Category Archives: The Writing in Between

Creative Writing

Lucky Bag Ring


lucky bag

“Dad, do you think we might go to the cinema when you are finished? There’s a great new 3D film out, I’d love to see it.”
“Sure, little man, whatever you want. Let’s just get as far away from the sound of that alarm as we can. It’s doing my head in.”
“Is it a fire, Dad?”
“No son, I think someone has stolen something from the jewellers over there.”
I couldn’t really see where dad was pointing. But I didn’t really care either. I was spending Saturday with him and that was all that mattered. It was his turn to have me. I love being with him. He buys me whatever I want. He even promised me MacDonald’s later. We don’t always come to town. We nearly always go the park and play football. Dad says I’m getting really good. I hope so because I want to get on the school team. Dad stopped to buy an apple. Dad likes to eat healthy stuff and he is really fit, he jogs every day. Mum says he’s trying to relive his youth, whatever that means. We went in to the shop that sells yucky stuff like broccoli. It was there that I saw the boy. He was hiding under the bench with the bags of spuds on it. No one seemed to notice him except me.
“What are you doing?” I asked him.
“Ssh! Mind your own business and clear off.”
He scared me a bit so I went back to stand with my dad. I thought he was really weird to be sitting in there. But maybe he was being bullied and he was trying to get away from them. That happens me sometimes at school and I try to look invisible. I felt a bit sorry for him then. Through the window I could see two policemen talking to people in the street. Two  girls were pointing in to the shop. Suddenly the boy called me over.
“Can you keep a secret?”
I nodded.
“Here, you can have this for your mum. I’d bought it for mine for Mother’s Day but you know I don’t think she will like it. Just don’t tell I gave it to you, ok.”
He shoved a sparkly ring into my hand. It looked a bit like the one my friend Lucy got in a lucky bag once. I slipped it into my pocket. I’d give it to mum tomorrow. But before I could even say thanks to the boy, the two policemen had found him. They dragged him out the door; maybe he had done something bad. Scared, I stayed close to dad as I could hear him shouting,
“You’ve nothing on me, search me if you want, you’ll find nothing.”

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Pay the Price



Forever Young
She sits at the window
Her head bent to her chest.
Her body; adversary, foe
She hopes for death, at best.
Saliva trickles from her lopsided mouth,
Drifting aimlessly towards her twisted hand.
She tries to shout,
What’s the use, no one understands.

In her blue eyes,
Sometimes I see,
A glimpse of the person
She used to be.
A young feisty girl
With dreams in her head.
Her whole life to unfurl
Nothing to be left unsaid.

But fate gave her another role
To sweat, to toil
Drunken fools to cajole.
Her dreams to soil.
Fate turns once more
Carer is now patient
Her body shook to the core
So much is latent.

She once gave me this piece of advice,
A gift of wisdom, wrapped in regret,
“Be true to yourself or pay the price.”

I promised her I would not forget.

Charlie Stinchcomb / Foter / CC BY


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My Way


fmgbain / Foter / CC BY-NC-ND

“You are mad. I don’t know how you can go through with this!”

“It’s what I want.”

For Christ’s sake! You are too young to know what you want. Do you realise what you are giving up?”

“Giving up what? You want me to be like Liz? Heels too high, a mask of make-up, a long line of boyfriends!”

“Hey that’s below the belt”, my disgruntled sister interjected.

“Sorry Liz. I’m angry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“It’s ok I get it. But you don’t have to bring me into this.  Anyway I thought your way was not to judge.”

It irked me when my mother spoke to me like I was a five year old child. But I wished I hadn’t snapped at her because now I have both her and my sister pitted against me.

It’s at times like this that I miss Ollie more than ever. I think he would have understood my decision.  He would be happy for me.

You may be wondering what on earth is causing so much friction within my family.  I have decided to marry and to say that my mother disagrees with my choice of love is an understatement. I’ve given up trying to convince her that he is the one for me. I suppose she had her own vision of the path I would take or the one I would commit my life to. This definitely isn’t it.  I wish I could make her understand that I have found love, comfort and solace in him.  A place to call home.

Let me tell you a little bit about him.

In a way I’ve known him all my life. He was a vague presence, someone I never paid much attention to. To be honest I did think I was too good for him. But after my brother, Ollie, died he was the only one I could talk to any time of the day or night. In the beginning I blamed him. Can you imagine? I blamed him because my brother had died.

But he just took it. He listened patiently and waited until I saw the truth. He never judged me. He was just there. He seemed to see the goodness in me. A goodness I didn’t know was there until I spent time with him.

My mother can’t stand the way I’ve changed my appearance for him. Yes, I’ve cut my hair and I no longer use make up. I don’t need it. They are false material things. They are of no consequence any longer. My family cannot begin to understand how I feel. They think they are losing me forever. But what they don’t realise was how much of myself I was losing without him.

But I will ignore the doubters.

Today I will wear the veil and take my vows.

As I slip the ring upon my finger, I will become a bride of Christ.

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Jack’s Angel

My name is Jack and I am nine years old. I am sitting at the bottom of my garden to get away from the people that are visiting my mum today. All of them are very sad. I can’t understand why they keep hugging my mother and telling her how sorry they are. She is crying all morning too and she won’t talk to me.

My mum and I live on our own. I don’t know my dad. But it doesn’t matter. Mum calls me her ‘little man’, and she kicks football like all the dads. I love her because she is so funny. But she isn’t being funny today. I wish I could make her laugh. She keeps looking out of the window as if she is trying to see something or someone. It is really weird.

That is why I am sitting in my favourite part of the garden trying to figure it all out. The grass is longer here and I can lie on my tummy and no one can see me but I can see them. I used to feel sick and tired and I had to stay in hospital. Mum stayed too, so I didn’t feel lonely. The doctor gave me medicine which made my hair fall out but I feel better now. I thought that would have made mum happy but she seems sadder today.

A light is close by. I don’t feel scared of it. It makes me feel safe and I get the feeling I am supposed to go towards it. But I can’t. Not today. Not until I know my mum is happy again.


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Taking the Edge Off

alcoholic pic

They always said I was a funny old fish
Down at heel, a nutcase. You wish!
I couldn’t care less what you think
But I do need another drink.
Vodka, whiskey, wine, beer
I’m no connoisseur, my dear.
Just give me a drink!
Reality is too hard, I think.
I just need a little to take the edge off.
Blur the lines. You may scoff,
I’m sure you will. It’s easy to judge
While I am swimming in the drudge.
But maybe you should withhold your scorn
Anyone of us could become forlorn.
When life’s trials come to pass,
Look for answers in a whiskey glass.

photo credit: <a href=”″>Anonymous Drinker</a> via <a href=””>photopin</a> <a href=””>(license)</a>

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roses image

R oses are beautiful, there is no doubt

O ften given to prove how devout, but 

M any lovers bring home flowers, while

A doring another in different hours. I

N eed someone honest and true, to

C herish my heart and promise no less.

E arnestly love me is all I request.

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The Last Word

In poetry, a nonet is a nine line poem, with the first line containing nine syllables, the next eight, so on until the last line has one syllable.

images of argument

I cannot for the life of me see

Why do  you disagree with me?

You know I am always right

So why put up a fight?

Fuss, curse, slam the door

It is absurd!

I will have

The last


A Nonet poem  inspired by an argument I had today with my best friend. I think she always has to have the last word!  Obviously she disagrees!

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