watched her shed her layers of clothes and emerge transformed into something ethereal, something not meant for this world. She stepped into the pond, lay back, and the water, it seemed to me, welcomed her, as if she had come home. She floated there as the sun rose – a naked Ophelia.

‘I never told her how much I loved her.’

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Thanks to our wonderful hostess Rochelle Wisoff-Fields who has been guiding and inspiring us Friday Fictioneers for two years today. If you want to have a go at writing 100 words based on the picture above (this week supplied by The Reclining Gentleman) click here, or if you want to have a read of all the other flash fictions, click here.

This week I managed exactly 100 words, and rather than thinking about the rather chilly-looking pond above, I rather had in mind this paining by Millais. 1280px-John_Everett_Millais_-_Ophelia_-_Google_Art_Project

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My novel Our Endless Numbered Days will be published in early 2015. Click here to find out more.

Short story: Dead Salt Pond

/ Claire Fuller / 39 Comments

 

adamickes-boardwalk

Richard hadn’t walked around Dead Salt Pond for years, but he let the dog lead the way. When he had first taken Sophia there, when she was still his student, the jetty had been newly built; firm, dark planks stretching out over the reeds. Now it was silvered and rotten, holes showing a patchwork of sunlight and shadow on water.

That day, he and Sophia made love for the first time, in the dunes behind the beach.

“Marry me,” he asked, at the end of the jetty.

“I can’t.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

“Can’t,” she said. “Richard, you do know I’m still seventeen?”

And he saw the rest of his life charge towards him, unstoppable.

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Our stories are meant to be 100 words long, give or take a couple of words, but this is 114. I put the last line in, took it out, put it in, took it out, put it in… Should the last line have been taken out? I’d be really interested to know what people think. Let’s have a vote!

For those who don’t know how Friday Fictioneers works, this picture (this time supplied by Adam Ickes) is our inspiration for our weekly online writing group hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Click here to read other people’s amazing stories or to join in. And please comment below with any suggestions for improvement on mine.