Sarah Ann Hall

Reporting on writing in progress or, more probably, not.

Posts Tagged ‘inheritance

#FridayFictioneers – 5/5/17 – Dwell Not

with 20 comments

Every Wednesday Rochelle Wisoff-Fields publishes a photo prompt to inspire writers to write 100-words of flash fiction or poetry.

At any point during the following week, the Friday Fictioneers post their 100-word tales. Read the other stories by clicking below.

I stared and stared at this week’s prompt and couldn’t muster anything. Then I began to think about decay, and this strong female character turned up.

Thank you, as ever, to Rochelle for hosting and Sandra for the photo.

Copyright Sandra Crook

 

Dwell Not

(Genre: historical fiction; 100-words)

The hall’s fading splendour cuts Elsa deep. She once thought to reign here. Old Edward had favoured his cousin umpteenth times removed. Until the housemaid begot his brat. None fully believed; Edward was too proud to deny.

Elsa married a different cousin, strengthening the line with six healthy children.

The housemaid died of pox. Her brat is barren, however frequently and forcibly he humps; he ages speedily. None wish to bear his scion, or bind themselves to a house that rots while he gambles.

Soon Elsa will return as widow, residing while her sons restore grandeur to house and name.

 

 

Written by Sarah Ann

May 5, 2017 at 5:40 pm

#Ligo Haibun – photo prompt – The Fair

with 6 comments

This week’s Ligo Haibun Challenge gave us two photos to choose from, and I picked this one:

 

Untitled

 

The signs went up weeks before it arrived. As soon as they appeared, my brother and I started pestering.

‘Pleeeeease Daa-aad.’

‘No,’ Dad said. ‘It’s a con. Too expensive. I don’t like them.’

I can’t remember all the reasons he didn’t want us go – he didn’t quite say it was a den of inequity – but it was plain how he felt. My brother and I whinged and Dad gave eventually gave in.

When we were young he stayed with us, bought my brother candyfloss – I never liked it – and both of us hot dogs. He won us goldfish, which we lavished with love and care, and were dead within two weeks thanks to over-feeding.

When we grew older Dad dropped us off with our best friend of the moment, and the sexes parted until home-time. My girlfriend stalked around trying to catch the eye of the ride owners, brash and coy. I stood way off, paid my money, didn’t make eye contact.

Today I am probably as miserly about fairs as my dad was. Who wants to traipse around a grass-flattened field with flashing lights, clashing loud music, and hawkers fleecing you with games of chance you never win. Maybe we just have the wrong sort of fairs come to town.

 

 

nagging children who

fight parental dislike

inherit same view

 

 

Ligo Hai badge

Written by Sarah Ann

June 21, 2014 at 11:05 am

Posted in Haibun

Tagged with , , ,

#VisDare 37: Trajectory – A New Orbit

with 5 comments

This week Angela gave us another great VisDare photo prompt.

 

RULES:
150 words – or less.
Post entry to your blog and “link in”.
No blog? Post your 150 words in the comments.
(Please – no erotica or graphic violence.)
DON’T FORGET to read and comment on others’ entries!!
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A New Orbit (150 words)

Joseph walked in circles, lost and alone. Life had been so simple, now it was complicated. He knew he should understand. The lawyer’s voice had been calm, so matter-of-fact, but still the equations and numbers had Joseph’s thoughts spiralling.

It should have been straightforward. With Aunt Alice dead, as sole beneficiary, Joseph had expected to get her house. He hadn’t wanted it, but she’d always said it would be his. But there was more – money in trusts, shares and investments – all of it for him. The figures the lawyer had spoken of were mind-bending, which explained why Joseph’s brain was twisting back on itself, trying to catch hold of something.

Joseph’s linear life had become entangled. With his beloved aunt dead he was drowning. He had wanted nothing, yet received everything. His future would be richer, but his soul was already the poorer: the numbness over-powering.

 

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Written by Sarah Ann

September 17, 2013 at 7:56 pm

#FridayFictioneers – 6/9/13 – All That Glisters

with 30 comments

Every Wednesday Rochelle Wisoff-Fields publishes a photo prompt to stimulate and inspire writers to write 100-words of flash fiction or poetry. The Friday Fictioneers then post their stories.

Visit Rochelle’s site for more detail on how to join in. Read other stories inspired by the prompt by clicking on the blue guy.

 

 

All that Glisters (100 words)

They’ve gone now; the relatives who picked the house clean. Auntie Jo took the silver tea-set, Maggie the Sevres porcelain. Uncles Mick and Shaun argued about the flatware, before deciding six of everything was enough for anyone. The remaining females dismissed most of the jewellery, while the males sulked over the car. Each vulture reverted to stereotypical scavenger.

‘Have fun with the rest,’ Magnus smirked as they departed, each thinking they had the cream. I have a house to clear and a shelf full of Gran’s keepsakes. Each one carries the story of its discovery, and rich memories of her.

 

Written by Sarah Ann

September 6, 2013 at 8:58 pm

#FiveSentenceFiction – Fabric – Woollen Inheritance

with 6 comments

Five Sentence Fiction is about packing a powerful punch in a tiny fist. Each week Lillie McFerrin posts a one word inspiration, then anyone wishing to participate writes a five sentence story based on the prompt word. The word does not have to appear in your five sentences, just use it for direction.

This week: FABRIC

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Woollen Inheritance

The blankets sit in the loft atop a pile of boxes, wrapped in plastic. Once a year, in summer, I take them out, check for moth, air them. I touch the soft green hexagons to my cheek, run my fingers over the rough grey hatching, then re-wrap.

My grandmother was given the blankets on her wedding day and kept them for best; she passed them to my parents when they married, who kept them for best.

One day I will liberate them from my mother’s house: when I am married, when I have children, when my mother dies, they will cover my beds and be used, they will wear and live and be loved.

 

 

Lillie McFerrin Writes

Written by Sarah Ann

August 20, 2013 at 8:21 pm

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