Hi there! I’m recently loving doing creative writing, finding it relaxes me and I just love to pour my words onto a sheet of paper! What gives me even more of a buzz is the idea that someone- anyone- could be reading my creative writing if I publish it online. Recently I had a piece of work published on Sugar Rascals which I think really kick-started my love of creative writing in terms of publishing it online and letting others read it.
I’ve decided to write something creative every so often and use word prompts to base a short piece of fiction around, and then publish this writing on my blog. This first post is based on the word ‘station’, which I got from a random word generator online, but if anyone has any other word prompts I could use for creative writing, comment them below and I will try to write a piece based around that word!
We clasp onto one another, never wanting to let go, our hands entwined so we are the same person. He strokes my hand, staring into my eyes. His hands are smooth and perfect- artists’ hands. Mine are worn, hard from cleaning. He leans down and in one graceful movement kisses the top of my head. Tears roll down my cheeks, catching on my eyelashes and blurring my vision. He kisses them dry and begins to cry too, great tears rolling down his cheeks and dropping onto his new green coat. It’s a standard army coat, with every soldier in this station wearing one, but on him it looks different- surreal, making him look vulnerable rather than strong. He’s an artist- not a soldier.
Men and women all around us are shouting, waving and crying, sobbing mothers clutching onto their sons, anxious fiancées wondering when they’ll next see their lover again. A rumbling comes from behind me and the train rolls into the station, bang on time. And then he’s slipping from my grip, putting his hat on, buttoning up his coat, kissing my forehead as I stand, dazed, on the station.
And then I’m amongst the others, crushed by a crowd and waving blindly at the departing train, still in a daze. “This could be the last time I see him,” I think to myself as I exit the station with the weeping women who crowd it.
I put the pen down, not satisfied, but hungry, my hand aching as I try to recount all that happened between me and Ted that day at the station. My grand-daughter comes rushing in, knocking over a vase of flowers in her haste. “Sorry grandma,” she says excitedly, her face illuminated from some game her and her grandpa are playing. “Come and see this,” she says, dragging me out of my nostalgia and pushing me into the living room, where I watch her and her grandfather, my husband, recite some funny poem they have written, each of them captivated with the humour of it. I laugh accordingly and smile at the two of them, how close they are, how happy.
I have spent a good life with my husband. He has always been there for me, since we met during the war he has been my rock, never failing to make me smile even now, almost seventy years later. He will never know I loved another, an artist, a romantic man with smooth, loving hands, before he came along. I push this thought and everything else to do with Ted out of my head. I try to forget when I said to myself that I would never see him again, thinking at the time it wouldn’t be true. “Who wants some cake?” I say, rushing into the kitchen as tears fall down onto my cheeks. There’s no-one to dry them now.
This is dedicated to all those who fought during World War Two, as well as those still fighting now in other countries, they will not be forgotten. It may be a bit late for Remembrance Day, but these men (and women) that were affected by the war should always be remembered.
Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed it! Let me know what you thought below and any words I could use as prompts for another piece of writing! I will of course tag people in when I write a piece of writing based on their suggestion!
Happy reading (and writing?)!
Currently reading: ‘The Thousandth Floor’ by Katharine McGee