Writer’s Life

“As a Writer I experienced all the desires to reach the top with my stories. I dreamed of seeing my characters on the big screen and then crashed back to reality the hard way. Beyond that I spend every day at my computer while staring out of the window wishing I was on an amazing adventure. There is no world outside my window I need money for that. I’m so grateful I can travel wherever I like with my characters. If only I could do it as well as Oliver …”

I wrote this story in answer to the following prompts:
Fandango’s Flash Fiction Challenge #114 — The picture above.
Word of the Day Challenge — Past
Ragtag Daily Prompt — Sizzle
Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie – Wordle — Kiss, Eyelashes, Long, Bohemian, Raise, Deepest, Plummet, Reckless, Jaguar, Specious, Collapsible, Colourful

Writers Life

Oliver was a writer. He lived the Bohemian and yet specious life. Those on the outside looking in would think it a cushy life. They’d believe sitting there at the desk writing stories all day instead of toiling at a job was easy. Oliver knew that was far from the truth. Spending all day every day alone with his worries and unreachable dreams for company was hard. He could have been the best writer. However, with little money, he was struggling to promote and sell anything. He was barely making enough to keep a roof over his head.

Alicia batted her eyelashes, beckoning François closer. He leaned in with the deepest breath. Their lips met in a passionate kiss as he smoothed her strawberry-blonde hair.

”We found the golden city!” François breathed as they parted.

Oliver placed a full stop at the end of his sentence and lifted his head to gaze out of the little round window of his cottage. He smiled, at least being home alone, he could wear his beanie hat and grow his beard as long as he wanted. There was nobody here to demand he did otherwise.

Taking a deep breath, he imagined living a more reckless life. He wanted to adventure like a Jaguar in the Amazon jungle. Then plummet down a long waterfall and discover a secret city at the bottom. A sigh escaped his lips, for Oliver an adventure with just leaving the house to get groceries. Focusing on his screen he began to write again,

‘Alicia beamed with elation, “You found it dear, François. Lead me to the treasures!”

François took her hand, “You’re my treasure. What lies in there is but a bonus.” Imparting another kiss, he led the way.’

Oliver glanced out of the window. Rebecca was walking through her colourful garden next door. Her beautiful figure caused him to raise from his chair. Drew him to the window. She was his inspiration for Alicia. How he wished she knew he existed. ‘Ah, she wouldn’t want a boring failure of a writer anyway!’ He told himself as she disappeared into her home.

Sitting again, Oliver heard a wooden crack from his collapsible chair. A cry of pain tore from his lips …

He was lying in what felt like tall grasses. A clear blue sky wavered in his hazy vision. He felt the sun sizzle upon his bare arms as he tried to shake off a daze.

“François! Oh, François. You fell. Please tell me you’re alright!” cried a young woman dropping beside him.

Oliver shifted his gaze to her face and held in a gasp. Her waves of strawberry-blonde hair, smooth features and loving blue eyes. She was … “Alicia?”

“I’m here, François. I don’t see any bleeding. Do you think you broke any bones?”

“No, I —Agh!” Oliver sat up and wrapped his arms around her. “I think I’m fine.” Smiling over her shoulder, he took in the sandstone walls of the city almost hidden in the jungle. ‘I’m in my bloody story!’ he realised.

“I’m so relieved. Come, we must get into the ruins and find a place to shelter for the night.” Alicia helped him stand and handed him his backpack.

“You’re right. This region is prone to storms during the night,” Oliver looked down at his sweating, pectoral muscles and thick biceps. He felt buff as he led the way. This was the life he dreamed of.

Reaching the first of the ruins, he drew his machete and hacked a few vines away from the structure. The stones were carved with symbols of Mayan monkey gods. “Wow, this place is incredible!”

“It pales in comparison to you dear, sweet, François,”

Oliver felt her hand running over his backside and smiled. “If I’m incredible, you must be exquisite,” he breathed as he moved close and kissed her. He was sure his soul danced a jig in his chest as his lips experienced their first-ever kiss. “Let’s continue this later. Come on,” he remarked as he set off along the wall.

“I have a doorway,” Alicia remarked after a few moments.

“Ah, well done.”  Oliver sent spiders and scorpions scurrying away as he hacked the vines and overgrowth away from the entrance. With a smile at Alicia, he ducked inside. The room was bare aside from the plant and insect life that called it home.

“You see, anything?” Alicia asked from outside.

“I do. There’s a sort of ramp heading underground.” Oliver took out a torch, grasped her hand and began to descend.

“It’s spooky in here, François!”

“Stay close. I’ll always protect you.” Oliver smiled at her. Ahead the passage rounded a bend. It revealed a wall of spikes with a skeleton attached to them. “I don’t —”

Alicia screamed.

Oliver felt the floor open beneath him and he fell.

“Oliver, are you okay?” said a female voice.

He felt somebody gently shaking his shoulders and flicked open his eyes. The white Artex ceiling above him was all too familiar.

“Oliver, can you hear me?”

Rolling his head toward the voice, Oliver looked into pretty blue eyes surrounded by strawberry-blonde hair. “Alicia?”

She giggled, “No, I’m Rebecca from next door. I heard you cry out and came to see if you’re alright.”

Oliver sighed, “Of course you are, I’m sorry. Thank you for coming to help me.”

“Don’t be sorry. I saw the name Alicia on your screen there. She one of your characters?”

Sitting up, Oliver allowed a groan of pain to escape his lips. He realised his collapsing chair had almost broken his shoulder too. “Yes, I admit I based her upon you.”

“Aww, that’s sweet,” Rebecca smiled as she helped him onto the sofa.

Oliver took a deep breath and told her about Alicia and François and their Amazon adventure. “So, when they make it out with the treasure. They move back to England and live a long happy life as a couple.” By the time he finished his tale, he felt as if he’d known Rebecca all his life. It was almost as if they’d lived a past life together.

“What a wonderful story. I’m delighted I’m your Alicia.”

Oliver found his eyes almost glued to Rebecca’s. “Thank you. It’s just a pity I don’t have the muscles or handsome looks to be your François.”

“Hey! Not every woman needs a man with great big muscles,” Rebecca removed his beanie hat and smoothed his hair. “I think you have something much more endearing,”

“Oh, really? What?”

“Well, it appears you’re a beautiful storyteller. I’d love to sit with you and relax while you tell me your stories. Moments like that will be far more romantic than being cuddled up by a hulk with a body like granite!”

Oliver smiled and took her hand, “That’s something I’d be delighted to do,” he said before gracing her fingers with a delicate kiss.

“Thank you,” Rebecca returned kissed his cheek as she rose from the chair. “I’ll go and put the kettle on.”

The End


Come and join me and share a post which answers todays paranormal question in Mason Want’s to Know!


Thanks for reading my friends.

There’s more in the Poetry CornerPoetry Nook, Short Stories. Short Stories 2. and Short Stories 3 tabs.

Have a great day!

9 thoughts on “Writer’s Life

Add yours

  1. Here in Australia there’s a kids’ TV program called Playschool. We didn’t have TV when I was a kid but when we went to my grandparents’ house, I was allowed to watch half an hour of TV and I always chose Playschool. Every episode, they always “look through the windows”. There’s a square window, a round window and an arched window and you get to guess which window. And then the camera takes you “through the window” through sparkles and light to some scene relevant to the episode. It’s a magical moment that kids almost always love… my own kids included. Your story reminds me of that. The magic of dreaming, the power of imagining, and sometimes the way that slips into reality.

    Liked by 1 person

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

Blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑

Create your website with WordPress.com
Get started
%d bloggers like this: