Snippets: Tiny Stories

Same Coin, Two Sides:

She was a gifted teacher; she was remembered by those children long after they'd left her class and grown. With an ever expanding heart and skin that smelt of shortbread, she inspired their love as well as their imagination. Steady, calm, reliable - the Headteacher loved her too!

Much later, when little eyes were fast asleep, she surveyed the man, strapped down and fearful. "Right," she whispered in his ear. "Let us begin."

Missing:

They've been searching since last week; dug most of the field up. They can't find her. Parents must be frantic. press all over the place. Police been next door for hours now - men in white paper suits, in and out. They won't find her there. I keep watch; I can't do anything, get on with anything. Seems wrong. Disrespectful.

I've run out of black sacks. I'll pop out later, when it's gone quiet.

A Regular Visitor:

She felt the telltale niggle deep within her pelvis and the beginnings of 'The Headache' just behind her eyes. Making a quick note to herself to stop off at the chemist on the way home, she smoothed her skirt and went back to her meeting. Closing the deal took less than an hour.

Later, full of paracetamol and a hot water bottle clamped to her stomach, she held those tiny, little shoes and sobbed.

Truth will out:

Mark arrived home to find his wife in bed, fast asleep. One look around the traumatised bedroom told him all he needed to know; the disgarded suit, the tampons on the floor, the mascara tear tracks and those tiny shoes clutched in her hands. Sighing, he gently tucked the quilt around her and kissed her forehead.

Time for the truth; there was never going to be a baby. Courtesy of a little op, done privately.

Gagged

I crawl under the beclothes. My ribs ache, my eye is closing. I hurt. Inside and out. The house is quiet now. There is only me here. I can't stop trembling. I feel the stickiness on my legs and I want to vomit. Again. But there is nothing left inside me.

I know I should report it, go to the police. But it doesn't happen to men. Does it?

Shadow People:

What have you done to me? Words used to spring from my mouth with an effervescense of all of their own. Now they creep out, hesitant, ready to back track at a moment's warning. I used to fill a room like carpet to the corners. Now I am the dust on the old picture frame.

I always dreamed love would enable me, light me from within. Not make me a shadow, silent and sorry.