FRAGMENTS (Free Short Story for all my supporters)

Hi all.

I was sorting through some files today and came across this short story. It's from a few years back but I was incredibly proud of it at the time. It was shortlisted in a writing competition - my first taste of success as a writer and something that spurred me on and gave me that little bit of confidence I needed at the time. After all, if the professional writers judging the competition thought my writing was good enough, maybe it was!

Trigger Warning: The below short story contains themes/mentions of loss, death, mental health and war.

FRAGMENTS

By Riley Rowan

Rose stared intently from her position in the coffee shop. Her usually obvious and unmistakable red hair hidden from view by a large plant, its huge emerald green leaves providing her with a vantage point from which to watch the events unfolding before her.

She tried to look away, told herself she must, but she couldn’t. Her cool blue eyes took in every detail of the couple opposite. The woman’s long blonde layered bob, her slim frame dressed simply in black trousers and baby blue scoop neck top, his faded jeans, a pale blue shirt lazily half tucked in and his eyes like pools of rich dark chocolate gazing lovingly down at her as he rested his hand on the small of her back, guiding her towards the jewellers directly opposite.

Rose could see the sign they had stopped in front of and her heart ached. It was like torture and she was sure the anguish was showing on her face but she couldn’t hide it. It pained her, physically hurt as her heart began to thud, a drumbeat pulsating now through her body, her hot coffee burning her hands as she gripped her cup tightly. The words ‘Engagement Rings’ floated before her eyes and she wished with her entire being that it was her standing with him, that all too familiar smile bathing her in its warmth and his hand lovingly holding hers as she leaned in to his tall frame.

Rose couldn’t help but compare herself to the woman opposite. She could never compete. The woman was small and slim in a lean athletic kind of way with her hair straight and sleek, her make up perfect, her entire appearance screaming glossy and polished. Rose looked at her own reflection in the mirror to her left. At that moment with her make up free face, size twelve frame, fitted black jeans and favourite cream sweater, she felt inferior.

She fumbled in her bag, keys, purse, and at last, her mobile phone. She scrolled quickly through the phonebook and stopped as she reached his name, her thumb hovering over the call button as her mind whirled and her heart broke a little more. Quickly, she pressed call and waited to hear the familiar voice on the other end of the line. Nothing. Dead. Silence. Surely he wouldn’t have changed his number; he’d had that same number for the nine years she had known him. Maybe it was her, that woman, that woman who wasn’t her, that woman currently smiling smugly as she entered the jewellers, maybe she had made him change it. But why? She had to know, and how could he go from talking marriage and children with her just a few months ago to contemplating marriage to another woman?

She stood up and made her way through the maze of tables, people looking at her as she knocked chairs carelessly from her path before finally crashing out through the door and across the street. She peered in through the window and saw the vast array of engagement rings, her thumb automatically seeking out the diamond that sat on the third finger of her left hand. Would the blonde choose something similar? Would she and Rose both look down at their hands each day to see a princess cut diamond set on a platinum band? Would he have it inscribed with the same words? ‘It was meant to be!’

She was openly staring at them now and yet he still had no idea she was right outside. The tears began to well up in her eyes as without thinking she pushed open the heavy glass door and entered the store.

She walked up behind them and still he didn’t take his eyes from the new woman in front of him, he couldn’t sense her, feel her, instead he gently stroked the cheek of the blonde and pulled her in for a tender kiss.

He pulled his wallet from his back pocket and handed over an American Express not even flinching at the twelve-thousand-pound price tag. As the Store Assistant went into the back for a bag, Rose frowned to herself. He had never had an Amex, and the wallet, shiny black leather, what had happened to his battered and worn brown one picked up from Marks and Spencer over two years ago now? Up close she could also see the logo on his jeans was D&G. He had always been so against wasting money on designer clothes. It had to be her! She had changed him. Why would she? He was perfect! Rose couldn’t let this happen.

‘You can’t marry her. She’s changed you’. Her voice came as a whisper.

The couple turned to her and she immediately recoiled from the loathing in the woman’s eyes but continued, ‘Max, you can’t’ she said sadly.

‘Max?’ The woman turned to face her new fiancé.

He stepped away from Rose a little and grasped the other woman’s hand, pulled her towards him as if protecting her.

‘My name is Jacob,’ he smiled at Rose. ‘I think you have me confused with someone else’.

At that moment, the Assistant returned and handed over the small violet bag with silver lettering and taking it, they walked past her and back out onto the street.

‘You okay?’

Rose turned to face the Assistant and confusion quickly filled her head. He had just left. She had seen him walk out of her life with the blonde. But here he was, in black trousers and crisp white shirt now, but it was him nonetheless, his brown eyes filled with concern like the time she had slipped on ice after he had scored a direct hit on her back with a snowball, the same smile he had given her every time she cried at a really cheesy film, the aftershave she had bought him the Christmas before last.

He stepped around the counter and touched her hand.

‘Miss?’

The room spun as tears clouded her vision and pieces of reality crashed around her. His hand was cool and smooth, not warm and rough like Max’s. It wasn’t him! And Jacob hadn’t been either!

She fled the store, her legs weak beneath her as she ran, avoiding shoppers as best she could, tears stinging her now burning face. She frantically pushed the hair from her face and wiped her eyes as her breath came in ragged gasps, her chest aching, her ears ringing and her muscles fighting against her with each and every panic filled step.

Every dark-haired man now reminded her of him. She heard his voice clearly in her head, waking her gently in the mornings, cheering loudly as Chelsea scored, getting frustrated with flat-packed furniture. It was all there, every word he’d ever said, every moment they’d ever shared playing out in vivid, agonising detail.

She reached their flat, somehow managed to locate her keys and let herself in. Immediately she collapsed, sliding down against the door as the sobbing overtook her. Her face soaking from her tears, her hands entangled in her hair as she rocked slowly back and forth.

She remembered the night they had met, her out with friends and managing to knock his elbow, causing him to spill his drink, apologising profusely, excusing herself with a smile. Her turning from the bar later to see him standing directly behind her with a smile playing on his lips.

‘Which one’s yours?’ he had asked nodding towards the tray she was carrying.

‘The lager,’ she’d smiled back.

He’d lifted it off the tray and taken a sip.

‘Lucky we drink the same drink then, seeing as you owe me one. It was meant to be’.

They had spent the remainder of the evening together and just four months later they had moved in together, blissfully in love.

She looked across the room now to the photo of them smiling on holiday, some sunny beach in Spain a few years back, and her chest tightened once more as her whole body ached from the ferocity of her sobbing. She screamed and thrashed about, slamming her fists on the floor, the walls, herself, she wanted him here, longed for him to walk through the door, to make everything alright.

But he would never walk through that door again. She felt lost, empty, her whole life had been turned upside down the moment she’d heard the news. Roadside bombing kills three. She had known instantly, felt it deep inside. The knock on the door heralding her worst fears and bringing confirmation of what she already knew was etched in her mind, how she’d begged to be told the details, the same details she couldn’t now forget, how fragments of shrapnel had ripped through his body as fragments of her memories ripped through her heart now. She remembered the engagement ring on her finger but as her mind cleared, she remembered how it had been her own fingers gently sliding it on. The small blue ring box returned along with his personal effects a little over two weeks ago now.

As her sobbing relented just one thought ran through her mind over and over, a thought that was essential to keeping her sane, not letting the darkness overtake her like it had today. He died a hero. Because of him, because of his actions that day, many more had lived and as she thought of all the families of the men and women still serving overseas, still risking their lives, she looked out of the window, towards the skies and prayed, ‘Bring them home safe! Bring them all home!’

FRAGMENTS (Free Short Story for all my supporters)

Hi all.

I was sorting through some files today and came across this short story. It's from a few years back but I was incredibly proud of it at the time. It was shortlisted in a writing competition - my first taste of success as a writer and something that spurred me on and gave me that little bit of confidence I needed at the time. After all, if the professional writers judging the competition thought my writing was good enough, maybe it was!

Trigger Warning: The below short story contains themes/mentions of loss, death, mental health and war.

FRAGMENTS

By Riley Rowan

Rose stared intently from her position in the coffee shop. Her usually obvious and unmistakable red hair hidden from view by a large plant, its huge emerald green leaves providing her with a vantage point from which to watch the events unfolding before her.

She tried to look away, told herself she must, but she couldn’t. Her cool blue eyes took in every detail of the couple opposite. The woman’s long blonde layered bob, her slim frame dressed simply in black trousers and baby blue scoop neck top, his faded jeans, a pale blue shirt lazily half tucked in and his eyes like pools of rich dark chocolate gazing lovingly down at her as he rested his hand on the small of her back, guiding her towards the jewellers directly opposite.

Rose could see the sign they had stopped in front of and her heart ached. It was like torture and she was sure the anguish was showing on her face but she couldn’t hide it. It pained her, physically hurt as her heart began to thud, a drumbeat pulsating now through her body, her hot coffee burning her hands as she gripped her cup tightly. The words ‘Engagement Rings’ floated before her eyes and she wished with her entire being that it was her standing with him, that all too familiar smile bathing her in its warmth and his hand lovingly holding hers as she leaned in to his tall frame.

Rose couldn’t help but compare herself to the woman opposite. She could never compete. The woman was small and slim in a lean athletic kind of way with her hair straight and sleek, her make up perfect, her entire appearance screaming glossy and polished. Rose looked at her own reflection in the mirror to her left. At that moment with her make up free face, size twelve frame, fitted black jeans and favourite cream sweater, she felt inferior.

She fumbled in her bag, keys, purse, and at last, her mobile phone. She scrolled quickly through the phonebook and stopped as she reached his name, her thumb hovering over the call button as her mind whirled and her heart broke a little more. Quickly, she pressed call and waited to hear the familiar voice on the other end of the line. Nothing. Dead. Silence. Surely he wouldn’t have changed his number; he’d had that same number for the nine years she had known him. Maybe it was her, that woman, that woman who wasn’t her, that woman currently smiling smugly as she entered the jewellers, maybe she had made him change it. But why? She had to know, and how could he go from talking marriage and children with her just a few months ago to contemplating marriage to another woman?

She stood up and made her way through the maze of tables, people looking at her as she knocked chairs carelessly from her path before finally crashing out through the door and across the street. She peered in through the window and saw the vast array of engagement rings, her thumb automatically seeking out the diamond that sat on the third finger of her left hand. Would the blonde choose something similar? Would she and Rose both look down at their hands each day to see a princess cut diamond set on a platinum band? Would he have it inscribed with the same words? ‘It was meant to be!’

She was openly staring at them now and yet he still had no idea she was right outside. The tears began to well up in her eyes as without thinking she pushed open the heavy glass door and entered the store.

She walked up behind them and still he didn’t take his eyes from the new woman in front of him, he couldn’t sense her, feel her, instead he gently stroked the cheek of the blonde and pulled her in for a tender kiss.

He pulled his wallet from his back pocket and handed over an American Express not even flinching at the twelve-thousand-pound price tag. As the Store Assistant went into the back for a bag, Rose frowned to herself. He had never had an Amex, and the wallet, shiny black leather, what had happened to his battered and worn brown one picked up from Marks and Spencer over two years ago now? Up close she could also see the logo on his jeans was D&G. He had always been so against wasting money on designer clothes. It had to be her! She had changed him. Why would she? He was perfect! Rose couldn’t let this happen.

‘You can’t marry her. She’s changed you’. Her voice came as a whisper.

The couple turned to her and she immediately recoiled from the loathing in the woman’s eyes but continued, ‘Max, you can’t’ she said sadly.

‘Max?’ The woman turned to face her new fiancé.

He stepped away from Rose a little and grasped the other woman’s hand, pulled her towards him as if protecting her.

‘My name is Jacob,’ he smiled at Rose. ‘I think you have me confused with someone else’.

At that moment, the Assistant returned and handed over the small violet bag with silver lettering and taking it, they walked past her and back out onto the street.

‘You okay?’

Rose turned to face the Assistant and confusion quickly filled her head. He had just left. She had seen him walk out of her life with the blonde. But here he was, in black trousers and crisp white shirt now, but it was him nonetheless, his brown eyes filled with concern like the time she had slipped on ice after he had scored a direct hit on her back with a snowball, the same smile he had given her every time she cried at a really cheesy film, the aftershave she had bought him the Christmas before last.

He stepped around the counter and touched her hand.

‘Miss?’

The room spun as tears clouded her vision and pieces of reality crashed around her. His hand was cool and smooth, not warm and rough like Max’s. It wasn’t him! And Jacob hadn’t been either!

She fled the store, her legs weak beneath her as she ran, avoiding shoppers as best she could, tears stinging her now burning face. She frantically pushed the hair from her face and wiped her eyes as her breath came in ragged gasps, her chest aching, her ears ringing and her muscles fighting against her with each and every panic filled step.

Every dark-haired man now reminded her of him. She heard his voice clearly in her head, waking her gently in the mornings, cheering loudly as Chelsea scored, getting frustrated with flat-packed furniture. It was all there, every word he’d ever said, every moment they’d ever shared playing out in vivid, agonising detail.

She reached their flat, somehow managed to locate her keys and let herself in. Immediately she collapsed, sliding down against the door as the sobbing overtook her. Her face soaking from her tears, her hands entangled in her hair as she rocked slowly back and forth.

She remembered the night they had met, her out with friends and managing to knock his elbow, causing him to spill his drink, apologising profusely, excusing herself with a smile. Her turning from the bar later to see him standing directly behind her with a smile playing on his lips.

‘Which one’s yours?’ he had asked nodding towards the tray she was carrying.

‘The lager,’ she’d smiled back.

He’d lifted it off the tray and taken a sip.

‘Lucky we drink the same drink then, seeing as you owe me one. It was meant to be’.

They had spent the remainder of the evening together and just four months later they had moved in together, blissfully in love.

She looked across the room now to the photo of them smiling on holiday, some sunny beach in Spain a few years back, and her chest tightened once more as her whole body ached from the ferocity of her sobbing. She screamed and thrashed about, slamming her fists on the floor, the walls, herself, she wanted him here, longed for him to walk through the door, to make everything alright.

But he would never walk through that door again. She felt lost, empty, her whole life had been turned upside down the moment she’d heard the news. Roadside bombing kills three. She had known instantly, felt it deep inside. The knock on the door heralding her worst fears and bringing confirmation of what she already knew was etched in her mind, how she’d begged to be told the details, the same details she couldn’t now forget, how fragments of shrapnel had ripped through his body as fragments of her memories ripped through her heart now. She remembered the engagement ring on her finger but as her mind cleared, she remembered how it had been her own fingers gently sliding it on. The small blue ring box returned along with his personal effects a little over two weeks ago now.

As her sobbing relented just one thought ran through her mind over and over, a thought that was essential to keeping her sane, not letting the darkness overtake her like it had today. He died a hero. Because of him, because of his actions that day, many more had lived and as she thought of all the families of the men and women still serving overseas, still risking their lives, she looked out of the window, towards the skies and prayed, ‘Bring them home safe! Bring them all home!’