55fiction: Anew

So it’s handed to me again, wrapped in crinkly paper, tied with twine. A brand new twelve months. Supposedly full of excitement, possibilities, renewed hope and energy, waiting to pop like a bottle of champagne. Waiting on that little nudge, so it can bubble over effervescently. But will it really be a happy year anew?


55fiction: Begin again

Panic, so you can begin to mend your fallen-apart world a little. Rush, so you can fix it while the pieces are still lying around. Cry, so you can wash away the doubt, the hurt and the worry. But not so much that it washes away the hope. Breathe, so you can begin again.

55fiction: je ne sais quois

It’s heaving underneath a facade of normalcy. Growing to gargantuan proportions, I’m trying to hide. It threatens to trickle, like a leaky tap refusing to be shut tight. I lock it up inside, yet it bubbles over. Always ready to dribble over the rim. I look away, poker-faced. I can’t keep this secret anymore.

55fiction: Maternal instincts, part deux

Today, I watched them in twos. Romping about without a care in the world. I noticed how one of them is always at the heels of the other. How they’re watching each others’ backs. And I realized they will always have one another for company.

And I made a mental note: two doggies, not one.

Read part one here.

55fiction: Maternal instincts

I see them waddle on the beach, frolicking in the waves, and I think I want one. I see them romping around, their mothers not far behind, and I think “Aww!”

But what kills me most is the puppy-dog eyes, adorable ears, fat bellies and chubby legs.

I think I’m ready to adopt a dog.

55fiction: Wake up call

She drew the curtains and let the sunlight stream in. Bright and chirpy, was how she always welcomed the day. Next, she had to get him out of bed. Ignore his desperate pleas to sleep a while longer. And she did. But not without collapsing inside his blanket first.

“Just five minutes more,” he said.