Bad Decisions

“If it wasn’t for the fact it felt so good, I’d never make bad decisions, ever,” Caroline slurred. She was almost lying down on the couch opposite me, as listless on her fourth glass of sauvignon as she’d been energetic on the second.

“I never seem to have the opportunity to make half the bad decisions you do, at least be grateful for that,” I replied.

This seemed to pull Caroline half upright.

“But you are happy, right?” she asked.

Yes, I was happy. I’d lived in that sleepy town for six years, and made some friends that weren’t as dysfunctional as Caroline, and was one year into a relationship which seemed gloriously uncomplicated to any that I’d been in before. Caroline, meanwhile, floated along wherever the winds took her, and if there was any kind of storm, she sheltered here with me for a few days.

Last time it had been regrets about changing her job and working with a new company. This time, it was a broken heart, which had been the likely outcome from the moment she had fallen in love with her boss.

“I would let you know if I wasn’t happy, it’s definitely my turn to sit on your couch and drink your wine until I cheer up.”

Caroline walked over and sat next to me.  She took my glass of beer and put it on the table. Before I could ask why, she kissed me hard on the lips.

“Sure you’re not suffering from the lack of opportunity to make bad decisions?”


Sunday Photo Fiction – Ignorance

51 03 March 16th 2014

Copyright – Al Forbes

This week’s entry for Sunday Photo Fiction. Click the link for more stories and instructions on how to submit your own entry.

I can hear you muttering through the kitchen door, no doubt adding to the thorough list of sins your ex-girlfriend committed against you. This tirade started about an hour ago, when the bottle of whiskey we shared had been considerably depleted. Our other friends made excuses and left shortly afterwards, but you stayed, determined to spit out every bitter feeling and burn what was left with alcohol.

I ignored the tears when they began to appear, ignored to urge to tell you the truth: These words are hurting you more than they will ever hurt her.

I pour a glass of water and open the kitchen door. You’ve finally stopped talking, but your eyes are closed and your mouth is slack as you lay across my sofa. I lean over you to inspect your face more closely, wondering if you’re caught in some lonely, hateful dream. I slowly bring my lips to your ear, thrilled at the risk you might actually listen to me for the first time tonight.

“You didn’t deserve her.”

Friday Fictioneers – Which Aisle?


Copyright – Janet Webb

 If you’re interested in submitting your own Friday Fictioneers story, look here

Trying to use this old computer to upload this blog post was so frustrating, it prompted me to ring up the company who are repairing my laptop and ask them when I was going to get it back. The woman who answered the phone had a very soothing Scottish accent, which calmed me slightly. My stress levels are still kind of unhealthy right now though. And I may have just sworn at this computer after I tried to put this paragraph in bold and it redirected me to BetFred. (WHY!? WHY!!?)

I think of my wedding dress and try not to vomit. In less than a week I’ll be walking down the aisle towards my fiancé, a man who adores me just as much as I adore him. This is simply part of the journey.

“No fairy wings, no tiaras, and definitely no stripper!” I insisted.

They obeyed me, which was as much of a surprise as the baked beans, shaving foam, flour and the foray into the supermarket car park.

I cling tight to the sides of the trolley as they spin me around and think:  Less than a week…

The Library Book Project – 27 July 2009

To read more about the project, click here.

I try not to look across the crowded hall. Many of them will be sitting and eating, but some will be staring up at the top table, hoping to get a glimpse of the happy couple. Until I woke up this morning, I was under the impression that I’d float through today on a cloud of love and bliss. I expected to transcend above everything but the thoughts of my new husband, and how happy we’d be. In truth, there are moments I’m slightly bogged down with anxiety. I worry about the food, what people think of my dress, all the photos. The list of things that can go wrong is endless.

I feel this absolute joy when I look at him, knowing we’ve made this pact to stick together for the rest of our lives. I was nervous this morning. It wasn’t about marrying him, I knew that was the best decision I could ever have made. When he bent down on one knee all those months ago, I felt like my stomach was being vacuumed out of my torso. “Yes!” didn’t feel like a good enough answer. It didn’t convey that I was past wanting him. I knew that without him, my life would feel so empty.

The nerves were more about the fact everybody would be watching me, all day. This is the person who broke down with stage fright as a little girl during her school nativity. I was playing the role of a sheep. It was a non-speaking part. Walking up the aisle this morning was terrifying, and only the prospect of being next to John calmed me enough to get me through the wall of stares.

To my left, Kathy sips her drink. I smile at her, and she smiles back. It doesn’t comfort me after overhearing her conversation a couple of nights ago. Me, John, Kathy and Greg, (John’s best man,) were sat in our front room, preparing the centrepieces. We finally finished, and got stuck into some bottles of white wine we had in the fridge. John was on a night shift, so he turned down the wine and left for work. I went to the kitchen to collect the library book I’d asked Kathy to return for me while I was on my honeymoon. When I returned, I could hear Kathy talking through the door.

  “So, I feel like I’m the only one now. It’s so crazy, just a bit of paper really, but it makes such a difference… You do feel like you’re suddenly less important.” I heard Greg mumble something in reply. “Of course I’m happy for her. Overjoyed, she deserves him. They’re great together. But I’m allowed to feel a little sorry for myself, aren’t I? I mean, it’s the 21st Century, I’m 27, and yet I feel like Bridget Jones. Seriously,  I thought society was past this, but I feel totally invisible.”

I quitely tiptoed up the stairs, then loudly bounced down them to make my prescence known. When I came through the door, both Greg and Kathy were giving me false grins.

I turn back to John and he notices my expression.

“Is everything okay?” he asks. I reply that everything is fine and tell him I’m terrified of something getting spilt on my dress. He laughs, and I take a moment to silently adore him. This is our day. Noone else matters. But, I think of Kathy and wonder if it’s that kind of attitude she’s unhappy about.

Friday Fictioneers – Jake, what happened to my bike?


Copyright – anelephantcant

If you want to know more about Friday Fictioneers, click here.

This week, we have more adventures from our friends Jake and Alex, who you may recognize from my earlier piece ‘Friends Don’t Let Friends Sleep In Phone Boxes.’ It seems Jake has not learned anything from his last night out.

Jake stumbled down the unfamiliar street. He’d taken a wrong turn somewhere, but her house must be nearby. She would surely be impressed that he’d cycled all this way to see her. Jake paused. Where had he put Alex’s bike? He spun around. He’d only dismounted thirty seconds ago… or had it been ten minutes? Dizzy, Jake staggered to the edge of the pavement and leaned against a railing. It turned out the railing had only existed in his head, and he found himself tumbling down an embankment.

The next morning, Jake awoke on a bed of dirt and twigs, hung over and very confused.

Friday Fictioneers – Friends don’t let friends sleep in phone boxes.


Copyright – Danny Bowman

All I seem to be able to write about is Break Ups and Romance Gone Wrong lately… If you want to join in and do a Friday Fictioneers piece yourself, look here.


Jake woke up on a friend’s couch, his stomach feeling as ropey as the musty blanket he was tangled in. Each twitch brought on the sensation of a blunt knife being forced through his temple. Vague memories flashed through his inner eye.

“Jake, you need to get up.” Alex had said, last night, when Jake was curled up in the bottom of the urine scented phone box.

“What’s the point?” Jake had drunkenly wailed. “She dumped me and now she’s with that tosser!”

“Mate, seriously, let’s get you home.”

Jake couldn’t remember how Alex had got him out of the phone box, but he probably owed Alex big time.

Photo Prompt – Numb


So, this week I’m working from a photo I took myself. It’s not great quality, but I guess it’s more there for inspiration than for aesthetic effect. Feel free to use it yourself as long as you link it back to this blog.


Karen tripped over her dress as she walked along the icy fields. She needed a place to hide. Anywhere. She spotted a path surrounded by tall, orange hedges and stumbled down it. Both her mind and vision were fogged. They would be looking for her. Or would they just carry on without the maid of honour? She chucked the flowers against the bushes and pulled her tiny sleeveless jacket across her chest. The January air slowly penetrated her to the bone.

Karen decided the cold would be her punishment and her cure. She took off the jacket and laid on the frozen grass, hoping it would numb her diseased heart as effectively as it numbed her skin.