Authonomy – Friday Flash Fiction [FFF]
Post: FFF – November 15, 2013
Theme / Genre: The Things You Do For Love
Include: –
Words: 696
Dedication
‘No, no, not again,’ she yelled at the dismal screen. ‘You’re useless, godfeckingdammit, I’m this
close. This close to throwing you out
the mother fu—’
Jenny suddenly remembered it was two-thirty in the morning;
Laurence was asleep upstairs, if she carried on her rant he might wake and
discover she wasn’t in bed yet. She
clenched her teeth, hissed through the gaps, then continued the conversation in
her head.
Bloody typical, the second I need to do something
important the PC decides against it.
It’s not as if I’ve a ton of time on my hands, or anything. It’s not like I can just wait for a few more
hours. I never get the time, never get
anything done. Never. And now this, I can’t go on anymore. Bloody bollocks.
Her hidden depression sometimes got the
better of her emotions and threw daggers at common sense.
‘Come on you fu—’ she hushed herself again.
The screen flickered with some activity. She stared.
All conversations with herself concluded. She looked at the text, one page of many. The same page. It didn’t move when she scrolled up or down,
and she couldn’t type either, nothing.
The computer, let’s face it, had seen better days, it needed an upgrade,
but she couldn’t afford it. Laurence
would only want to know why, and she could never tell him. It was her secret. Her and her muse’s secret. A secret she’d kept from him, and everybody
else, for nearly two years. Unbelievable, she knew, but to tell him now,
would defeat the object. After all, she
was so close to her goal.
The urge to write a novel had come following the death of
her mother; she began the rekindled passion on the way to her mother’s funeral
in France. Laurence and the kids stayed
at home and she journeyed alone with a small notebook, writing during waiting
and downtimes, either travelling or held up in the quite hotel where she
stayed. The words just tumbled out. On her return, a few pages had sparked an innermost
desire to complete the task; however, insecurities and paranoia lead to
concealment. She couldn’t fail in front
of them, it was better left untold, then, if nothing happens, then nothing
happens and the secret’s still a secret.
Now was not the time, she turned off the computer, she
needed sleep; the little she could get before kids mouths needed filling again and
clothes needed washing.
For months and months, those days and nights, had stayed
with her, for months. So many, they had
become a blur and her normality, but the secret was still safe, Laurence and
the children would get the surprise of their life, she hoped, she really hoped. Despite the most incredible journey she had
taken alone, she still worried about her family. How would they feel? How would they react to her news, her secret?
‘Laurence, I need to show you something,’ Jenny said,
stopping Laurence on his way to the door. ‘This came yesterday; I didn’t show you last
night, but…’
‘Can I see it later, I’ve got to go,’ he said, looking into
her eyes.
Using her ocular powers of persuasion, he crumbled.
‘Ok, what is it?’
‘It’s this,’ she handed him her novel.
‘A book, I don’t read much, you now that,’ he said looking
at the cover. ‘Who’s Deidre Dulwicky?’
Of course, he wouldn’t know her pen name.
‘Look, here, I’ll show you.’
She proudly took the book; remembering how she had deliberated
over using a pseudonym; the many times the title changed, repeatedly; and
discussions over the jacket cover images, heated at times, with her editor. She turned the first few pages and handed it
back to him.
‘There.’
He looked down and read aloud.
‘For
not finding out my secret, yet for giving me the strength to continue and help
me on the way, I give the biggest and most loving thank you; to my beautiful
children Tabitha and Billy,’ his throat contracted with pride and emotion. He took a deep breath and she could see him
fight against shedding tears from his eyes.
He continued, ‘and my darling husband Laurence.’
