My Writers Group are convinced I am suffering from some sort of Mother Complex. Maybe I am but one does tend to write about the things they are familiar with.
Christmas has always made me think of the beach and palm trees. Even as a child I used to fantasise about escaping to a deserted beach.
I was gutted yesterday to hear that one of my oldest friends had lost her battle with Cancer. This afternoon, I wrote this short story in her memory.
I would stress that this is a work of fiction and the only similarity to our relationship, is the humour we always shared together.
We should all do our bit to Stand Up To Cancer so, if this story touches your heart, please donate to https://www.standuptocancer.org.uk/ways-to-donate. Thank you.
There are around 164,000 cancer deaths in the UK every year, that's around 450 every day (2014-2016).
‘Join our kick-ass rebellion against Cancer.’ cancerresearch.org
I had been labelled as an irrational killer suffering from PTSD, my killing spree undoubtedly brought on by the very recent and very raw trauma in my life. The trauma I had been trying to escape from when I found myself caught up in another, charged with a murder I didn't commit.
Lucy takes a walk to the pub on a glorious summer evening with the new man in her life and opens her heart to tell him how she is feeling about him, her adulterous accountant ex-boyfriend and life in general.
It was inevitable really… two nineteen-year-olds and a baby living under the same roof as my mother was never going to work.
For the first time in a very long time, I ditched humourous veil I that tend to hide behind and I allowed my imagination wander around in the murky world of crime.