Helena Stone's Blog, page 15

Flash Fiction: Strong Enough

 “This is stupid. Just take me home again.” Ryan’s eyes flashed with anger and resentment. Peter wasn’t ready to give up quite yet though. They’d come this far and everything was ready, he wasn’t about to give up less than 50 meters from the finish line.
Just getting Ryan here had taken endless talking, arguing and something uncomfortably close to emotional blackmail. Shame filled Peter as he remembered the moment when he’d told Ryan to stop being selfish. “You can go out with me. Just once won’t kill you. I’d like to spend an evening doing something other than watching television for a change.”It had been impossible to miss Ryan’s flinch when he heard those words. The pain reflected in Ryan’s eyes had almost made him apologize and backtrack, but he’d stopped himself.
“Peter, you can’t pull the chair through that grass. It’ll get stuck.” Ryan sounded resigned rather than angry and Peter wasn’t sure which was harder to listen to.
It had been a long six weeks for both of them. Immediately after the accident they’d both just been happy they’d survived the crash. It had taken a few days before they’d realised what Ryan’s prognosis meant. He’d be in a wheelchair for at least three months after which he’d have to go through months of rehabilitation with no guarantee that he’d ever get all power in his legs back.
Peter bent his knees and knelt in front of Ryan’s chair. “Just wrap your arms around my neck. We’re nearly there. Our dinner awaits around the corner there. I’ll carry you.” He didn’t turn his head to look at Ryan while he spoke – all too aware how much Ryan hated being dependent on others...on him.Getting up with Ryan on his back was harder than Peter could have imagined but he made it. He fixed his eyes on the spot he had to reach and concentrated on getting there.
If this didn’t work he’d no idea what to try next. He could see Ryan retreating from the world in front of his eyes and unless he found a way to get Ryan interested in life again.... Peter stopped himself from pursuing the thought.
It wasn’t fair that Ryan - who’d always been on the move, played three different team sports, and actually enjoyed working out - might face a future with limited mobility. But Peter knew without a doubt that if Ryan gave up - if he surrendered to his darkest fears now - he’d no hope of getting better.
Ten more steps to the corner. Ryan had been quiet during Peter’s slow progress. Peter concentrated and counted down from ten. When he reached three he coughed. Three steps later, as he rounded the corner, hundreds of lights sprang to life and recreated the night sky over his head. Ahead of them family and friends burst into Happy Birthday to you.
Ryan’s grip relaxed and he laughed softly. “I love you, you bastard.”
***
With thanks to Allison Hickman for choosing this wonderful picture. Don’t forget to visit Brigham Vaughn’s blog for your chance to enjoy what this photo inspired her to write. We'll be back next Monday with another picture and two more stories.

Flash Fiction: Pet Hate

Welcome to another installment of Flash Fiction Monday. This week's picture was chosen by me. I hope it brought my brilliant partner in crime, Brigham Vaughn, the inspiration she needed. You can find her interpretation found here.

I hope you’ll enjoy our flashes. Please let us know in the comments and don’t forget to join us again next week.


Just goes to show what I know.
The words shoot through my head as he brushes his lips against mine again. He exerts more pressure this time, trying to gain entrance and I’m only too delighted to grant it.
It’s hard to believe it’s only been three days since I cursed myself and my inability to say no. When my elderly neighbour came and asked me if I would look after her dog for a few weeks I suspected her of joking. I’d told her often enough how much I disliked pets, especially the larger, hair-shedding variety. And yet here she was, not only expecting me to walk and feed her failed Dalmatian but also take him into my apartment. My mind screamed no while my mouth said yes.
The first morning after she’d left, it pissed from the heavens. I glared at Percival as he stood expectantly by the door, wagging his tail at me. We went out only because I figured getting wet would be less frustrating than having to clean up whatever messes he might leave in my house if I didn’t.
I never saw him coming. I stared at the path in front of me as I tried to figure out how long I’d have to walk through the rain before I could reasonably take the dog back home. Percival pulled on his leash with so much force he nearly tripped me up. The steadying hand took me by surprise. The beautiful face smiling at me when I looked up almost took my breath away. His name is Kevin.
The next morning I made sure to leave the house at the same time. The Gods must have been with me because the sun shone and I saw him and his black canine as soon as I entered the park. My heart stuttered when his face lit up as soon as he noticed me too. We walked our dogs together for an hour that passed way to fast.
“Are you in a hurry?” Kevin smiled at me. He’d waited for me again this morning.
“No hurry at all.” I’d taken the day off work even if I didn’t know why when I made the call.
“Good. It’s a nice day. Let’s walk on.” Kevin’s smile turned into a happy grin.
We left the park, walked and chatted. I told him Percival isn’t mine. He told me he got his dog from an animal rescue place. The two dogs got on like a house on fire, maybe taking their cue from us.
And now we’re here. His tongue gently plays with mine as we explore each other’s mouths. I’m vaguely aware of a couple walking past us, the man huffing as if annoyed and the girl tut-tutting him. I don’t care. I am exactly where I want to be. And if it hadn’t been for the stupid, hair-shedding, attention demanding creature on the other end of the leash I hold.... I don’t even want to think about that.

Flash Fiction with Brigham Vaughn

Welcome to the new and much improved Flash Fiction Monday. From this week forward I will be joined by the charming and very talented Brigham Vaughn. Both of us will write a short story – no longer than 500 words – based on the same picture and post them on our blogs every Monday.

While you’re on Brigham’s blog don’t forget to take a look at her other wonderful posts – including her wonderful photographs – as well as the free stories she’s made available. You’re in for a treat.
This week's gorgeous picture was selected by Brigham.


Pushover
I’m still not sure what has happened. How did I end up here, with a cigarette in my mouth leaning my forehead into the man I’ve been lusting after for months despite his obvious disinterest.
Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Scott, I’m a thirty year old sound engineer and I haven’t smoked in six months, two weeks and three days. Also six months ago I went from working freelance to signing a contract with this exclusive club for men. I’m in charge of music and lightning. Background music, performances, dance nights and pole dance performances; the sound and vision effects will have been thought up and provided by me and I’m good at what I do.
The man’s who’s about to light the cigarette I really shouldn’t smoke, owns the club. His name, would you believe, is Charles – never Charlie - and he’s everything I’m not. Where I’m rough around the edges he’s suave. As soon as I open my mouth I betray my working class background whereas he has a silver spoon well and truly lodged in his.
Ever since Charles approached me during a festival gig and offered me this job I’ve wanted him. He’s in my every fantasy; his mere presence has an instant effect on my cock. His proximity while I’m working my knob twiddling magic on the sound desk inevitably leads to thoughts about another knob I’d like to twiddle. For six long months he’s kept his distance.
Earlier tonight he approached me with a look on his face I hadn’t seen before. His gaze travelled down my body and up again until he stared straight into my eyes and licked his lips. Instantly my knob felt as if it had been twiddled with. When Charles asked me to put on a long dance sequence so I could take a break, I almost messed the transition. What the fuck. I don’t get nervous; I never make mistakes.
For six months I have fantasised about pushing him against a wall and taking him, by force if necessary. While I wait for the tantalising smell of sulphur once he strikes a match, I realise I’m lost. If he lights my cigarette I’ll smoke it, despite my vow to never touch the cancer sticks again.  My need to please him goes deeper than nicotine. 
For the first time in my life I don’t want to be in charge. I don’t want to take, I desire to be claimed. I yearn for the feel of a wall against my back while his body presses into mine. After all these years of taking what I want, this pusher is about to turn into a ‘pushee’.
***
If you haven't already done so, don't forget to move on to Brigham's blog and read her story here.

On the Barricades

Open Letter to those who oppose Marriage Equality



Here’s my question for you. Do you have a child/children? What if your child came home and told you he/she had fallen for and wanted to make their life with a same sex partner? Would you tell them that from that moment forward they were only second class citizens? Would you tell them they suddenly weren’t good enough to get married anymore, didn’t deserve the same rights, obligations and opportunities as everybody else? Would you, who has – I assume - always known your child as a loving and smart individual, suddenly feel they’re no longer capable of lovingly raising a child of their own? Could you feel these things about your own offspring? Would you be able to say those things to their face?
If the answer to those questions is yes you are probably less qualified to raise children than the person you are judging, could ever be. Think about it. Same sex couples are never going to have an accidental child. The chances of them forgetting to use contraception and ending up with an unplanned pregnancy as a result, are nil. These couples face a long and arduous journey if they decide they want to create a family. There will be medical and/or legal procedures to face, administrative red tape to battle and a waiting time much longer than the nine months the rest of us deal with.
I have another question. Do you think marriage equality shouldn’t be allowed because the purpose of marriage is to procreate? And/or do you think same sex couples shouldn’t be allowed to adopt or raise children because every child deserves to be raised by two loving parents of different genders? If your answer to those questions is affirmative I would like to know how you think we should deal with women who find themselves raising children on their own? Should we take those children and put them in a family where they will have both a father and a mother? Or maybe we should force anyone who isn’t married to use contraception so no child will ever be born unless their heterosexual parents are actually married? And what about infertile couples? Should we even allow them to marry if the purpose of marriage is to procreate?
I’ve heard people say that marriage equality diminishes their own marriage. My mind boggles. I’m sure enough in my marriage, the love for my husband and the love he has for me, his wife, to know that nothing outside the two of us can either diminish or enhance the quality of our bond. If your marriage and the way you feel about it depends on outside factors it makes me feel sorry about the state of your relationship. Marriage isn’t and shouldn’t be a privilege only granted to those who happen to be the majority. Marriage is the expression of the love between two people. Marriage means that those two people will automatically have rights (and obligations) they might otherwise not have or only be able to safeguard through long and often expensive legal proceedings.
Maybe you are convinced people choose to fall for people of their own gender and feel that they should just choose differently in order to avoid the issues of marriage and raising children. If that is your belief I’d like you to explain to me why you think anyone would do that to themselves? You’d have to be a rather hardened masochist to inflict the sort of prejudice, discrimination and complications that come with a same sex relationship on yourself. Did you decide to fall for the person you love right now or was it something magical, a wonderful moment that took you by surprise and filled you with joy? And if the latter, why do you think it would be any different for other people?
If you have any doubts about marriage equality. If you feel that civil partnership should be enough, ask yourself whether or not civil partnership would be enough for you? Would you have been happy forgoing your wedding day? I’d also ask you to watch a documentary called ‘ Bridegroom ’ and then come back to me and tell me love isn’t love. That losing the person you’d hoped to spend the rest of your life with hurts less just because both partners were the same gender. Watch that movie and tell me you still believe certain rights should only apply to those who are heterosexual.

There is so much hate and pain in the world. Why can’t we just embrace love when we meet it and facilitate its smooth progress? Love experienced by others can never diminish the love we feel. More love and tolerance can only make our world a better place. Open your mind and your heart. Live and let live. Love and let love.

A Promise for the New Year

A New Year’s Resolution
2015 is about to start and, as I do almost every year, I’ve been thinking about resolutions and whether or not I should make a few. As has been the case in the past, I’ve had my doubts about the value of New Year’s resolutions. If I study the past and reflect on what I consider to be the best decisions I’ve made in my life I come to the conclusion not one of them was actually made on or even near January 1st.
My decision to try and write a book was made one day in October 2013 when I, in all my innocence, questioned on Twitter whether or not it is true that everybody has at least one story in them. Friends jumped on the Tweet and ensured me not only would I find at least one story hiding somewhere deep inside, I should also try to write it. And what better opportunity to test my writing skills, than NaNoWriMo, which was about to start a couple of weeks later. Thirteen months and two publishing deals later I have to admit accepting their challenge has been one of the better decisions I’ve ever made.
Another good decision I made recently was to stop buying cigarettes. That one was made on June 1stlast and I have more or less been able to stick to it, much to my surprise if I’m honest. I could go on and present more examples of wonderful decisions I made on dates other than January 1st, but I think you get the idea.
I don’t really view the start of a New Year as anything other than a reason for me to make mistakes whenever I have to write the date down. It usually takes me about a month before I remember to use the right year. Having said all of that, this year I do have a project I will start on January 1st.
In May 2015 Ireland will hold a referendum on marriage equality. This is a cause I have strong feelings about. In fact, I wouldn’t even call them feelings. I never have and never will understand why two people who are both of age and love each other shouldn’t be allowed to marry, should they wish to do so. How does it affect anybody else, and why should other people have a say in the matter? I just don’t get it. I don’t care nor interfere with where people choose to live, what sort of car they want to drive or any other personal decision. Why should whether or not they wish to get married be any different?
Because I feel so strongly about it and because the discussions I’ve been hearing and reading in the media recently have infuriated me, I have decided to crawl out of my shell and for once in my life take a stand. This is a rather big decision for me. I don’t like drawing attention to myself, I abhor conflict and tend to bite my tongue rather than speak up about issues, no matter how important or personal. Because I expect the discussion to get more intense and potentially more divisive as soon as the media and politicians return from their Christmas break, this is one decision which will take effect on January 1st.
I have written all my arguments to counter the naysayers down in a post I will share, probably tomorrow. These are the same arguments I intend to inundate the media with whenever I encounter what I consider to be ill thought-out, bigoted or mean-spirited comments on those media platforms. It scares me that I will be sticking my head above the parapet but it is something I feel I have to do. Either way, and whatever the outcome, it will be over no later than coming June. Six months of potential discomfort are not too big a price to pay for something I feel as strongly about as I do about marriage equality.
I have no vested interest in this argument. My marriage is as traditional as it is happy. I think that may make me more, rather than less qualified to speak; or, if not qualified, then at least an impartial participant. It will make no difference to my life and happiness whether or not this referendum is passed. I do believe the world will be a better place if we manage to get rid of yet another form of inequality. People are people and love is love. The sooner the world understands that principle and starts living and legislating accordingly, the sooner all of us will be living in a better and happier environment.

I guess this is just a heads up. It is quite possible I’ll bore you to tears with my thoughts on this matter between now and next June. I do it in the belief it is not only the right, but also the only thing to do, and I refuse to apologize for it.

Flash Fiction

I’m very grateful to Meredith King for picking today’s photo.
This is the last time Flash Fiction Monday will be a solo project. In the New Year Brigham Vaughn will join me. I can’t wait to see the results of both of us using the same picture for inspiration.


Look at them. Don’t they look all cute and perfect together?
If only people knew what it has taken to get them here. It took me a bloody month to get them to concede they didn’t actually hate each other, and I never did get either of them to admit to liking the other.
Once they’d no longer frowned whenever they met, I’d embarked on part two of my mission; get them together at a time and place where they might be tempted to give into to the attraction I sensed between them.
The party tonight had been the perfect opportunity. It hadn’t been easy to convince them they wanted to come and getting them into those suits had required the patience of a saint. I couldn’t deny the blue version looked rather garish, but hey, it was all for a good cause wasn’t it?
They’d arrived separately but had soon sought each other out. Talking while drinking had led to dancing, followed by tonsil tennis, and some not too discreet groping.
And look at them now; cute doesn’t begin to describe it.
Time for me to go home. My work here is done. Just call me Cupid.

Christmas and Me

I feel rather ambivalent about Christmas. There, I’ve said it.
Reading the poem before opening the presentYou see, in the Netherlands, where I grew up, the exchange of presents takes place on December 5thand has its own rituals. Presents are hidden inside homemade, jokey, contraptions which usually require some effort to dismantle and ensure that each present and its unwrapping are given individual attention. The poems the Dutch traditionally write to accompany each present serve the same purpose. The poem is read out loud before the present is opened. The good poems are those that say something clever or funny about the receiver of the present. My mother was a genius when it came to those poems. Some years she would write one poem, several pages long, covering all presents one at a time as well as all recipients individually. The first year my husband joined us on December 5th, she blew me away when she produced poems in English, just for him since he hadn’t mastered Dutch yet.  I’m so glad I saved one of her poems. It still makes me smile while I cry, even almost 30 years later.
Christmas for me, therefore, never had that excitement of getting up early to see what I might find under the tree. Christmas was a special day but not as big an occasion as it was in a lot of other countries. We had the tree (with real candles rather than electric lights) and the decorations and we would have a special dinner, although there is no such thing as a typical Dutch Christmas dinner. Of course that has since changed. Commercialism being what it is, most Dutch families now find themselves facing two present-giving feasts in December. The Dutch ‘Sinterklaas’ still arrives in the Netherlands mid November on his steamship from Spain and still delivers his presents on the fifth. But these days a Christmas tree isn’t finished unless there are presents underneath it, so less than twenty days after the first feast, the Dutch do it all over again. Madness.
It wasn’t until I started dating an Irishman and he brought me home to Dublin for Christmas that I discovered what I like to call the ‘English speaking Christmas tradition’. And, if I’m honest, even that very first time I found myself in two minds about it all. Having his youngest brother and sister get us out of bed at all hours of the morning because ‘Santa had been’ was both cute and frustrating. It broke my heart to see my future mother in law spend hours cooking only for the rest of us to inhale the lavish dinner in five minutes flat. I enjoyed meeting and spending time with Dermot’s siblings and partners and wanted to hide away in the bedroom after two hours.
Nothing much has changed since then. I’m still as ambivalent, if not more so. I like buying presents for friends and loved ones but I hate the crowded shops. I cringe every time I hear an adult ask a child “what is Santa going to bring you?” The child shouldn’t know that in advance. The question should be, “what do you hope Santa will bring you?” I enjoy spending time with family but find myself upset after a while because I can’t spend time doing my own thing and the number of people and the noise they produce will get on my nerves. I detest the endless amount of repeats on TV over the holidays. Even I, who Cook your own dinnerstopped watching movies and television a few years ago, have seen most if not all of them before. But I love the traditions of our own we’ve created. Presents before breakfast, the family walk with the dog in the morning, our very untraditional DIY Christmas dinner, and playing at least one board game in the evening in front of the open fire.
Tomorrow it will be Christmas again and for most of the day the three of us will be doing our own thing. We will visit the inlaws and spend some time being sociable, but since they live next door I’ll be able to flee to my own house and peace and quiet whenever the need strikes me. The strange thing is, there are moments when I feel mildly guilty about my attitude towards Christmas; when I feel I probably should get excited about the day, the presents, the company and the food. And then I shrug it off. The media may present us with a rather one dimensional picture of what the ideal Christmas should be according to their (often commercial) agenda. Their Christmas isn’t mine. Mine is quiet and relaxed. Not a time filled with stress but rather a day of joy, taking it easy and enjoying the company of those closest to me. Feck the traditions, I’m making my day perfect in my own, untraditional way.

Mother Knows All, a Christmas Short Story

I wrote this story for a competition. The brief was, if I remember correctly, to write a Christmas story about some sort of secret. The winner was announced yesterday, and it wasn’t me.
Because I do like my story, because it’s set at Christmas and because I wrote it with the upcoming Irish referendum on marriage equality in mind, I thought I’d share it here. Let me know what you think.


Mother Knows All
I cursed motorways as the miles sped away below our tires. Only five years ago this journey would have taken at least half a day, now we would be there in less than three hours. Why had I said yes? You’d think after twenty-five years I would have learned how to lie to me Ma, but no such luck. The memory of the conversation was vivid in my mind.
“So are you bringing that lover of yours? I’m mighty curious”
“To Christmas? Ma, I don’t know. That may be a bit much don’t you think?”
“Not at all. It’ll be grand. We’ll get the whole meeting the family thing over within a few short minutes.”
It made sense. Then again, it had never been easy to argue with me Ma or get one over on her. So I’d introduced the idea and much to my surprise I’d called my mother back a day later to tell her Jordan would be coming with me, as per her request.
“Will you stop worrying?” Jordan interrupted my fevered thoughts. “What’s the worst thing that could happen?”
I chanced a quick glance to the side before looking back at the road and the white lines flying by. Did Jordan really expect me to list every possible disastrous outcome? I opened my mouth to answer when a pull on the steering wheel combined with a horrible sound coming from the rear of the car informed me we had a flat tyre.
I called my mother to warn her we’d be late before we tackled the jack and tyres. The drizzly rain did nothing to improve my mood.
It was dark by the time we arrived and I could only hope our delay hadn’t spoiled the Christmas dinner. A wave of sound washed over us when I opened the front door. A cluster of nieces and nephews chased each other up and down the hallway and stairs. They stopped for a moment before running into the living room.
“They’ve arrived. They’re here.”
Nerves cramped my stomach and I briefly squeezed Jordan’s hand before taking a deep breath and walking toward the room where my extended and no doubt curious family waited for us.
I couldn’t stop myself from being on high alert and saw the double takes, the raised eyebrows and, most of all, every single head turning to me Ma, waiting to see what she would do and say.
When Ma didn’t say a word my heart dropped. I watched as she walked to the tree and picked up two identically shaped presents.
“I didn’t know what to get you.” She looked at Jordan. “So I got you what I get everybody else.”
I knew the presents would be toiletries, they always were and I had my apology ready for Jordan. Nothing prepared me for the words 'Nivea for Men' when Jordan finished unwrapping, or my mother’s words to me.
“Will you never learn you can’t keep a secret from your Ma, son?”