My Short Stories

A sample of some simple short stories by Ruth Kelly.
© 2013 Ruth Kelly

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My Silent Realm

by Ruth Kelly

I constantly feel like I'm tumbling through my life, as if I'm clumsily dancing on a breeze as I struggle through this world that I have been blown into. People say that I'm entrancing and beautiful; with glistening skin, almost phosphorescent, and I seem to bring joy to them simply because I exist. I have lots of friends who gush forth from all sorts of places but still I continue to travel and wander and only feel solitude in my world. I bump into many that I feel a great need to cling to, to help me survive and allow me to continue my journey, and although I am surrounded by my many companions, I still feel only this isolation.

I do my best to dodge the sharp edges in my life yet I continue to be split in two as I watch my friends fade away one after the other until something quiet is left behind like the dusty residue at the end of an old glass bottle. I look around my silent realm hoping to catch a glimpse of my erstwhile friends and what I see is beautiful desolation; people with laughter in their eyes, a spontaneous smile, with a real warmth in their gaze but for me, they're there but they're not. Yes, my life seems utterly tranquil. So why do I feel my fate is like that of petals tossed about in some heinously strong gust of wind. Why do I feel that there's no coping with my turmoil, only endurance as this fierce wind laps at my temple. Is there anyone to stop my sinking feelings. Can anyone halt my decline.

There's a woman smiling at me, reaching out to me as if she might be able to catch me if I fall. There's a man by her side. His face is full of juvenile laughter as he too reaches out to try to stop my descent. And a boy. His eyes full of intent and his mouth gaping as if he might be about to cry out to me. "I've got you, I've got you".

He does cry out. "I've got you, I've got you... bubbles Mammy, I love these bubbles!"

THE END.

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 GHOST-WRITER

by Ruth Kelly

I received another letter today; anonymous, like the others.
This one was just as cryptic and confusing as the last two I’ve received over the past few months. No date stamp, no clue as to where it might have been posted from, no return address…nothing. Just the same pale cream envelope, with a hint of scent that seems vaguely familiar as if of gentle nostalgia. The handwriting too has a familiarity in its arrangement that seems like part of long forgotten memories. I’ve started to look forward to receiving my special letters and even though I have feelings of confusion and bewilderment, I also feel an excited sense of anticipation each time the hazy silhouette of our postman fumbles outside the door and the first corner of the envelope peeps through the letterbox. Part of my excitement is the thought that they might be coming from a secret admirer… part of my apprehension is the thought that they might be coming from a furtive pursuer. At seventeen I suppose I should know the difference and my instincts are telling me that these letters come from someone who has my best interests at heart. But I’d better tread carefully, because nobody’s easier to fool than the fool who is convinced that he is right. 

My first letter was vague in its content and simply said “Try to see the difference between someone who makes you happy and someone who doesn’t make you unhappy, then make your choice”. The more I think about it, the more is sounds like something my mother would say during one of her rants about her hopes that I’ll be smart enough to fall in love with someone who doesn’t make my life a pain in the ass. But who would write me such a profound piece of advice? Do I have some kind of guardian angel trying to penetrate to the depths of my being with their mysterious advice? 

The second piece of profound literature was more confounding than the first and read “At some point in your life, the future will become real and you will reflect on your several past lives, lives that you cannot change. Use your life experiences as a lever to pry up the ambivalent boulders and let the light shine in, and realise that the future quickly becomes the past again”. Yeah, that one really had me stumped; was that a kind of ‘learn from your mistakes’ type of analogy? Or was it ‘don’t sweat the small stuff, they won’t matter in time’? Phew, these letters are deep but thought provoking I suppose. 

So today as I said, I received my third letter. Was it my aunt projecting her words of wisdom on me I wonder? “Your life will be a perpetual process of losing one thing after another. The things and people you value will slip out of your hands like a dandelion loses its fronds. Know that there will be an end to your sorrow, and the healing is a process of its own”. Now that one kind of scares me. It feels too much like a premonition of something bad to come. Do I take that as ‘crap happens but you learn to live with it’? 

And so, young Juliette Evans continued to speculate over who could have sent her those letters of warning? …advice? “What do they even mean?” she often asked herself. She continued to receive more letters as the years progressed, still not knowing who they came from, but slowly understanding what they meant. Her understanding of the first letter was illuminated after going through a nasty divorce from a husband who made her life a real pain in the ass. She quickly realised that she should have stuck with the guy who really loved her and wanted to marry her, not the guy with all the charm. Realisation again struck her some years after that when she lost her mother in a tragic accident. Such was her pain that she thought she would never recover, but ‘Time’ is more than a magazine, it is a healer. One after the other, life set up the hurdles for Juliette to jump. She faltered at some, she fell at others, but she always got back up. She began to believe that the letters were meant as advice, not to frighten her or to give her a glimpse into the future, but perhaps some thoughtful advice from someone who had been through it all…Life. 

I received this letter from my ghost-writer today, “This is my final letter to you. I hoped I could change the pattern of your life and make it easier for you, maybe I did, maybe I didn’t. What I’ve learned is that Life seems to have a better sense of how it wants things to go and we can only hold on for the ride. The chance to write a letter to you, my teenage self, was one I couldn’t pass up when the opportunity presented itself, so my final piece of advice? Live your life”. 

Juliette Evans. 

THE END.

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LA MONTRE

by Ruth Kelly

     
They say that you can only break your heart once and that everything either side of that is just scratches.  Emily felt that those wounds to her heart would probably never heal.  She had spent the last few months trying to stem the flow of torment but it still oozed slowly but efficaciously weakening her will to believe that losing normal was something you eventually got over.

    She remembered that day when she waited in anticipation of some romantic gesture that he might have conjured up to show her how much he loved her and that he, like her, was excited to be celebrating their second wedding anniversary.  She lay in bed that morning contemplating his upcoming and no doubt carefully planned present to her.  She tried to guess what it might be; a piece of jewellery  carefully chosen to symbolise something meaningful and reflective of their love, or perhaps two tickets to a show because he knew how much she loved musicals.  Nevertheless, she knew it would be worth waiting for; Tom was the most romantic man she had ever met and never failed to come up trumps.

    He had to be at work early for the last few weeks, so this morning was just one of many recently where she found herself with loads of room to stretch her legs out and lavish in the bliss of having the bed all to herself before the clock went off and she would have to start her own preparation ceremony before going to work.  He would probably be home late tonight also, as had been the case several nights over that last few weeks but she had everything pre-arranged and ready to surprise him;  a lovely bottle of Chateauneuf du Pape to accompany the steak dinner that she had planned, should be the perfect prequel to the present giving ritual. 

    She had spent days shopping during her lunch hour for the perfect anniversary present and was happy with her choice of a beautiful  gold vintage pocket watch.  She had happened upon a quaint little antique shop down a side street that she hadn’t even known existed until then; the side street or the shop.  She was impressed by the assistant’s sales pitch which he recited like a poem.  “Time is divided naturally by astronomical phenomena such as the periodical renewal of the seasons, the phases of the moon, or the regular succession of day and night.  To divide time into smaller fractions, artificial means are required, such as sun dials which mark the movement of the shadow cast by the sun, or clepsydras which use a controlled flow of water, but since the 1600’s the oscillatory movements of a mechanical timepiece have been used to divide time, thus allowing one, more control and influence over his or her future”.  And so, although she felt his demeanour to be somewhat supernatural, she readily paid him the money and was satisfied that she had indeed purchased something special for Tom.

    The evening came and she waited eagerly for him to get home from work.  She had lovingly prepared the table for dinner and every detail was just as she had planned.  It was late when he arrived home but Emily understood that things were busy at the moment at work and in a way, she was delighted because there had been some nights lately where he had to work until the early hours of the morning.  But her delight soon became undone when he announced that he was just home for a change of clothes and would be going back out again to an unscheduled offsite meeting.  Her disappointment was further deepened when, upon seeing her beautifully prepared table he apologised half-heartedly, grabbed the bottle of wine and threw some money on the table before rushing out the door, smelling of ‘Aramis for men’.  “Sorry Em….oh, can I take this? It’ll save my having to stop at the off-licence for a sweetener for the boss, thanks.  Oh yeah, buy yourself something nice tomorrow, I haven’t a clue what to get you, don’t wait up”.  And that was scratch number one to her heart.

    Scratch number two came shortly after that day.  Emily wasn’t sure if she had heard correctly the first few times it happened but this was the third time.  It was so quiet in the room that night that she could nearly hear the sound of her own doubts.  It must have been her mistake, she must have misheard.  She didn’t want to be one of these women who was so insecure about their man that they read into every little thing in an accusatory way.  She especially didn’t want to accuse Tom on this occasion, just when they had shared a rare moment of passion.  She felt like storming out of the bed in high dudgeon but didn’t want to appear green-eyed and possessive; after all he could have been correct in his evaluation of the incident.  God knows she was feeling quite disturbed recently.  Things weren’t the same between them with all the pressure that his work was putting on them.  And so, Emily chose to agree with Tom, after she accused him of calling her ‘Emma’ during their moment of ardour, that she could indeed have misheard him.  “You’re losing it Emily” he said.  After all, Emma…Emily, yes, she must have incorrectly heard him call out the name of another woman.

    Scratch number three occurred the next day when Tom arrived home from work, early this time.  “I guess that pocket watch was a good buy”, thought Emily, smiling to herself as she remembered the look of surprise on his face earlier that morning when she had eventually got the opportunity to present him with it before he left for work.  “I can’t take this Emily, I...” he had said as she adjusted it to the correct time, placed her finger over his lips to quieten his protests and kissed him tenderly on the cheek while slipping it into his suit pocket.  

But now her smile suddenly dissolved as he announced that:

1. He didn’t love her anymore and he had met someone else and

2. Here was his solicitor’s business card; he wanted a divorce. 

    Yes, she remembered, that was the moment that her heart had actually broken.

    And so Emily had nursed her shattered heart for the last few months, all the time wishing that she could turn back time.  As she raised yet another tissue to her eyes, she was startled by a knock at the front door.  She went to the window and pulled the curtain aside to allow her a furtive view at her unexpected visitor.  She didn’t recognise the man outside her door.  She didn’t know the sinister tall stranger, with the dark hair and long black overcoat, but something compelled her to open the door.  “You forgot your documents madam” he said, “for a transaction is never complete and time will not be yours to control until the guarantee is handed over, only then will your timepiece work in your favour”.  Her mind wandered and rambled until a spark of recognition ignited.  This was the man who had sold her the beautiful vintage pocket watch for Tom all those months ago, the watch she had lovingly set to the correct time on the morning that her heart was shattered into pieces.  As she glanced down and took the receipt from him, she looked heavy-hearted at the date on the document; the date of hers and Tom’s wedding anniversary.  Somewhat confused, she felt a calmness come over her, a sense of peace that she hadn’t felt for some time; almost as if the last few months of her life hadn’t happened, she could no longer feel the pain.

     As she raised her eyes to look into the stranger’s face, he was no longer there; she saw only Tom coming up the pathway.  “Hey Honey, I managed to get out early because I’ve booked dinner for us at ‘La Montre’ so we best get moving”, he said as he looked at his watch, the watch.  Leaning in for a kiss, he whispered tenderly, “I love you babe, Happy Anniversary”.

THE END.

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