Forgive me

Here is my second contribution to Ermilia’s Picture It And Write Challenge. This is a weekly writing challenge, posted every Sunday, by the author of Emiliablog. The challenge asks that we write a paragraph of fiction, or a poem, in response to the photoprompt given.

Here is the photo prompt for this week . . .


… and here is my response to it:

It was not a night for driving, especially with the atmosphere in the Lexus like ice. Stephanie just sat there, her eyes following the sweep of the windscreen wipers as he told her about Marcelle.

He had desperately wanted her forgiveness, her understanding. It had been a one-night stand after all, not some long-lasting affair! A few too many drinks with the lads, some licentious talk.  Then those girls had come in, all short skirts and plunging necklines . . .

‘But I love you,’ Jonathan stressed, catching the glint of her tears in the headlights of oncoming cars. Her continued silence, combined with the frenzied sweeping of the wipers, was fraying his nerves. As they neared the junction with the busy road, the winking indicator displayed his intention to turn right. At a slight break in the traffic, he pulled out.

He didn’t notice Stephanie unclipping her seat belt, or reaching for the door. The first thing he knew, she had flung herself out. A passing car hit her . . .

‘Forgive me,’ he sobbed as the paramedics headed towards them in the glare of overhead lights.

‘And . . . cut.’ The director’s voice boomed across the set. ‘Take twenty. Then we roll on the scene in the morgue.’

The Twenty-First Birthday

I’ve decided to take part in Ermilia’s Picture it and Write Challenge. This is a weekly writing challenge in which participants are asked to write a paragraph of fiction or a poem in response to the photo prompt given. It can be in a different language, as long as a translation is provided. The challenge is organised by Ermisenda Alvarez, the author of Ermiliablog.

This is this the photo prompt for this week . . .


. . . and here is my first contribution to the challenge:

Whenever he gazed into a mirror, he saw him; statue-still at his side and staring back. When he turned away, so did the image. Enrico was not afraid, just confused as to why this had started happening. His twin had died before their fifth birthday. Now, Enrico’s twenty-first loomed.

Enrico had never come to terms with the events of that day. He and Miguel had wandered off to the river with their little fishing nets. Miguel had lost his footing and plummeted into the water. Panicked, Enrico had fled for help, but by the time Papa reached the river, it was too late. No one had blamed Enrico for what happened – yet he had always blamed himself. If only he’d tried to pull Miguel out of the water before running for Papa…

He reached out to touch the mirror and his brother’s fingers reached out to meet his. As the frisson of reunion surged through him, Enrico saw the accident through his twin’s eyes: his head smashing against the river-rock that had killed him. Miguel had already been dead before he slumped into the water. Understanding swept through Enrico. Miguel didn’t want him to suffer misplaced guilt any longer.

‘Enjoy your life as a man, brother,’ was the last message Enrico received as the image faded into nothingness.

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