Writepiration #107 52 Weeks in 52 Words Week 11

writespiration-20172017 brings 52 challenges over 52 weeks.

Your challenge is to write your story using the weekly theme/prompt and write it in just 52 words…. EXACTLY, no more, no less.

I have an announcement (more details on the reasons why on Monday) but I am taking a short break.

I am very close to completing the final edit on both my books.  But I have some very final deadlines I can’t miss, so I need to free up a few extra hours every week to catch up.

From this week onwards (until the books are handed over to my editor) I am closing comments. I’m still allowing pingbacks so that I can come visit your entries, (and you can visit each other) but I need to free up some admin time to dedicate to finishing my book. I’m hoping this will be just a short break and that you can forgive me the lapse.

This week your challenge is to write the most romantic 52 words you can. Turn my black coal infested heart into mush. I need some love to keep me going under the pressure. Bonus points if anyone makes me weepy!

Now to last week’s big birthday entries:


21,900 days old, plus days for the occasional leap year, thrown in along the way. A number this size conjures up thoughts of relics, historic artifacts. To me, those would be compliments. One could be called worse.  Fact is, there is a lot of history attached to anyone entering their seventh decade.



Thirty-five years of drama, stress, gratitude and joy. I stand by my students, the ones I’ll miss forever, staring at a huge cake, covered in white icing and topped with sixty tiny candles.

They clapped and I cried.

Make a wish, they said and I did, on my last day at work.



Happy birthday…little sunshine…my new mother greeted me. Really…true..is it happening… A lean smiling face boy comes forward. He’s your brother…she’s your sister…aunty, no mother, I corrected self in mind, introduces us to each other. Yes, it’s my first birthday in fourth years of her until now life.



It was a brief respite. The gentle swaying once comforting and hypnotic was now a frenzied force. Walls contracted, each wave channelling me deeper. The journey from gentle light through darkness to life. Odd. I hadn’t thought of that light in years. Ninety years to the day. It’s warmth beckoned me home.
And happy belated birthday



“Girls are you packed?”

“Yeah, Mum are we going fancy fancy?”

“Of course, it’s not every day my sister turns 50. Have you got the tickets, John?”

“Yeah just here.”

“Is this a joke?”


“Look at the destination.”

“What’s the problem?”

“Alicante! We are supposed to be going to Arrecife!”

“Oh shit!”



When you turn fifty
you’re as old as
and no one gets excited
when their bare feet
caress you
your dainty tootsies
are now cheesy Doritos
cracked and crumbly
nails as hard and yellow
as the midday sun
big birthdays
are no fun
when you have no one
to love you



A big birthday means a big party

A surprise organised by your children

And supported by your husband

A weekend away with family

Not one surprise but two!

Happiness overload

The smile doesn’t leave your face

Birthdays are fun regardless of your age

It means you are still here alive and kicking!



It’s been a fucking year,
And now everyone wants to celebrate.
A hug. A handshake. A pat on the back.
“You must feel so proud. Are you proud?”
Outwardly, I beam;
Inwardly, I could vomit.
I don’t want to be touched.
It’s my damn birthday.
All I want is a fucking drink.




“She never forgave him for dying?”

“So close to their diamond wedding anniversary, you see. She missed out on their message from the queen.”

“She will not be happy now then.” Memory brought life back to the face of the redoubtable dame who had been my great-grandmother. “So close to a hundred.”



A night with just the two of us.
We opened the door to our room, entered and smiled at each other.
Plenty of tea, coffee and biscuits.
Big bed.
Big pillows.
Big TV.
Strawberries and champagne.
Big bath.
Big white fluffy bath towels.
Big bubbles.
Rubber duck.
My treat:
My 60th birthday.



This is it, The Big Birthday. The one they tell you about on your 13th birthday. The one that seemed so far away. I walk, silently, into the same building my husband walked into last year. I turn to wave goodbye to my family. God, 67 years is no time at all.



Tomorrow is THE DAY!
Tomorrow it will all change,
Finally I’ll go from child to adult
My opinions will count.
I can do whatever I want!
It’s here!
…nothing’s changed…
Mum’s still nagging me to get up.
still have to go to college.
So much for my big birthday.
Eighteen? Over-rated!



Gnawing hunger laced through her. The desire to eat was only outweighed by this new emotion she couldn’t place. Countless torturous hours had preceded this moment. The pain that had wracked her entire body for hours still lingered. With tears in her eyes, she held the tiny boy close to her heart.



“You only turn 40 once!” she repeated with every credit card swipe. “How lucky am I to spend this day with my closest girlfriends?”

Through polite smiles and nervous grins, I sense a kinship with my fellow captives. Spa treatments and five star cuisine are not worth the cost.

Bless her heart.



Both Ends of the Candle


“Easier said than done.”

“Just suck in some air…and blow.”

“I’m pooped.”


“I ain’t no spring chicken.”

“Even a dumb winter chicken could blow better than you. Just suck it up.”

“I like the flames.”

“There ARE lots of candles.”

“My point, eh! Old and winded. That’s me.”

“Blow, fool!”



When he was little, he decided he would live 100 years.
He had a happy, healthy, fulfilling life.
The day before his 100th birthday he lay in bed peacefully thinking: “One more day and I’ll be able to rest.”
The next day, after blowing up the candles, he closed his eyes and died.



“Happy 100th Birthday, George. There’s no point hiding. I know you’re in here. Two cards for you. One’s from the Queen; not that she or anyone else knows who you are.”

Closing the door to the cellar, Muriel wondered how long it took for the smell of a decomposing body to disappear.


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