That’s Amore…?

I have started drafting a new character for a story set in Italy about different generations of women and the men in their lives.  Nonna is obviously not happy with her choice of man!

Nonna slapped the espresso machine into existence and steam gathered in a cloud on the mirror over the bar.  She glared in the mirror into the middle distance and swore under her breath.  Her good-for-nothing husband was sitting there as usual like a fat salami in the square with all his friends.  She shoved the milk jug under the frother like she was holding his head under a tap.  He sat there enjoying himself while she did all the hard work as usual.   Her assault on the coffee machine came to a halt and she poured two caffe lattes out into massive china bowls.  She carried them over to a table and came back to the counter for two brioche and some paper serviettes.  “Gianna, come down amore.  Breakfast!”  She sat down in the booth and waited for her grand-daughter to appear.  She wouldn’t bother to make her husband breakfast or sit down and eat it with him. 

Up and Down

This post was inspired by my new favourite course provider – Writers’ HQ and the Flash Face Off theme Up and Down. I chose the following picture as my inspiration: 

I wanted to fly.  Everything was pulling me upwards into the sky.  I breathed deeply and pulled my arms backwards as if I was in a swan dive off the top board.  I stepped up onto the ledge ready to take flight.  I stepped up from the graffiti covered concrete roof top and my toes felt their way to the edge.  I pulled myself up to my full height and breathed again.  The air was so clear and fresh.  What a difference 23 floors made.  I allowed myself to linger.  The world seemed to pause with me.  I couldn’t hear anything – the traffic was muted; the wind had stilled; the hum of the air-conditioning unit held its breath.  

The feeling of standing on the edge was intoxicating.  Gravity pulled me forward and down.  Everything inside me wanted to fly.  I resisted the natural urge to be pulled to the ground.  Adrenalin kicked in and survival instinct made me want to take a step back to safety.  Stay there for another minute! Do what you came to do!  I shouted at myself.  The coward in me whimpered and had already gone back to cower at their desk on the 15th floor. 

I stayed.  I opened my eyes to look around me at the other office blocks which jostled for position in the overcrowded city.   I wondered if other people would be on the roofs with their own personal challenges.  But there was always just me.  Getting a little bit braver every day. 

I took another breath and stepped back into my normal life on the 15th floor.  My day would come very soon.  They’d never know what hit them. 

The Night Horses

I have already put a post on about the inspiration for this story and it comes from The Smuggler’s Song by Rudyard Kipling. 

I think that this is a great poem, full of vivid images for a child’s imagination!  In fact for anyone’s imagination!  My story will be about the little girl who hears the Gentlemen go riding by – here is a bit of the opening for you!  And of course the poem itself. 

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THE NIGHT HORSES

The thundering sound of horses careering through the dark night woke me up last night and I itched to open the curtains and peek out.  My father’s stern warning paused my hand from pulling them back.  “I’ll beat you black and blue if I hear of you telling about horses in the night.”  Not an idle threat with my father.  My mother just pleaded ignorance.  “What the eye don’t see…” was one of her favourite expressions.  My curiosity was going to get me into serious trouble one of these days, or so I kept being told.  How was I supposed to resist?  I tucked my hands under my body and lay  on them to prevent myself from reaching for the curtain. I made a funny fish shaped lump under my sheets with my hips sticking up in the air, as I stared at the dark ceiling. Continue reading