Love and Loss a Collection of Short Stories

By Sophie Abel

Two short stories, Victims and Emma's Inner Torture

Victims—Olivia's Parents died in a car crash, now three years on, she must relive that fateful day. Will she be able to open up to her brother and aunt?

Emma's Inner Torture—Emma's father has become increasingly violent since Emma's death, forcing her to escape to a world run by a tyrant King. Will she stand up to the cruel men in her life?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Oct 10, 2019
• ISBN: 9780244225438

Book preview

Love and Loss a Collection of Short Stories

Love and Loss

A collection of short stories

For mum, my rock! Forever in my heart and soul.

Quote from the Author

Writers don't think, they feel. They feel the words make the journey from mind to page as they take shape into new worlds that spark imaginations!

Contents

VICTIMS

EMMA’S INNER TOURTURE

VICTIMS

Perching on the edge of my bed, on top of my purple faded quilt, I looked around at the white walls of my bedroom. I didn’t have anything hanging up or decorated on my walls, but I had an extensive number of books on my bookshelf, which sat on the back wall. My bookshelf consisted of books by my favourite authors; JK Rowling, Stephanie Meyer, Suzanne Collins, Veronica Roth and Alexandra Bracken. I found on days like these books were my best way of escaping into an alternate, less painful, reality.

Pulling open the drawer in my bedside table, I retrieved a mini treasure box, which I carefully lifted out of the drawer and placed it onto my lap. I slid my free hand under my pillow and took my diary and a small silver key from under it. The silver key on the diary’s lock was the same on the treasure chest. Sliding the key into the lock of my treasure chest, I twisted it slightly and heard the latch pop open.

Easing the lid open, I took a small, purple, rectangular box from its contents. Placing my treasure box back on my bedside table, I pulled the purple box onto my lap and carefully removed the lid. Inside was a collection of photographs; I had a well-documented childhood and it had irritated me before, but now I’m grateful for it…

I began to sift through my extensive collection of photographs; each bringing back memories and tears to my eyes.

As I moved through them, my pace both quickened and slowed in reaction to the memories that resurfaced in my mind, some were more painful than others. My hands paused at a photograph of my family; my mum, my dad, my brother Josh and myself.

We were all enjoying a sunny day at the beach, Josh and myself had buried our dad in the sand and mum had returned only to find my dad barely able to breathe and huge grins on our faces. The sound of mum’s laugh echoed distantly in my head. This photograph was probably the last one taken, before…

I shook my head and continued to look through the photographs. My hands stopped again, this time at a photograph of the four of us.

It was eight years ago, I was four and Josh was six. We were at the fair, we had just eaten ice-cream and were sitting on mum and dad’s shoulders as we stood in front of a Ferris wheel, a kind woman offered to take the photograph. As I gazed into my parents’ eyes, tear droplets fell down and hit the photograph.

Putting the other photographs aside; I lay on my back, head resting on the pillow. Moisture pooled into my eyes and my cheeks were wet with tears. I held this one photograph close to my chest as I trailed off into the memory of that fateful day that changed my life…

*

I was in my bedroom; my walls were pink with butterflies flying across it. My bookshelf was there, but full of younger literature. A purple suitcase lay open on the top of my bed. There was a light knock on the door, mum poked her head around it, Are you ready to go? she had asked.

Almost, I replied.

Walking into the room she said, Let me give you a hand. Mum lent over the suitcase and leaned on it as she moved the zip, sealing it shut. She straightened up and smiled; my mum looked like me, same pale features and petite figure, but her dark blonde hair was short and mine was long and brown. I lifted my backpack onto my shoulder,

Thank you, I said.

Mum lifted my suitcase onto the floor, fondly saying, Gosh, what have you got in here Olivia? We’re only going for two weeks.

I had to pack for every possibility, I told her as I took hold of the suitcase handle. I pulled it on to the upstairs landing and manhandled it down the stairs. Dad and Josh were already waiting for us in the hallway, standing next to the montage of family photos framed on the wall behind them. Josh was slightly taller than me, he had a fuller, rounder face and features like dad, but his hair was dark blonde and spikey, and he had hazel coloured eyes, the same as mum. I had my dad’s emerald green eyes as well as his hair colour.

Are you ready to go Olivia? dad asked. Have you forgotten anything?

Knowing you, you will have forgotten something, said Josh gently punching my arm.

I laughed, That was one time. One time I forgot my notebook and phone charger and you’ll never let me forget it.

Oh, now it is ok, said Josh But at the time it was like you lost a limb. The corners of dad’s mouth twitched.

My little teenage daughter, he said, gently ruffling my hair.

Dad, I complained, attempting to straighten my hair.

I was not a teenager; I was nine years old and Josh was eleven, Josh had just had his induction day at his new school and would be starting secondary school in September.

Once mum had re-joined us, we locked up the house and made our way out to dad’s silver car. Mum and dad lifted all of our suitcases into the boot and Josh and I got into the back, with