Till Death Do Us Apart

‘Did you call the kids? Are they coming?’

‘Yes hon, tomorrow. Where are my glasses?’

‘On the cupboard. Did you call the kids? Are they coming?’

‘Tomorrow, love. Coffee?’

‘Where are the kids?’

The Trifextra challenge asked us to write a 33 word dialogue this weekend.  This was hard!  I’m not usually good with dialogue, in fact I struggle with it.  I much prefer descriptions and narrative. But I gave it a shot.  What better way is there to improve your weak point?

Vlad’s Love


Copyright-Claire Fuller

For years Vlad had studied her full lips and watched her figure swaying alluring, teasing, arousing him.  But she never saw him there, faithfully pining away, withering, starved of love.  He would have borne it if she remained alone, her heart unattached, untaken. But she hadn’t.  She fell for the other man. Seeing them in love, it broke him so he broke her in turn; her and the other man.  How they had screamed!  But now Vlad was even more desperate. His handiwork, which had seemed ingenious at first, had now sealed their fate to remain encased together eternally and him alone, watching. Continue reading



Copyright-Renee Homan Heath

‘For seven years, her face haunted me.  Her eyes wide in terror as the wave snatched her away from my arms.  She didn’t cry, just whimpered, like she knew.  I never said a word to her.  No “It’s going to be alright,” or anything. Because there was no time for goodbyes.  One second she was there, her small hands clutched around my neck, the next second she wasn’t.

‘But now standing on this beach again; sunny, peaceful like no disaster – no tsunami – had ever happened, I think it’s a better place than most to lie and rest. ‘ Continue reading

V for Love

Copyright-Roger Cohen

Two cellos sitting in a cargo hold, K-I-S-S-I-N-G.

Two cellists sitting in a train, A-R-G-U-I-N-G.

Two cellists walk in a theatre.

Mrs Cello goes one way and Mr Cello goes another.

Musicians trickle in, some greet Mrs Cello and some greet her ex.

The clock goes tick-tock. Then GONG.

Two cellists walk on stage, where two chairs wait.

The audience claps and the conductor directs.

Two cellists make their cellos cry and the audience weeps.

Two cellists bow and the audience roars.

Backstage Mrs Cello smiles at her ex.

The musicians come in and cheer.

The two cellists are K-I-S-S-I-N-G.

This is my answer to the photo prompt kindly provided by Rochelle for this week’s Friday Fictioneers challenge.  It was a bit of a gamble posting this piece, but … well…I hope you like it!

P.S. My brother the musician has just informed me that the instruments you see in the picture are double basses and not in fact cellos, I went ahead with this taking some poetic licence.


It had been two weeks, two days and three hours since she had last heard his voice and his words still reverberated against her eardrums, spun through her head and shook her inside her core.

She spent the day alone like the preceding sixteen, surfing the net and flipping through channels.  Christmas was everywhere and Elvis’ one song that mattered was playing on loop, but it was not making her feel any better at all.  But neither had the Oreos, the crisps or the cigarettes.

The phone rang. Continue reading